


Grohiiki, Kodaavi

by OpalBee



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Multi, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:04:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 83
Words: 718,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpalBee/pseuds/OpalBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A clandestine trip to Skyrim to learn about her mother's kin and create a family of her own lands Brynhilde in a situation she never asked for, forcing her into a life not of her choosing.  The Nords around her seem to think she should be happy about what she has become and gladly accept her glorious fate, when all she ever wanted was a big blond Nord husband and rosy-cheeked Nord babies and a quiet life in a little village.  Can she learn to live with the hand she's been dealt and guide her own destiny, or will it break her?</p><p>Follows the Companions story line and Main Quest, touches on the Dawnguard and Dragonborn DLCs then veers off into uncharted territory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Easy lass,” Alvor murmured, his hand on Bryn’s arm. She stared at him with wide gold eyes, breathing heavily, no doubt still smelling the smoke and charred flesh that had haunted her dreams all night. It had haunted Alvor’s, and he hadn’t been there; the girl had stayed quiet most of the evening, but Hadvar’s description of the horrors of Helgen had been vivid to say the least. He gave her a brief smile and her arm a pat then straightened up. “Rough night, eh?”

“One could say that,” she murmured, seeing the smith’s wife and child still slept. “Hadvar…” Her companion for such a brief time was nowhere to be seen. His presence had been a comfort; he’d slept on a bedroll blocking the doorway, there every time she had awakened, though he had slept soundly. She missed his steady, pleasant manner already. She had forgiven him for allowing her to be sent to the block the moment he had asked her to follow him. He had tried to explain, tried to apologize. Orders are orders, he’d said uncomfortably. She hoped she never put herself in a position where she was forced to follow such orders.

“He’s gone out for a bit, not sure when he’ll be back,” the smith stated vaguely. The girl nodded in understanding as she sat up. Hadvar had taken off for Solitude while it was still dark out. He stood and moved away to give her space to pull on her boots. She grimaced and stood stiffly, rotating her neck and shoulders. The girl was tall, even for a Nord woman, and more willowy than they usually were at her age, which he guessed to be early twenties. She was a lovely thing, though a wee bit odd looking… her eyes were an unusual golden color, for starters. There were many Nords with hazel eyes, but hers had much more gold in them than one usually saw. She was blond, again like many of their folk, but it was a pale ash blond, a hue he couldn’t recall seeing before. Her fingers were long and nimble-looking, and she was thinner than a Nord woman should be. She’d picked at her dinner the night before, something that his wife Sigrid had clearly been a bit offended by. Alvor didn’t blame the girl, after what she had been through, and to be fair Sigrid was easily offended. She still had a troubled look in her eyes as she rubbed her forehead. He opened his mouth to ask if she wanted a bit of breakfast before heading out, when she lifted her left hand in front of her and it was suddenly enveloped in a rich yellow glow. His eyes widened and he whispered, “Hadvar didn’t mention you were a healer.”

“Oh no, I’m not,” she stated. “It’s a simple magic my aunt taught me, when I was younger. I was a clumsy child, always getting hurt. She thought it would be useful to me. Unfortunately I don’t know how to heal others.”

“I see.” The smith’s careful tone made her frown. He shook his head and said, “The healing arts are respected here in Skyrim. Keep it to that and you’ll find no trouble, but…” She stared at him, waiting, her large, almond-shaped eyes guileless. He had to keep reminding himself she wasn’t from around here. At least that was what Hadvar had said, from the small amount of information his nephew had been able to pull out of the girl. “You were raised in Cyrodiil, so magic is no doubt a thing you are used to seeing, but here in Skyrim mages are viewed with…well, suspicion at best.”

She smiled slightly, a bitter edge to it. “I’m no mage, I assure you. I have no gifts in that regard.” Her family had made her quite aware of her lack of talent in that area.

“Ah. All right then.”

Seeing she was making the man uncomfortable, she murmured, “I have imposed on your hospitality enough. I will take my leave.” She bent down to retrieve her pack and weapons, such as they were.

“Of course.” By Talos, the girl was odd. Her manner, the way she spoke, even the way she moved…he put it down to being raised in the Imperial City, away from most of her kinsmen. He wasn’t sure if her being a Nord would work for or against her here; if she were an Imperial or Breton or even an elf, folk would be prepared for her odd behavior, but they would see a Nord and her behavior would only confuse or annoy them. As he followed her to the door he asked, “Is there anything else we can do for you before you go?”

“Thank you, no. I should get going to Whiterun. I feel bad to have waited even this long.” She’d been exhausted though, unable to go even one step further, and night had been falling. As pressing as the need was to inform the Jarl there of the dragon, she and Hadvar had doubted she could make it. She wasn’t entirely sure of her odds as it was, even with dawn coming. She hefted the pack onto her back; it was light, with only a bit of food, a few potions, three pelts from the wolves she and Hadvar had run into on the way here, and a book she had picked up in Helgen: The Book of the Dragonborn. It had been sitting on the small table with the pack she’d picked up and had looked valuable, if old; she would read it before she sold it, to get more familiar with Nord legends and customs. Bryn didn’t have time to read it yet though, or to wait for Riverwood Traders to open in order to sell the things she’d picked up, though she had wanted to speak to the proprietors, Lucan and Camilla Valerius; a few townsfolk on the way in had mentioned that the siblings had suffered a burglary recently, where almost nothing had been stolen. Very strange. She slung the bow and quiver over her shoulder and hefted the iron shield on her arm then bowed slightly to the smith, who blinked in surprise then nodded, clearing his throat. “I thank you again for your hospitality, Alvor of Riverwood,” she said softly. “I would like to repay it one day.”

“You helped my sister’s boy out of Helgen, and that is more than enough,” he stated firmly. “Hadvar is alive because of you.”

“Likewise, I am alive because of Hadvar. He trusted me, when he could have left me bound and dressed in rags to burn.”

“He knew you didn’t belong with that Stormcloak rabble, and even then he wouldn’t have let a Stormcloak die like that,” Alvor said in dismissal, waving her off. “I still don’t know how you ended up there…” He paused, hoping, but she stayed silent, though there was tension around her eyes. “All right then. Gods watch over your battles, friend.”

Bryn turned away to the door. “I hope to have few of those.”

“Unfortunately, Skyrim these days isn’t going to be too obliging.” She sighed and nodded, still looking tired. He hated sending the frail-looking lass out into the world, but they had no choice, and she had offered. He opened the door and let her out, following her onto the porch. He pointed north. “Follow the road out of town, then take the bridge over the river. Take the first right you come to and follow the river down onto the plains. You’ll see a large building, the meadery, to the left. You can smell it on the wind when you get close enough. Follow that road past the farms. You can’t miss Whiterun, on the hill. The Jarl’s palace, Dragonreach, is the highest point in the city.” She nodded. “Don’t forget to sell those pelts when you have time. There’s a good market there. Sigrid and I used to go there once a month, before all the troubles. I would change out of those Imperial leathers first chance you get as well, until you decide whether or not to join with them. No use borrowing trouble.” The girl nodded again, staring down the road, then she took a deep breath as if to brace herself before stepping off the porch. “And watch out for wolves,” he counseled. “They’ve grown bold lately.”

“Wolves I can handle,” she stated confidently. It was trouble of the human variety she worried about. Bandits were a problem even in Cyrodiil, and here it could only be worse, wild as this land was. She turned her gaze on the brawny smith and gave him another brief smile. “Goodbye, Alvor. Thank Sigrid for me.”

“Aye.” His wife would be glad the girl was gone. He considered Sigrid the greatest beauty in Whiterun hold, but her own insecurity made her consider any halfway comely girl a threat. Perhaps the lass had sensed it and that was the reason for her staying withdrawn and quiet last night. He stayed on the porch and watched the skinny girl go until she passed over the distant bridge and out of sight, then he sighed heavily and shook his head as he turned away to start his day’s work. “Strange times,” he muttered. Brother fighting brother, Thalmor walking the roads, dragons in the skies, and that odd, odd girl… He wasn’t sure whether he’d be glad to see her again or not; he wished her well, but he was glad she was gone. The uneasiness he and his wife had felt around her surely hadn’t all been due to her mannerisms or reticence. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something about her that nearly made the hair on his arms stand up. He doubted he would ever have the chance to figure out what that something was. It was unfortunate, but he doubted the girl would make it a week here.  
-  
Bryn gasped as an elk leapt up from the bank of the river where it had been drinking, something she should have noticed. “Have to pay attention,” she whispered angrily. She continued on her way, trying to ignore the empty ache in her belly. She should have accepted Alvor’s offer of more provisions, and she should have eaten a proper dinner. A proper Nord dinner. She couldn’t afford to eat like a bird, as she had back home, in her pathetic attempts to look like her graceful aunt, and grandmother, and the neighbors. She was expending too much energy here simply surviving. Thinking past surviving was something she couldn’t do yet. She was still half in shock from the events of the last few days.

The wave of helpless fury that washed over her luckily found an easy target as two wolves ran at her out of the trees. They got a few nips in but they were easily dispatched and skinned within a few minutes and her small wounds quickly healed. She hoped they didn’t have pups stashed away anywhere. There were no wolves in Cyrodiil except in a few isolated places in the mountains. Bryn wondered why these ones were being so aggressive, why they were near the roads that people frequented, though from last night’s talk people were traveling less than they were used to, due to the war. It was a war she had no intentions of getting involved in, but then she hadn’t intended to end up bashed in the head either, or nearly losing that head with a group of rebels, or nearly being cooked to a crisp by a dragon.

Goosebumps arose on her skin as she felt the dragon’s roar reverberate along her bones again. She hadn’t just heard it, as the others had. She’d felt it, through every fiber of her body and mind. She wished she had opened up more to Hadvar when she’d had the chance, to have someone to talk to about it. Though she had thought him a spineless flunky for not standing up to his captain more, he had obviously felt terrible about sending Bryn to the block, and he hadn’t hesitated in saving her life. She still wasn’t sure why he had, other than his comment at the Standing Stones that he’d known she didn’t belong in the cart the moment he’d laid eyes on her. She was relieved all over again that she hadn’t chosen the Thief stone, as she nearly had. She liked moving around unnoticed, silent, and was good with a bow, but she had to admit she was damn good with the iron mace she was now carrying, though she was better with a small sword. Her aunt, the woman who had raised her, had tried to teach her as best she could, but it hadn’t been easy to do with her uncle’s disapproving eyes always watching, and her cousin’s envious tattling of every offense, real or perceived, or even completely made up.

The fresh heat of rage hit her again and she stopped in the road, taking deep breaths. That despicable cousin was the reason she had nearly died, several times. She was amazed, in hindsight, that he hadn’t simply murdered her on the way here. It would have been more expedient, though less satisfying. It was amazing he had been able to hide his hatred well enough and long enough to pull it all off. Well, he would answer for it one day, she vowed. Whatever she had to do to make him pay, she would. And she wouldn’t accomplish that by being a wilting flower. It had never come naturally to her, being meek and obedient, being quiet, and now after a lifetime of stifling her nature it wouldn’t be easy to get it back. If she could anywhere, it would be here, in her mother’s homeland. Maybe someday she would feel comfortable enough here to call it her own. Maybe even have a family of her own, rosy-cheeked blond children by an equally blond Nord man, the whole reason she had come here. That Stormcloak Ralof had been handsome, if a bit young for her. He’d seemed honorable, for being a rebel. It was a shame he had chosen that path in life, though she hoped he had lived. She was still amazed that she had, still reeling a bit from the events at Helgen. She had set off for Skyrim to find a place of her own, create a family of her own, and she had met with nothing but trouble since hitting the Pale Pass.

Bryn continued down the road, the now visible bulk of Dragonsreach serving as a beacon in the distance, as did the sour-sweet smell of fermenting honey on the air. The smell made her nose wrinkle. She had been offered mead with dinner last night and had declined, probably again offending her hostess. She’d tasted it before and found it foul, unable to figure out what her mother’s kinsmen loved about the drink. She preferred sweet elven wine, and knew better than to even dream of asking for it up here, if it could even be found. From Ralof’s comments in the cart, Elves were not regarded kindly here, though she had seen one working cheerfully at the mill in Riverwood, a Bosmer. Why he was doing something that was such an anathema to his kind was a mystery.

She came to the crossroads at the same time as a helmeted guard, and she stifled her nervousness and gave him a nod and a smile and continued left on the road. He said nothing, his expression unreadable in the helmet, but she felt his steady gaze on her back as she passed the meadery. She had no reason to be nervous, really, but the Imperial leathers she was wearing made her feel very conspicuous. She didn’t want to have to start answering questions.

The first farm appeared on her left, and her jaw fell open as she saw an immense manlike creature in the field, surrounded by three warriors. She quickly pulled out her bow and put two iron arrows into the beast, a giant it seemed, then the big dark-haired man finished it off. It fell to the ground with a resounding thud, and she wrinkled her nose as she neared it, curious. She had thought giants myths, like so many other tales her aunt and grandmother had told her, thinking they were imparting some sense of Nord culture on Bryn, in their caring but condescending way. The creature smelled terrible, like a mix of wet wool and moldy cheese. She couldn’t believe how enormous it was, a good twelve feet tall.

The lovely auburn-haired woman put up her weapons and jogged over, saying with approval, “You handle yourself well. You could make for a decent Shield-Sister. We could use another archer.”

Bryn hesitated, wary of looking like a fool. She finally asked, “What is a Shield-Sister?”

“An outsider, eh? Never heard of the Companions?” Bryn shook her head. “An order of warriors. We are brothers and sisters in honor. And we show up to solve problems, if the coin is good enough.”

She thought it over for a moment. It sounded good, but then so many things did at first. The trio seemed eager to go, in fact the big man and the other woman were already turning away. She steeled herself then asked, “Can I join you?” She’d need coin, and it had warmed her to hear the woman’s approval.

“Not for me to say. You’ll have to talk to Kodlak Whitemane, up in Jorrvaskr.” Bryn pondered this, a moment too long it seemed when the woman said, “I’ll take my leave then.”

“All right. Thank you.” The woman turned away without a smile and joined her two companions to return to the city. Bryn considered tagging along but didn’t want to look like an eager child, and their pace was a bit sedate. She jogged on ahead of them, making note of the other farms and the stable. It wasn’t until she reached the city ramparts that she wondered what was going to happen to the giant’s corpse. The warriors had just left it there, lying among the farmer’s crushed potato plants. She supposed the farm folk could handle it from there, but it still seemed rude.

Bryn frowned at the condition of the city walls. Large stones lay on the ground, having fallen ages ago it seemed, and small trees were taking root here and there. The drawbridge looked to be in good condition, as were the city gates. She couldn’t understand why the Jarl here was allowing the fortifications to crumble, especially if war was in the air. Alvor had said last night that Balgruuf was a good man, if over-cautious. These walls didn’t scream ‘caution’ to her. No wall was high or strong enough though to stop a dragon.

At the gates the guards gave her just as much grief as she expected, but not an inordinate amount. It was good to see that they didn’t let just any stranger in. They didn’t seem entirely convinced of her urgency and were still rather suspicious of her, but that was fine. At least they were doing their jobs.

Her first view of the city as she entered the gates was reassuring. It was clean and all the buildings were in good repair. Folk looked well-fed, as did the children running about playing tag. She paused inside the gate as she took all this in, then she heard raised voices to her right. A burly blond man in Imperial armor was arguing with a woman who seemed to be the town smith; the woman could have been a Nord herself, if not for her tan skin. Bryn quickly shook herself and walked around them, trying not to eavesdrop, though it was impossible not to. It gave her more insight into the situation here though, as did the man’s armor. It made her feel better about her own, though she still intended to get out of it as soon as possible. The woman here no doubt had a wide selection available, but Bryn doubted she could afford it yet. Yet.

She continued up the road toward the market, enjoying the chill breeze that blew across her bare arms and legs. She had always found the Heartland too warm for her taste. The weather here felt good… brisk, fresh, lively. The cold bothered her hardly at all, and that was heartening. She was a Nord, as her mother had been, and hopefully she could learn to live like one. Other races lived here too though; she could see Redguards, who must have been freezing here, and an Imperial produce seller, and a Bosmer butcher. It was comforting to see a variety of faces.

Bryn did pause long enough to go into the general store, though she nearly went back out as the Breton man said in a sleazy voice, “Let me know if you see anything you like.” It wouldn’t be him, that was for certain. She tried not to wrinkle her nose, a habit of her aunt’s she was trying to rid herself of, and approached the counter. Belethor tried making a few jokes, and when they fell flat he finally got down to business. She sold the pelts, getting only enough money to buy a few meals, if she was lucky. She was never going to survive at this rate. He had a number of trinkets, odds and ends, that sort of thing, that she would have ignored back home as trash. She’d never wanted for anything material back then. Her dresses had always been fine silk, her shoes the softest doeskin, her hair always the latest style. For not the first time she wondered if she could make it back to Cyrodiil, back to her aunt’s cosseting, which she had always found annoying but comforting. She shook her head as she left the shop, ignoring another creepy comment from Belethor on the way out. No, she had come here for a reason, though not in the way she had planned. She was a Nord and belonged with her people, the people she had decided as a teenager would be hers, and no amount of her aunt’s arguing or crying had ever changed her mind. She couldn’t let a little hardship change it now. She wouldn’t be weak. These people wouldn’t tolerate that.

The sound of another argument made her hesitate outside the shop, and she felt uneasy over the content of it. She’d assumed this a solidly Imperial city, and clearly it was not. She felt terrible for the old woman though, who was worried sick for a missing son, and the two men looming over her looked like bullies. It was all Bryn could do not to step in, but other townsfolk were right there, listening and trying not to. Bryn would step in if either man laid a hand on the woman, and they didn’t, to her relief. She wasn’t sure what she was getting into here, and involving herself in local disputes could quickly get her into trouble.

She continued up the hill, and she stopped stock still at the top, shocked. Not by the immense dead tree, though that was unfortunate, but by the Shrine of Talos, right out in the open, in broad daylight. A priest was there, spouting off, sounding a little off his rocker, but no one accosted him or told him to be quiet. Again, another sign things might not be as they first seemed.

A glance to the right showed a large building that looked like an overturned ship, of all things, but it wasn’t Dragonsreach, and that was her goal. She headed up there, ignoring suspicious looks from the guards, though their comments were friendly enough; some even told her about a local bandit camp that could use cleaning out, making her bite back proud smiles. So she looked like an adventurer, then! She liked the sound of that. She would have to invest in a journal and a map first chance she got, to write down and keep track of the information she was getting.

“Wow,” she whispered once inside the doors. The place was immense, as big as any wealthy manor in Cyrodiil, but it had warmth no Imperial structure ever could. Bryn had been raised inside stone walls, in a townhouse of stone, hard and cold. Most of the buildings she had seen in Skyrim were wood, softer and more welcoming, more a part of nature. She found that she liked it, but again, they would have no defense against dragon fire.

She didn’t make it far across the hall when a hostile Dunmer woman approached her, weapon raised, and she halted by the fire, wary. The Jarl and his steward were debating something, as everyone seemed to be doing in this town, but she couldn’t focus on their words past a mention of Helgen with the woman’s blood-red eyes glaring murderously at her. All Dunmer were hard to warm up to, at first, so she didn’t take it personally. He was a very important man and this must be his bodyguard.

“What is the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors.”

“Who is this then?” the Jarl asked, his attention suddenly on Bryn, who didn’t know who to answer first. The Dunmer woman with the drawn sword was the more pressing, obviously. 

Bryn stammered, “I…I have news from Helgen. About the dragon attack.” The Dunmer looked surprised and sheathed her weapon. Bryn tried desperately to keep her wits about her as the Jarl interrogated her and his Imperial steward argued. She found the pompous little man aggravating and wondered if he could even lift the two-handed sword on this back. The thing looked ceremonial, not serviceable at all. She didn’t approve either that he worried more about appearances and politics than Riverwood’s safety.

Next thing she knew, Bryn was accepting a suit of studded Imperial armor from the Jarl’s own stores as reward for the information about Riverwood and Helgen. “Th-thank you, my Jarl,” she stammered, appreciating the gesture but not at all happy to get only a nicer version of what she was already wearing and desperately wanted to get rid of. He waved away her thanks and motioned for her to follow, to speak with his court wizard, who had a keen interest in all things dragon related. Bryn followed like a lost lamb, trying desperately to keep up.


	2. Chapter 2

_“Succeed at this and you will be rewarded. Whiterun will be in your debt.”_    Those words rang through Bryn’s mind over and over again as she returned down the stone stairs to town. With only a few words and a suit of armor the Jarl had begun to earn her loyalty. He was a good man, she could tell, taking the safety of his hold and its people dead seriously, and the servants hummed to themselves as they worked, always a good sign. She wasn’t too impressed with his arrogant court wizard, Farengar, and hadn’t appreciated him calling Riverwood a miserable little village, but he looked like he didn’t get out much. Such was often the case with mages, though she knew it hadn’t been with her father. Her aunt had no end of glowing stories about him and his deeds. If only she had told similar stories about Bryn’s mother, she wouldn’t have felt such a need to come to Skyrim.

She paused at the dead tree, wondering how urgent her mission to retrieve the Dragonstone was. Farengar hadn’t seemed too anxious about it. Perhaps she had time to stop by Jorrvaskr, which she now knew was the big mead hall with the odd roof, like an overturned ship. The guards were a talkative bunch, once they’d realized she was working for their Jarl, and had pointed her in the right direction. It didn’t hurt to have a back-up plan, and the cold but lovely auburn-haired woman had laid out the offer to at least try out for a spot. She liked the sound of honor, of brother- and sisterhood. Belonging. She had never really felt like she’d belonged, anywhere. Her aunt had tried to raise her as best she could, but it wasn’t easy when the child wasn’t your own, and your own child despised his adopted sibling. Bryn wanted to make her own choices about where she belonged, and the Jarl had begun to help her make that choice. Even the guards unwittingly had; one had asked her on the way down the stairs if she was thinking about settling in, and when she’d nodded he’d told her about Breezehome being for sale. Breezehome… It sounded lovely.

Jorrvaskr certainly was pleasant, with the smell of roasting meat wafting out the doors along with the sounds of encouraging cheers. When she opened the door however she was horrified to see two people in a fistfight, a Dunmer man and an armored Nord woman. She stared at the scene in dismay until she realized the others were cheering them on and even offering pointers. She glanced around and no one noticed her, most of them too busy drinking mead and laughing as the two warriors pounded on each other. She saw the three she had fought the giant with: the redheaded woman was sitting on a bench against a back wall, relaxing; the tan Imperial woman was watching the fight intently, her dark eyes eager; the big brute of a man stood silently, though every so often he would nod as a hit was scored.

The fight ended with the Dunmer on the ground panting, “No more, I yield, I yield!” With startling suddenness, the crowd broke up and drifted off to their own places, many of them around the fire at the long feasting tables. Not knowing what else to do, Bryn cleared her throat. It earned her a few glances, all of them disinterested. She nearly turned and walked out, but the big dark-haired fellow from that morning gave her a hint of a smile. So that was how it was then. If she were weak and self-centered enough to just walk out over something as small as being snubbed she wouldn’t make it far here. Or anywhere else.

Her eyes followed him until he sat down at a side table, picking up a loaf of bread and biting into it then following with a swig of mead. She heard a conversation between an older man and the redheaded woman about younglings and getting themsElves killed, and had to wonder if it was directed at her. If so, the warning wasn’t too subtle. She went to the big man and he glanced up at her with startling pale gray eyes. He was incredibly handsome, though it took a moment to realize that under the layers of warpaint and road grime. Naively, she had expected most Nords to be fair-haired, but his hair was nearly black.

“My brother Vilkas is a better talker than me,” he stated in a rough but pleasant voice. “He should be around someplace.”

Bryn asked, “And you are?”

“Farkas.”

Bryn waited for more, but nothing came. “All right,” she drawled. “My name is Brynhilde. Bryn. Where may I find Kodlak?”

“He’s downstairs a lot these days, probably with Vilkas.”

She glanced around and quickly noted the stairs. “Thank you, Farkas.”

“Sure. Hey, maybe I’ll be seeing you around.”

“I hope so.” He seemed nice, if rough around the edges, and he was certainly easy on the eyes. He turned away, effectively dismissing her, or maybe he always stared off into space like that. She shrugged and headed for the stairs.

“Thinking I need to train some more.”

The mumbled comment made her pause, but when she glanced at Farkas he was still staring blankly at nothing, chewing on his bread. It had definitely been him though; he had a very distinctive voice. She blew out a breath and headed downstairs, wondering if he were a bit slow. He’d handled that giant well though.

Once on the lower floor, Bryn looked down the long hall, not sure where to go. A sleeping area was to her left, likely not where she needed to be. She heard men’s voices at the end of the hall, debating something. Did everyone here in Whiterun debate everything? It seemed that way, but she supposed the times called for it. She headed in the direction of the voices, walking softly, though not deliberately trying to sneak about. It came naturally though, something she had done a lot of in recent years, in vain attempts to avoid her aunt’s overbearing mothering and her cousin’s spying.

“But…I still hear the call of the Blood,” a young man said in a tormented voice.

An older man answered, “We all do. It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome.”

“You have my brother and me, obviously. But I don’t know if the rest will go along quite so easily.”

“Leave that to me.”

Bryn peeked around the corner of the doorway and her eyes were instantly drawn to the dark-haired man in her direct line of sight. He was clearly Farkas’ brother, Vilkas, and a twin at that. He was a well-built man, though not as massive as Farkas, quite tall, and his dark brown hair was short where the other’s was shoulder-length. He was certainly stunning, and had a flash in his piercing gray eyes that his twin didn’t. She could hardly take her eyes off him, finding something captivating about him that his brother lacked. A spark, a fire…something intense Farkas didn’t contain. A man like that could make all thoughts of finding a blond husband fly out the window. Movement next to him caught her attention, an older man slumping over in his chair as if he were exhausted, or in pain. He was handsome though, leonine, with a mane of white hair that gave him his name: Kodlak Whitemane. Her eyes went back to Vilkas and he finally noticed her there, starting slightly then giving her a scowl. The gloomy expression was so different from Farkas’ mostly open, pleasant one that it took her aback.

The old man straightened up again with what seemed a great effort and gazed at her with a neutral expression, waiting, and Bryn took a deep breath and moved forward to speak to them, hoping this wasn’t a mistake, as so many things in her life had been so far. As she moved into the light Kodlak’s eyes widened slightly, as if in recognition, and it made her pause for a few seconds before continuing forward. She straightened her shoulders, trying to look tough, knowing she failed miserably at it. It was hard to look tough when you had spent half your life deliberately starving yourself.

“A stranger comes to our hall,” Kodlak stated, his expression slipping back into neutrality. “What is your business here, girl?”

“I wish to join the Companions,” Bryn stated strongly, glad her voice didn’t waver. She knew she had a tendency to get either tongue-tied or mouthy when confronted. It was why she had kept her mouth mostly shut in front of the Jarl.

“Do you now? Here, let me have a look at you.” She moved closer, and the old man leaned forward and peered into her eyes, his own pale ones still clear, full of character. He looked to be in his sixties and was still hale, not yet rattling around in his armor; it matched the twins’, steel plate emblazoned with a wolf’s head. “Hm. Yes, perhaps,” he murmured as he sat back, stroking his beard. “A certain strength of spirit.”

Vilkas said in barely disguised dismay, “Master, surely you’re not considering accepting _her?_ ” The girl’s arms and legs were like twigs, and she seemed uncomfortable in her poorly fitted Imperial-issue armor. Gods only knew where she had gotten it; her boots and helmet didn’t match, and she had no gauntlets. Her pale blond hair stuck out haphazardly, as if she’d cut it herself without a mirror. She frowned at his comment, seeming hurt by it, which didn’t help her overall appearance of being a child playing at being a warrior. Warriors and potential warriors didn’t pout, certainly not over words he didn’t consider harsh by any means.

“I am nobody’s master, Vilkas, and last I checked we have empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts.”

“Apologies, but perhaps this isn’t the time. I’ve never even heard of this outsider.”

Bryn lifted her chin and stated, “I am Brynhilde, called Bryn. I’ve recently come to Skyrim to… to seek my fortune.” She cursed the clichéd words the moment they came out of her mouth, and she resented the man for rattling her.

“Fortune?” Vilkas scoffed. “You think you will find that here? Do we look like we are wallowing in gold to you?”

Irritated, she said, “There are more kinds of fortune than gold, brother of Farkas. And yes, from my point of view, you do look like you’re wallowing in gold. In fact I saw several pouches of it simply lying around.”

“Ho!” Kodlak chuckled. Vilkas stared at her, speechless. It wasn’t often that anyone talked back to his protégé, not even Njada. “Sometimes the famous come to us, Vilkas. Sometimes men and women come to us to seek their fame.” Vilkas grumbled and folded his arms. “It makes no difference. What matters is their heart.” The girl’s expression softened and she smiled slightly at him, turning an already pretty girl into something truly lovely. He noted she had not a single scar anywhere on her creamy skin, which worried him. Even the most naturally gifted of warriors were beginners once, and luck took you only so far.

“And their arm,” Vilkas reminded him.

“True. How are you in a battle girl?”

“I have much to learn,” Bryn stated honestly, “but I am eager to do so.” Fighting seemed to be something she was good at. Her cousin had often told her that Nords were good for nothing but bashing in heads…mostly each other’s. Well, so be it. Maybe someday she would have the opportunity to bash in his. The thought lit a sudden fire in her. If she became good enough she could avenge herself on him. Her aunt was still young and could have more children, though it would be unfortunate to cause her hurt that way. Her cousin had been a child borne of duty anyway, but Bryn had been the child of her aunt’s heart, of her aunt’s choosing, and her cousin knew it. And if she couldn’t take her revenge by murdering him, then she would do so by making a life for herself here, one so fantastic he’d have to hear about it. She would make her fame here, as Kodlak had said. Kodlak seemed to have faith in her, as the Jarl had, and she would do everything she could to affirm that faith.

“Good, good! That’s the spirit. Vilkas here will get you started on that.” He turned to Vilkas and ordered, “Take her out to the yard and see what she can do.”

“Aye,” Vilkas said shortly. He stared at his master for a moment, unsettled by how easily the old man had accepted the girl. New recruits were usually interviewed more thoroughly than this. People of many backgrounds came here, and oftentimes those backgrounds were questionable, but the Companions at least wanted to know where their newbloods came from. Kodlak was softening in his old age, but when it came to the welfare and future of the Companions he was still hard as steel. Vilkas couldn’t see what Kodlak saw in the girl, but then he wasn’t Harbinger. Not yet. He stood and grumbled at her, “Come along, then.”

The man took off at a jog, and Bryn stared at him for a moment before Kodlak said with amusement, “Better hurry along, youngling.” The girl peeped in dismay and ran after Vilkas, all legs, like a marsh bird. He chuckled again then grimaced and leaned over, the pain returning deep in his gut. He could feel the rot slowly creeping through him, week by week, infiltrating organs and muscle, though the healers said it hadn’t reached his spine or brain yet. He still had time. And now he had hope, delivered to him, finally, in the form of this gawky girl.  
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“And be careful, it’s probably worth more than you are.”

“All right,” she said breathlessly. He walked away, leaving her holding the sword, which looked plenty sharp to her. It was also extremely heavy, and Vilkas had handled it like it was made of air. The other Companions who had been watching the brief fight also began to drift away. She supposed that was that. She tried not to grin like a giddy child. She was in! She was really a Companion! Though in hindsight it seemed it should have been much harder to get in than it had been. She had only taken a few swings at Vilkas, and she hadn’t even really tried to hurt him. The thought of smashing that fine face was horrid. Not that she had stood a chance of doing so. He’d moved as if his heavy armor was a second skin and his weapon and shield extensions of his arms.

The young Imperial woman she had seen fighting the giant looked her up and down as she passed and said, “Here to be a Companion?” She snorted a laugh. “Well, they just let me in, so there’s probably no more room.”

“That was for Vilkas to decide, and it seems it has been decided,” Bryn stated, hefting the heavy blade he had thrust at her. It was a test, nothing more, she reminded herself. Everything here was a test. She hoped it wouldn’t always be this way. It would be nice to make friends, something she hadn’t been allowed much of in her prior life, her aunt worried about ‘unsavory influences’ and her cousin poisoning others against her at every turn, and many of the neighbors hadn’t been too keen to allow their perfect children to play with Bryn, either.

“So it has,” the young woman sighed, then she brightened. “But hey, that means I’m not the newest newblood anymore and can show you the ropes.”

“Very true,” Bryn laughed. “My name is Brynhilde. Bryn.”

“Ria.”

“So…why did you become a Companion?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve wanted to be a Companion my entire life!”

Bryn listened politely as the other woman went on enthusiastically about the Companions, but it was enlightening, though also embarrassing that an Imperial girl had heard of the ‘most famous warrior band in Skyrim’ but she hadn’t. She’d never heard of them before the giant. But then it was becoming painfully aware how little she knew about everything.

“This is life, sister. The struggle is what reminds us to draw every breath,” Ria finished.

“I will remember that,” Bryn said with a serious nod. She could only imagine what it was like to have that much zeal, that much energy. Though maybe if she started eating properly that would help. She’d had only a few nibbles from the sparse amount of food in her pack. The short bout with Vilkas had her stomach grumbling and she could feel the beginning of the shakes that came when she’d pushed things too far. Maybe she could have a few bites from the long tables in the hall, or sneak that sweetroll she had seen downstairs. If she was a companion now, a Shield-Sister, surely she could have a little food. Sister. She liked that.

Bryn ran her errand and received one in return, a shield for Aela. She learned Aela was the auburn-haired woman who had given her the idea to come here. It hadn’t been hard to find the Skyforge, and Eorlund had seemed pleasant, if gruff. It seemed to be the way of the folk here, something she was quickly learning not to take personally. It had been hard to tell the man’s age, but he looked to be in his sixties, and well-muscled as smiths often were. The forge itself had been marvelous, seeming to have grown out of the side of the hill like a thing of nature. Bryn had always found smithing an interesting craft, what little she knew of it. She couldn’t imagine how one took a plain ingot and fashioned it into something wearable or wieldable, something that you could depend on to save your life, or take a life. Now that she was free to do as she willed she thought she might look into learning more about it. There had been another smith near the gates, the dark blond woman. She’d sounded like she needed help at the forge, too. Surely she wouldn’t mind giving Bryn a few pointers in return for free labor.

At the corner of the building Bryn paused, seeing that Vilkas had gone back outside onto the back porch. She moved into the shadows to watch him, his face so much more pleasant now that he was alone. She had thought most Nords fair-haired, but she had seen a lot of variety in that regard, though all were fair-skinned and light-eyed. Those eyes of Vilkas’ though…they were the same as his brother’s--they had to be since they were twins--but where Farkas’ were open, Vilkas’ smoldered, with hidden depths Farkas most likely didn’t possess. She watched him sit down and stand back up half a dozen times, restless, as if struggling with something. She remembered his troubled statement earlier: _But I still hear the call of the Blood._ She watched him get up and pace a bit then he rubbed his hands over his face and went back inside the hall. Something was deeply bothering him. Whatever it was, Kodlak wasn’t immune to it either: _We all do._ They all heard the call of the blood, whoever they were, whatever ‘the blood’ was. They seemed to include at the least Vilkas, Kodlak and Farkas; she realized now that they all wore matching armor, fine steel plate emblazoned with a wolf’s head.

She gave him a minute then she followed inside. She stopped inside the doorway to let her eyes adjust to the lower light, and she saw that Vilkas had settled at the same small table Farkas had been sitting at earlier; Farkas now occupied the bench to Bryn’s immediate left. She considered stopping to talk to him again, to see if she could draw more out of him, but she had an errand to run, one she hoped was the last. Next she knew they’d be asking her to fetch their mead, and that was where she drew the line. Eorlund had counseled not to be a pushover, that no one ruled anyone else here, each man and woman their own, and she meant to take that counsel to heart.

Bryn performed her errand, meeting the older warrior he had seen talking to Aela earlier, Skjor; Ria had sung his praises during their brief conversation, speaking of his and Kodlak’s battle with a hundred and one Orc warriors, though Skjor had said it was more like forty. Even that number was astonishing. He looked like he had seen a lot of action; one eye was fogged over, on the same side of his face as a scar that ran up his cheek. He was balding but solidly built, his movements still sure and powerful, in his early to mid-fifties from what she could tell, but she wasn’t good at reading age in her own folk. He was curt, no-nonsense, but not unkind. He also wore the wolf armor.

Aela was more welcoming this time, seeming pleased that Bryn had made it here and had been accepted, though Bryn wasn’t happy about her calling Farkas ‘ice brain’. Farkas hadn’t minded, noticing her look of dismay, and it seemed it wasn’t intended in cruelty, was maybe even intended with affection. He said they were good people, and he would know. Perhaps this was how all families worked. It would take time to learn the ropes here, how everything and everyone fit together. How her people worked. She already liked it here, uncertain as she was as to how she would fit in. She had never fit in anywhere, so it was good to finally have a place where she had been taken in so easily. Even if she wasn’t able to make her mark with Jarl Balgruuf, she would have a spot here, warm meals and a dry bed, and maybe someday a family of her own making, Shield-Brothers and –sisters, until she could marry and create a real family.

Farkas left her in the common quarters with a job she wasn’t particularly pleased about, but she had taken it. She had been tasked with, it seemed, basically beating up another person, someone named Sinmir. Once he left Bryn set to the task of getting to know the others. Ria she already knew; Njada was unpleasant, hostile even, as if paranoid about being displaced, thoroughly unlikable; Torvar was nice enough, though an obvious drunk, which Bryn couldn’t figure out why it was accepted here; Athis had the typical cool Dunmer demeanor, though he had been helpful and offered to help her train in light weapons, for a price. She would take him up on that when she had the coin; she was no brawler like Farkas.

As she crossed the upper hall she passed Vilkas, and he offered begrudgingly, “Come to me with questions. I know our history almost as well as Vignar by now, though I can remember it.” He said the last with amusement, though it quickly faded. As if he weren’t used to the emotion.

“I will, thank you,” Bryn said with a slight bow. He frowned at the gesture, almost a sneer, and she ignored it, though she vowed to stop doing it. It had been drilled into her as a child as a basic politeness, and clearly was not expected or even understood here. To make conversation she said, “Farkas has given me a job already. I’m supposed to straighten out someone named Sinmir.”

“Is that so.” He could tell she didn’t relish the job. “Do you have a problem with your assignment, newblood?”

“No, I just…I’m new here. Who is Sinmir?”

“A warrior who spends all his time sitting by the fire at the Bannered Mare, drinking and complaining about how the guard does their duty.”

“Ah, yes. Bannered Mare.” She had noted it in the market, hearing the sound of music and conversation drifting out.

“Go in there and say you’re looking for Sinmir. Straighten him out, as you were told to do. It is how these things are worked out…a good clean fistfight. No grudges will be held, if that is your concern.”

“All right, but Farkas said…well, he said they needed muscle for the job…” At that Vilkas couldn’t help but laugh shortly, and she said with worry, “I know I’m thin—“

“Try eating once in a while, sister,” Aela scolded good-naturedly from across the table, having come up while Bryn had been getting acquainted with her new roommates. The Huntress picked up a leg of game bird and threw it at her, and the girl caught it nimbly. “Start with that. You go trying to do a job in your condition and you’ll make a fool of us all.”

Bryn nodded and looked helplessly at the leg, holding it by the bone, and Vilkas snorted in derision and said, “It won’t put itself in your mouth. You’re not one of those poncy types who won’t eat meat, are you?”

“Leave the child alone,” an elderly man barked. She hadn’t noticed him at the other end of the table. He pulled out a chair next to him and ordered, “Come here, lass. Sit your skinny rump down and fill up.” Bryn meekly did as ordered and began to nibble at the bird leg. He loaded cheese, fruit and bread onto her plate as he said with authority, “Name’s Vignar. Vignar Gray-Mane. You need to know anything, you come to me.”

She glanced at Vilkas at the other end of the table, and he smirked and rolled his eyes as he shook his head slightly. She was stuck though. She was not about to be rude to an elder, and he looked as ancient as Jorrvaskr itself, his face as wrinkled as a dry apple. He couldn’t be a day less than eighty. She wondered if he were Eorlund’s father. She soon found out more than she ever wanted to know about Vignar, his much younger brother Eorlund, clan Gray-Mane, their rivals clan Battle-Born, the Companions, and the political situation in Skyrim. It was educational, if tiresome, though Vilkas and Aela’s comments peppered in here and there lightened the tedium a bit. In the end it gave her a more rounded view of things, and reinforced the sense that the group here was a family as much as a company. Like all the Companions she had met so far, Vignar seemed to have no spouse or child. That was worrisome. She wanted a husband and children someday, and sooner rather than later. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life fighting and drinking and telling stories.

Vignar noticed the girl had eaten a fair amount and said, “All right then. Let that set a few minutes then get out there and do the job Farkas gave you. My advice: don’t think too hard about it. Fight well, and the rest takes care of itself.”

“Yes sir, I’ll try to do that.”

“And when you get a bit of coin in your pocket, do something about…whatever it is you’re wearing. Unless you plan on joining the Legion,” he sneered.

“No sir, I don’t plan to.” Getting involved in a civil war was the last thing she wanted. She was beginning to think both sides had their points, but the thought of kinsmen battling each other was horrifying. Still, she had been raised at the heart of the Empire, and she hoped that Ulfric Stormcloak had the best of reasons for what he was doing. If not, he fully deserved the block that they had both narrowly escaped.

“See that you don’t.” Bryn nodded and picked up her plate. Vignar put his hand on her arm. “Leave that. Tilma takes care of things around here. Always has.” Bryn nodded and stood, then she yelped when the old man pinched her leg, making the others in the hall roar with laughter. “We’ll get you fattened up into a proper Nord woman yet,” Vignar vowed.

Aela stated dryly, “Not all of us are big boned, old man.”

“I just felt her bones. They’re big. She needs to get some meat on them or she’ll blow away in the next stiff wind.”

Aela noticed with interest that the girl swallowed and lowered her gaze to the fire, her eyes looking glossy. “She needs muscle Vignar, not fat. We’ll take care of that. Our sister here has potential, just give her time.” Bryn lifted her gaze and looked at Aela gratefully. Aela nodded to her and said, “Now go teach Sinmir a lesson.”

Bryn drew herself up and said gravely, “Yes, I will do that. I will take my leave then, Vignar the Revered.”

“Aye,” Vignar muttered into a mug of mead. “I was done talking anyway.”

She glanced at Aela in concern and the Huntress made a shooing motion, and the girl jumped and hurried out of the hall, making Vignar chuckle. Vilkas leaned back in his seat and stared at the front doors, frowning as he often did. Aela said to him, “I heard she gave you quite the thrashing in the yard.”

“That would be a lie,” Vilkas stated.

“So?”

He hesitated a moment then said, “As you said, she has potential. She’s had some training, obviously. Her eyes and feet were always where they should be, and she knew where to place her blows.”

“But?” She could hear the unspoken word, hanging there.

“There is something… _odd_ about her.”

“How so? She’s young and awkward. That’s all I see. She’ll grow out of it.”

“Yes… She was not awkward in the yard, I’ll give her that. She focused the moment she armed herself. It is all the rest that troubles me.” He waved his hand at Vignar, who was nodding off. His servant Brill noticed and hurried over to attend him. Vilkas lowered his voice, though it still carried in the hall. “It’s as if the lass doesn’t know where she is the rest of the time. She is kin, a Nord, I can see that, but her mannerisms… It’s the way she holds herself, the way she talks.” Her head was always held high, almost arrogantly, but her eyes looked troubled, darting around constantly in a way he found unsettling, those eyes much too often settling on him. And such eyes. In the light of the fire they’d almost seemed to glow from within, an odd color of hazel, almost gold.

“It’s possible she was raised elsewhere, as some of us are.” It was also possible that the girl wasn’t a full-blooded Nord, but she kept that to herself. Bryn’s mother clearly had been, and that was what mattered. The girl couldn’t have run around in this climate with bare arms and legs without being Nord. Still, Aela had to admit that she was…different.

Vilkas considered this and admitted, “She did tell Kodlak that she had come to Skyrim to seek her fortune.”

“There you have it.” She tore into the remnants of the game bird in front of her.

“Yes, but—“

“Shor’s bones, must you make everything complicated?” she growled with a mouth full of meat.

“I want to know where our newbloods come from, so yes, I must,” he responded in aggravation.

“So ask her when she gets back.” Aela lifted her pale eyes to his, smirking. “I’m sure the girl would be pleased with your attention.” At that Vilkas grumbled and fell silent, uncomfortable. Aela had seen the way the girl looked at him. It was the way Ria once had, and Njada before that, the way women in most towns he went to looked at him. Farkas as well. They were good-looking, for men, Aela supposed. Men weren’t exactly her mug of mead. The girl’s attraction to Vilkas would go nowhere; relationships between Companions were not forbidden, but Vilkas had never lay down with a shield-sibling and never would, his sense of honor too strong. The crush would run its course, as Ria’s and Njada’s had. In the meantime, Aela was going to enjoy watching Vilkas squirm.


	3. Chapter 3

Bryn stared at Sinmir in dismay as he unfolded himself from the bench. The man outweighed her by a hundred pounds, at least. She gulped and put up her fists, backing away to the open area in front of the door. The other patrons of the inn started chanting _Fight! Fight! Fight!_ and before she knew it the brute was taking a swing at her. She dodged it then began circling him, looking for an opening. He was wearing iron armor, but it was laced along the sides, really the only soft spot she could see; he was wearing an iron helmet that left his cheeks exposed, but she wasn’t about to break her hand on his jaw. Why wasn’t there some kind of rule that they had to take off their armor!

“Stand still, damn you,” Sinmir cursed.

The Nord took another swing at her, a clumsy one, and Bryn could smell the mead on his breath. So he was slightly drunk then. That was fine; she’d need the advantage. She darted in and hit him in the side.

Sinmir laughed, “Well aren’t you the dainty miss. You call that a hit?”

A lovely young but gray-haired woman called to Bryn, “Lay him out flat, girl! Hit him where it hurts!”

The Bard began to beat on his drum, and the distraction caught Bryn’s attention long enough for Sinmir to swing again. It was coming for her temple, and she was able to avoid it enough to only get hit on the shoulder, but it hurt like hell. The folk cheered, not seeming to favor any side. Suddenly furious, Bryn yelled and kicked him hard in the breastplate, knocking him back. Another cheer went up and she swung at his ribs again with all her strength, making him cry out in pain.

“I’m going to kill you!” Sinmir growled.

“Ah ah ah,” the Bard called out, not missing a beat. “No killing!”

Bryn felt a laugh bubbling up at the absurdity of it all and swung with her left for the other side. She was weaker on the left but he wasn’t expecting it and his breath wooshed out of him. When he bent over she kicked him in the seat and the crowd laughed uproariously. Sinmir came up with an elbow that caught her in the thigh, making her cry out in pain, and she screamed and brought both hands down on the exposed back of his neck, landing him on the floor. He laid there a moment, panting, then struggled to his knees, and she put her fists up again.

Sinmir held his hand up and groaned, “Enough.” Bryn eyed him suspiciously, wondering if it was a trick, but the patrons groaned in disappointment, so by whatever rules there were the fight seemed to be over. “You’re tougher than you look, lass. You got me, fair and square.”

“You know what you have to do.” She wasn’t sure what that was, or what he had done, but she supposed it didn’t matter.

“All right, all right. Just leave me alone, I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay. No hard feelings?”

“Nah.” He held his hand out to her and she helped him up, and the crowd cheered as he gave her a hearty pat on the back. “Haven’t seen you around here before. Let me buy you a mug.”

“Sure.” She would sip on it at most to be polite, assuming this was part of the whole ritual of the thing. It was bewildering that he wanted to buy her a drink after that, but she didn’t have any hard feelings either, and it had actually been rather fun. It shocked her. Her shoulder and thigh ached, but it would only leave bruises, if she let it, which she wouldn’t. Some of the other patrons crowded around as she sat at the bar, and the attention was flattering, if uncomfortable.

The innkeeper Hulda pushed a cold mug in front of her and said, “You must be one of the Companions, eh?”

“Yes. It is…it’s actually my first day.” She needed to start watching how she modulated her speech; she had gotten a number of strange looks over the last couple days.

Her newness resulted in good-natured ribbing of Sinmir, who rolled his eyes and took it well. Bryn took a drink of the mead and it burned on the way down, but it didn’t taste as bad as it had the last time she tried it. It was cold and refreshing, and that was what she needed right now. She was careful not to drink enough to get even tipsy, and she was equally careful in answering the many questions thrown at her. She never lied, but she was careful.

After about half an hour Bryn was finally able to extricate herself from the inn, not wanting Farkas to wonder what was taking her so long. She paused outside the doors and healed herself, feeling the soreness and aches quickly fade. She headed up to the Wind District, feeling warm and happy. So this was what it felt like to belong. She knew she didn’t really, not yet, but it was only her first day here and she had already earned the Jarl’s attention and a place in the Companions. It was a good start. As she passed a guard near the dead tree he said, “You’ve been seen in the company of the Companions. That’s an honorable path you’re on, friend.”

“Thank you,” she said with a nod. “I’ll try to live up to it.” He continued on his rounds and she turned towards Jorrvaskr. She hoped Kodlak wasn’t busy so she could talk to him a bit more. He’d seemed a good man. She needed to make sure it was all right for her to leave Jorrvaskr to do the errand for Farengar and the Jarl. She was sure it would be all right. It had to be. If she had to choose between making the Companions happy or the Jarl, she had to choose the Jarl, of course.

Farkas was right inside the doors, as if waiting for her, and indeed he said, “I’ve been waiting. What took so long?”

“I took care of the problem. But Sinmir wanted to buy me a drink afterward.”

Farkas laughed, “Did he now. Good on him.” He looked her over and said, “And not a mark on you. You seem to have a knack for this sort of thing. I’ll make sure to let people in charge know. Here, your share.” He handed over a small bag of gold, but to Bryn it looked like a fortune.

“Thank you!”

Farkas winked at her. “Until next time.”

“Yes.” He walked away and she watched him go, unable to help admiring. He certainly was a fine-looking man, and apparently not as slow as she’d first thought. He was one of the biggest men she’d ever seen, much bulkier than his brother, though Vilkas was not a small man by any means; both twins were the same height, some of the tallest men she had ever seen, but Vilkas had a leaner build than Farkas. She was sure the two of them were popular with the ladies, and if both of them were out together…well, the women wouldn't stand a chance. She sighed and went downstairs, feeling a sudden sadness along with an aching loneliness. She had to wonder if any man in Skyrim would want her, once they really got to know her, know her background. Somehow she doubted it. Back in Cyrodiil, in the very metropolitan Imperial City, it wouldn't have been an issue. Here it probably would be, and she couldn't avoid talking about her past forever. She would put it off as long as she could though.

Kodlak was at his desk, writing in what looked to be a journal, and it reminded her that she needed to pick up one of her own to keep track of the little tidbits of information and potential jobs she might pick up. She deliberately made noise as she walked, and Kodlak glanced up at her and gave her a smile and a nod. She waited while he blew on the ink to dry it then closed the journal with a loop and catch then set it aside. He motioned to a nearby chair and she took a seat.

“Vilkas says you did well in the yard,” Kodlak stated.

“I’m flattered.” And surprised, frankly. She glanced at him then away again, finding the intensity of his pale eyes disconcerting. As if he was looking into her soul. “I just finished my first assignment. I…straightened him out, and he bought me a drink afterward.”

“This surprises you?”

“I, ah…I’m not yet used to the customs of, of Skyrim.” She’d nearly said the customs of Nords. She was a Nord.

“Yes, I noticed your accent. I can’t quite place it.” The girl’s eyes shifted to the doorway nervously. “You can close that, if you’d like. The others know better than to eavesdrop.” She bit her lip and shook her head, and he went on, “So, tell me a bit about yourself. How long have you been in Skyrim?”

“Only a couple of days.”

“Really,” he said in surprise. He hadn't been expecting that. “How did you get across the border? It’s been closed for some time now.”

“My cousin. He helped me across.” The waver in her voice was all too apparent to her and she hoped the old man didn't notice. He didn't seem to. “I ran into Aela, Ria and Farkas on the way here, fighting a giant.”

“Yes, she told me. I’m glad she mentioned us to you.”

“How did you come to join the Companions?” she asked. She could only deflect the questions for so long, but she was going to do so for as long as she could.

“Ah. Well, like most of this band, I found this family after losing my own. I traveled the length and breadth of this land, learning all I could of the sword, and the axe. I was just a boy, but I had the fire of a man in my heart. Eventually, my body caught up with my spirit.” He went on to tell her how he had become the bodyguard of a lord in Hammerfell, and while in his employ had met the previous Harbinger, Askar. He had left the lord’s employ and began to follow Askar and had returned with him to Skyrim, and realized it was where he was meant to be. He had lost his parents, his grandparents, but the Companions had become his family after that. He had been Harbinger for over twenty years now. “And you?” he prompted. “You aren't from Skyrim. So where were you raised?” The girl was a good listener, and very good at avoiding talking about herself, he’d noticed.

“I was raised in Cyrodiil. The Imperial City.” He made some small sound in acknowledgment. “My parents…my birth parents…I never knew them. They died when I was less than a year old. I was raised by my aunt, my father’s sister, and eventually her husband when she married a couple years later. She had a baby of her own soon after, my cousin, and raised us both side by side. She was all the mother I've ever known.”

“Then you will fit in here. All of us are orphans of a sort. How did your parents die?”

“In battle, so Aunt…so my aunt said. She was very fond of her brother, younger than her. He was a battlemage, and my mother Heska was a warrior. They met in the Legion, and died there, fighting the Thalmor.”

“Battlemage,” Kodlak said with interest. “There aren't too many Nord battlemages, or Nord mages in general. What was his name?”

“I doubt you would know of him, sir—“

“That is irrelevant. I asked you a question.” Bryn went suddenly rigid at the curt tone of his voice, blinking rapidly. He leaned back in his seat, feeling the rot in his gut begin to burn again, making his temper unfortunately short. He sighed and said, “Look lass, we all have demons stuffed away in a chest somewhere. Every person here has things in their past they aren't proud of, myself included, in fact myself more than most, I would say.”

“I have done nothing I should be ashamed of.”

“And yet you are ashamed. Why is that?”

“I-I am not ashamed,” she said in a tremulous voice, lifting her chin.

“You hide who, or what you are. You are being quite careful in that regard, I've noticed.” Her eyes flicked to the doorway again at the sound of footsteps. “Out with it, girl, or I may have to reconsider my decision earlier today.” Not that he would. Never. She just needed that extra push.

“You would throw me out, when I have done nothing?” Her voice broke. “I will do whatever I need to, to bring honor to the Companions—“

“Except trust the folk that will become your family, if you let them,” he said more gently. “I would not throw you out for something you cannot help, something that should not even have to be helped. Family, and honor. That’s what it means to be one of us, girl.” He looked her over then stated, “You are not a full-blooded Nord, are you.” Bryn shuddered, her eyes as huge as a terrified deer’s. He had seen plenty of eyes like that in his younger days while traveling the world. She looked ready to flee, and he brought his hand down heavily on her arm as he leaned forward and said intently, “No one here would turn you out over something as inconsequential as the circumstances of your birth, or the folk who raised you.” She still trembled but her anxiety eased somewhat. “And those folk were?”

“Altmer,” she whispered, her eyes darting to the door again. “My father was Altmer, a High Elf battlemage. His name was Ennescar. My aunt’s name was Elluhrine. She raised me. With my cousin Yancarro. He was the one who…he is the reason I am here.” Kodlak gave her arm a pat then let go with a sigh. She went on in slow, heartbroken words, “My parents were not married, Auntie said. She said I’m…I was, a mistake, but one she could not regret. She...she said my mother was a convenience to my father, nothing more than that, and that he never would have married a...a brute like her.”

“Cruel words, and who is to say if they were true? She was not there, was she.” Bryn shook her head, close to tears. So Altmer blood had given her those golden eyes and her height and pale hair. It was obvious now that he knew it. “Many Nords do not marry, those who cling to the old ways, in the remote villages. A man and woman pledge their troth and create a home together, and it is considered as binding as any marriage and the children as legitimate as any. For some time the teachings of the Temple of Mara have held sway, and neither way is better than the other. I have never been married. I've never felt the need. This is all the family I have ever desired, and it is more than enough. Glory in battle, honor in life, and the love and respect of your shield-siblings; that is the way of the Companions.” She didn't respond in any way, looking miserable. “What is your fear? Our Shield-Brother Athis is an Elf.”

“He is Dunmer. He is not the kind of mer that most Nords detest.”

“Nords detest the Thalmor,” he corrected.

“But Ralof—“

“Ralof,” Kodlak muttered with a frown. He shifted in his seat, ignoring the throbbing pain that had spread under his ribs. “That is the name of one of Ulfric Stormcloak’s lieutenants. Surely you aren't mixed up with that lot.”

“No, I swear I am not. I…I’m still not sure what happened. Yancarro…he hated me,” she whispered. The footsteps had receded and a door had closed, but she was still anxious about being overheard. “Our whole lives he hated me, because my aunt cosseted me but not him. She said he was born with a purpose, out of duty, but my only purpose was to be loved, even if I was…mixed. A mistake.”

Kodlak grunted, his eyes still narrowed. It never ceased to amaze him, the damage some folk unwittingly caused to their children. Family was everything to Nords. Who knew what family meant to Altmer, even the lowest of which lived under the Thalmor’s thumb nowadays? It seemed the girl had been loved by her Elven aunt, but it couldn’t have been the warm love a human mother would give a child of her own womb. If anything it sounded like the love one had for a pet.

Bryn went on, “My uncle never warmed to me. He kept treating me as a servant, telling Auntie that he…well, he said I was a Nord cow and good for nothing but sweeping floors and hauling wood.” Kodlak said nothing, his expression not changing. “I kept trying to run away, from the time I was little, and someone always caught me and brought me back, either my aunt or grandmother or the neighbors or the city guards. We lived in the Elven Gardens district, and there was no way out but through the gates, or the sewers. I got good at hiding from everyone, but I could never find a way out that I wasn't too scared to use, and by time I was an adult I stopped trying. For the last few years Yancarro has been civil to me, lately kind even, and he offered to escort me across the border so I could look for my mother’s family, somewhere in The Rift. It was nothing but a trick. Once we got deep into the Pale Pass he charmed me and…” She swallowed hard. “He hacked off my hair. It was down to my waist. He grabbed the braid and hacked it off, and he made me change into rags and armed me, then he bashed me in the head. Next thing I knew I was in a cart with Ulfric and Ralof, and some poor horse thief.”

“Well then, you were lucky, weren't you?”

“Was I?” she said with grief.

“Yes, you were. And maybe something more than that, but yes, you are lucky you weren't killed. Better sad than dead, girl.” He stared at her a moment and she gazed back with an anguish-filled expression. “If you were with Ulfric and his close circle, and you ended up here, then you must have been at Helgen. I've heard rumors today that Ulfric escaped from Helgen. That there was a dragon there.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “That’s why I came to Whiterun. To tell Jarl Balgruuf about the dragon. It was only chance that I saw Aela and the others fighting the giant.”

“Again, luck was with you.” She shrugged listlessly, but Kodlak had chills running up his spine that quieted the ache in his gut. Yes, the girl was operating on more than luck. Much more. He had known that before he’d ever met her, but now…now he felt it in his bones, seeing his dreams made real. “So. You came down here for a reason, lass, and it wasn't to keep an old man company or make small talk.”

“This was small talk?” He barked out a laugh then began coughing, waving Bryn off when she moved to get his mug and offer him a drink. “You’re unwell,” she said with concern.

“Aye, but it’s nothing a healer can fix. I have seen enough of them to know.” She gazed at him with worry, those lovely golden eyes so large and childlike in her thin face. Her concern was touching for someone she had only met that morning. “How old are you, girl?”

“Twenty-seven.” His eyebrows rose slightly then he reached for his mug himself. She knew she looked young for her age. Maybe it was a product of her Altmer blood, or the extremely sheltered life she had lived. She didn't know any other half-Elves, so she had no way of knowing how she was going to age.

“Vilkas said you moved as if you've had training.”

“Some. My aunt had been a battlemage in her youth, as my father had. They joined the Legion together. They were not Thalmor sympathizers, but when the Dominion took over she laid down arms and accepted the husband they arranged for her, so she despises the Thalmor no matter her heritage. She trained me some, in the sword and bow. I am much better with the bow.”

“Yes, Aela was impressed, and that is no small thing.”

“Auntie tried to teach me magic, but I have no gift for it. I can manage only a small healing spell that I learned as a child.” He made a sound of sudden understanding and nodded, looking over her unmarked skin. Feeling better to have gotten this all out in the open, she said in a stronger tone, “But as to why I am here…I know I just arrived, but I owe an errand to the Jarl. His court wizard, Farengar, has been studying dragons for some time. It was an academic exercise, until recently. He wants me to fetch something for him, a stone he said might help him understand more about the dragons. I may be gone for a while, I don’t know how long.”

“Your life is your own, lass. If you have business to attend to, then do it, and no one will gainsay you. I would only suggest that you let one of the Circle know when you are leaving, so no one worries, and perhaps give a general idea of where you are going.”

“For now, Riverwood again, then Bleakstone Barrow.”

Kodlak frowned anew. “Burial crypts are no place to be poking around,” he stated sternly. “I cannot imagine what the Jarl and his pet mage were thinking to send a green girl into such a place. And unfortunately I cannot in good conscience send a shield-sibling with you. It is not Companion business.”

“I understand. I didn't expect any help.”

As she stood he flicked his fingers at her armor. “That will not do. Eorlund is rather possessive of his precious Skyforge, but Adrianne Avenicci is always looking for help. The poor lass is overworked. Perhaps she will help you adjust the fit of your armor, in exchange for some assistance at the forge.”

“I was thinking that earlier. I’ll do that before I go.”

Kodlak shook his head as he turned back to his desk. “Do it now, then come back here and rest another night and set out tomorrow. This is your first day here. Tonight you will sleep in a warm dry bed on a full stomach, in the company of your shield-siblings.”

“Yes, Harbinger.”

“Good lass.”

Effectively dismissed, Bryn left Kodlak’s quarters, stopping by the common quarters to grab her pack, intending to sell the old Imperial armor Hadvar had given her, now that she had a somewhat better version. She didn't at all like what she was wearing, feeling half-naked, and wondered if she could trade it in for something that provided a bit more cover, and maybe some regular clothes while she was at it. She hoped it wouldn't hurt the Jarl’s feelings or anger him, but then he probably wouldn't even notice from the haphazard way he had picked it out of a chest and tossed it at her.

She made her way to Belethor’s shop and sold off the spare armor, buying a blank journal, a pencil, and a map of Skyrim, getting in and out as quickly as she could. Down by the city gates she saw the Jarl’s housecarl, Irileth, ordering three of the guards out to Riverwood. Bryn wasn't too impressed with their whining about having to face a dragon, but the Dunmer woman quickly put them in their place.

Bryn snorted a laugh and turned into Warmaiden’s smithy area, seeing the Imperial woman hard at work. Adrianne glanced up from her grindstone and said, “Got some good pieces out here if you’re looking to buy. More inside.”

“Maybe later,” Bryn answered. “I couldn't help overhearing your conversation this morning and wondered if you needed some help around the forge.”

The woman smiled and said brightly, “Why yes, actually! Why don’t you smith me an iron dagger. Here’s everything you need, go ahead.” Bryn accepted the ingot and leather but stared at it helplessly. Adrianne said with less enthusiasm, “You don’t know how to smith, do you.”

“Well no, but I am eager to learn. I've watched smiths before, many times. I’d like to help, truly.”

“All right then,” the woman said more gently. “At least you’re willing, which is more than I can say for anyone else around here.” She’d lose productive time showing the girl the ropes, but gain more in the end for having some help. She led Bryn over to the forge and began showing her the basics, making small talk as they did so. She told the girl that the Jarl’s steward was her father, which Bryn had guessed. Adrianne was shocked however to learn that Bryn had become one of the Companions, just that morning. “That’s surprising,” she stated as she watched Bryn cool the small, glowing blade. “That lot won’t usually lower themselves to do any real work. Spend their days killing things and their nights singing and swilling mead, though I have to admit that their deeds are truly the stuff of legend. Meanwhile Tilma cleans up the mess and Eorlund mends their armor and sharpens their weapons. Not that he would let any of them near the Skyforge.” She shook her head and said, “I certainly don't claim to be the best blacksmith in Whiterun. Eorlund Gray-Mane has that honor. Man's steel is legendary. All I'm asking is a fair price for my work."

“But is his steel legendary because of his skill, or because he works the Skyforge?”

Adrianne grinned at her and said, “I like how you think. Come on, let’s get you started.”

Over the next hour Adrianne helped Bryn learn the basics of smithing, pleased with the girl’s quick progress. She told her that if she weren't already a Companion she would hire her on the spot as an assistant. Bryn said in a wistful tone, “I appreciate the offer. I really do. I’ll see if I can stop in here every so often to lend a hand, if that’s all right. I don’t need payment, but if I could use your equipment once in a while in trade, just to keep up my gear…”

“Of course, of course. And feel free to sell me any arms or armor you come across in your travels. Ulfberth and I are always looking for more exotic stock for the shop. I’m so busy smithing for the Legion that I don’t have much time to work on the more interesting stuff.”

“I’m free the rest of the afternoon. I’d be glad to work on anything else you feel good about me handling.”

Adrianne beamed. “That would be marvelous. You do seem to have a talent for this work. How about you sharpen that stack of blades under the workbench while I go inside for a bit?”

Bryn noticed the woman suddenly looked a bit pale under her tan, though her poise hadn't faltered. “Do you feel all right?”

The smith waved her off and shook her head, saying, “Oh, I’m fine, fine, just need to eat something. I ah, probably shouldn't say anything so soon, but we just found out we’re expecting, and Ulfberth is worried sick. He knows I have to work long hours, but the old bear makes me come in between noon and two every day to sit for a while and eat and rest. Not that I need it, but it makes him feel better.”

“Congratulations,” Bryn said with a brief smile. “That’s wonderful.” She couldn't help feeling a pang of envy. It had to be pleasant to be settled, with a career and a loving, protective husband and a little one growing in the womb. The shop was right at the gate so Adrianne could watch everyone come and go. It seemed a nice life, but Bryn wasn't meant for such things, it seemed. Not yet. Some day she would have that big blond Nord husband of her dreams, once she had made a name and fortune for herself. Maybe he wouldn't even need to be blond. Her mind had kept wandering back to Vilkas in a rather annoying fashion all day long. The man seemed a bit of a grouch, but maybe he would warm up once she got to know him. She was so damn tall that she didn't really have a lot of options, but he looked just the right size for her.

“Thank you, we both think so. We tried a long time for this one, been married quite a few years and thought it would never happen. So don’t tell anyone. Wouldn't want to jinx it.”

“I promise, on my honor.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

The smith went inside and Bryn soon settled into the rhythm of whetting blades, and before she knew it Adrianne’s lunchtime was over and the smith was eyeing Bryn’s work with approval. In payment she let Bryn keep the dagger and helmet she’d made earlier, and also helped her improve the fit of her armor and boots. She also told Bryn about the many kinds of ore deposits that could be found around Skyrim, easily mined by those who knew how. Bryn continued working with the smith the rest of the day, enjoying the work and the company. Adrianne told her everything she knew about Whiterun, the Jarl, her father, and the political climate as she knew it. Bryn felt she had a much better picture of the situation by time the day ended. Adrianne asked her one last favor, to take a greatsword she had forged for the Jarl up to her father, and she easily agreed to it, heading that general direction.

Bryn took her leave and ran the entire way to Dragonsreach, and she was relieved when she was able to catch Proventus’ eye at the dinner table and not the Jarl’s; she didn’t want him to think she was slacking on performing her errand. The sword was quickly delivered and she was soon twenty septims richer. She ran down to Belethor’s for the third time that day, earning a leering comment from the little Breton about not being able to stay away from him. She soon had herself a cheap but presentable wool dress, cotton undershift and soft leather shoes to change into; though the armor no longer jangled or chafed, she didn't want to spend every waking moment in it. Belethor was more than happy to let her use a small room to change, and she kept a nervous eye on the walls, wondering if the creepy little man was looking through a hidden peephole somewhere.

When she opened the doors to Jorrvaskr she was met with a hearty greeting from the gathered warriors around the table, all but Njada, and she felt her face turn bright pink. Everyone was there except Kodlak, which worried her. She wondered what affliction he had that kept him downstairs.

Farkas called out, “Hey little sister! I saved a spot for you, right by me. Tilma cooked up something really good for your first dinner here.” Bryn grinned and came over to join him, dropping her pack by a bench on the way. He looked her over, saying, “You look nice. You clean up real good.”

“Um, thanks, you look nice too,” she said, her voice coming out in an undignified squeak that Farkas didn't seem to notice. The Companions were all out of their armor and clean of warpaint, and the big man next to her was certainly an impressive sight, a damn handsome man for sure. He didn't quite do for her what his brother did, but he was very, very easy on the eyes.

He set a mug of mead in front of her, some of it sloshing over onto the table, making Tilma cluck her tongue from where she turned the spit over the fire. “Here little bird, drink up. Though you look a lot less like a bird now with those skinny arms and legs covered up.”

“Put a sock in it, lout,” Aela chided on the other side of him. “You’ll give the girl a complex.”

“I’m a little drunk, Aela--”

Torvar called out in a slurred voice, “No, you’re a big drunk.”

The others laughed as Farkas said agreeably, “Pot and kettle, my friend. Pot and kettle.” He patted Bryn’s shoulder, making her nearly spill her drink. “I’m not really a drunk, you know. Everybody likes to have a drink now and then, and tonight’s special.”

“I understand,” Bryn answered.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and said with a grin, “Something tells me you've never been drunk.”

“You would be correct, and I never will.”

“Ha, we’ll see about that.”

“You’re free to try,” she said with an answering grin. “It won’t get you anywhere.”

Farkas slammed his meaty fist on the table, making the food jump and Aela growl in annoyance. “I like a challenge!”

Bryn had every intention of sticking to her word, but somehow Farkas and Torvar managed to get her there sip by sip, making her quickly lose count of how much she had drunk, and before she knew it she was laughing hysterically over some fantastic tale being spun, and an hour later dancing an Elven reel to the tune of Athis’ flute. The gathered Companions clapped in time as she kicked off her shoes and lifted her skirts, and she was soon joined by Torvar and Ria. They didn’t know the steps but danced along anyway, Bryn taking Torvar’s hands to guide him. She felt someone turn her around and she was then dancing with Farkas, unable to help doubling over with laughter every so often; he was a decent dancer, his feet sure, but he was deliberately being comical, and she had never seen anything so funny, though maybe it was only that funny because she was so incredibly drunk.

Farkas let her go, handing her over to Vignar of all people, and Athis thoughtfully slowed the tune a bit to suit the old gentleman’s taste. She heard a lute join the song and it switched to something she wasn't familiar with, though the pace was even and easy to follow. The clapping continued and she went to Skjor and pulled him to his feet, and while he grumbled a bit he went along agreeably, making Aela and the others cheer anew, even Njada. He was soon smiling and dancing along with her, surprisingly skilled at it, making her wonder where he had learned such a thing.

Bryn soon worked her way through all the men, even Brill, except for Vilkas, who stayed in his seat, though he clapped and smiled with the others. Bryn spun her way over to his seat and held her hands out, saying breathlessly, “Dance with me, Vilkas!”

He laughed into his mug and muttered, “I don’t think so, girl.” She was wearing only her shift, having pulled off her wool dress at some point during the dancing, and the fire backlit her body in a way that told him it would be a very bad idea indeed to lay hands on her. While everyone else was at least a bit tipsy, he was entirely sober; he had never been much of a drinker and handled alcohol much more poorly than his brother. That didn't change the fact that watching her dance had been an exercise in extreme frustration, and denying the call of the Blood for the last several weeks had been torture and was making his self-control an iffy prospect at best.

“No fair,” she pouted. “Everyone else has danced but you.” He shrugged, not looking at her. She crossed her arms and said, “You know, maybe other women find your brooding mysterious and alluring, but I just find it annoying.”

The others, watching, roared with laughter over that, and Farkas yelled, “Yeah, how many times have I told you that, brother? How many times!” Fresh laughter ran through the hall.

Vilkas growled in aggravation and set down his mug with extreme care, and feeling sorry for him Bryn said, “I was just joking, but dance with me, please!”

“No.”

“Dance!” she cried, stamping her foot.

“No. Go away.” Vilkas sputtered as the girl threw herself into his lap, and before he could stop her, her arms went around his neck. The others whistled and she gazed into his eyes with those unsettling golden ones of hers, thick-lashed and exotic, even more unsettling now that he knew where they had come from. Kodlak had gathered the Circle earlier that afternoon to make them aware of Bryn’s background and let them know that she was sensitive about it. It offended Vilkas a bit to realize that Kodlak was implying that no one should give her a hard time about being half-Elven. As if he would, though that didn't make him any more comfortable with it. He had definite strong feelings about Elves, Altmer in particular. It wasn’t the girl’s fault, what she was, and he wouldn’t hold it against her, but it made him uneasy. Her gaze softened as her eyes dilated and she smiled hesitantly at him, and as she shifted he felt a pang of hot desire go through him that made him suddenly furious and afraid all at once. And her ass was bony as hell on his leg.

Seeing his brother’s already poor mood turn foul, Farkas plucked the girl out of Vilkas’ lap and slung her over his shoulder, making her squeal in offense and the others laugh anew. Farkas wasn't so tipsy that he hadn't kept an eye on the girl the whole time, feeling responsible for her since he had deliberately gotten her drunk. She had been having a wonderful time until Vilkas’ difficult nature had soured everything. No one but Farkas had seemed to notice the sudden violent shift in his mood or how angry he had become. His twin had always had the more fiery nature, was more quick to aggravation, and he was prone to brooding as Bryn had noted, but he had been having more trouble than usual the last few weeks. Farkas knew why and regretted it, not really missing it all that much himself, but then he didn't make things complicated. Vilkas couldn't help it. Vilkas was complicated.

“All right, little bird,” Farkas chided. “Enough of that. Come have a seat and get some food in you—“

“No, I want more mead!” she demanded.

“Nope, you’re cut off.”

“I said _more mead!_ ” she shouted, punctuating the last two words with slaps to his backside.

That sent the others into hysterics and he laughed, “Naughty girl,” and paid her back in kind, making her yelp. He dumped her into her chair and she took a swing at him, but he laughed and caught her fist. She subsided in a pout, swaying a bit in her chair, and he pushed a fresh mug to her. She picked it up greedily and took a deep drink and nearly spit it out when she realized it was water. She grumbled and drank it down then took a few bites of food before she began to eat in earnest. She brightened when Farkas put a sweetroll in front of her, though as she stared at it her expression quickly fell again.

“Oh Farkas,” she said sadly in a slurred voice, staring at the confection in front of her. “Did you know I've never had a sweetroll? How can I go all my life without ever having a sweetroll?”

“You've got one now, sister. Eat up.”

“I can’t. I’ll get fat. I don’t want to end up some fat Nord cow. I’ll eat us all out of house and home.” The muted conversation stilled at that.

“Aw, c’mon, who told you that? Be a good girl and eat your sweetroll. You can have as many as you want.”

“No I can’t. I can’t ever have anything I want. Why can’t I ever have anything I want? What did I ever do to deserve that except be born?”

Seeing her suddenly close to tears, Farkas sighed, “All right, off to bed.” He’d seen plenty a drunk get melancholy, but this was more than that, and probably nothing she wanted aired in front of everyone. The others all looked uncomfortable or worried, though Aela looked both angry and worried, staring at the girl with flared nostrils, a clear sign she was feeling agitated.

“No, I don’t want to go to bed,” Bryn stated, her voice trembling. “I’m having fun. Can’t you see how much fun I’m having?”

“Sure can. Let’s go.” She refused to stand, and he sighed again and pulled her chair back then scooped her out of it. She didn't protest this time. He carried her across the hall, hearing soft calls of goodnight that she didn't answer, burying her face in the front of his shirt as she began to sniffle and shake. Vilkas was already gone.

Tilma shook her head as she mopped up a puddle of spilled ale on the floor, saying, “I’d love to tan the hide of whoever it was that damaged that poor child.”

The tension eased, Skjor stated firmly, “She has this family now. She’ll learn to deal with her demons, just as the rest of us have.”

“Oh I know, I know. It just makes me sad.” The old woman clucked her tongue. “The poor thing.”


	4. Chapter 4

Bryn sat impatiently in the downstairs hall near the door by the stairs, nibbling at some apples and the sweetroll she hadn't touched last night. Farkas had insisted she finish it before leaving, and she had promised she would, though her stomach was still queasy. Somehow she hadn't vomited this morning, though hearing Torvar do so nearly made her lose it. The man actually kept a bucket under his bed for that express purpose, something she found revolting. The others hadn’t blinked an eye, in fact they had acted as if everything were normal, as if she hadn't made an ass of herself the night before, in fact they all seemed to have warmed a bit to her, except Njada, of course, which didn't matter. She decided that if they weren't going to let it bother her, then she wouldn't. She wasn't entirely successful, but she could move on.

The person she was waiting for finally came out of his room and down the hall, hesitating briefly before continuing on, avoiding her eyes, his steel armor clanking softly. He reached the door, ignoring her, and she stood and whispered, “Please, Vilkas, I…” He stopped, his hand on the handle. She could see the muscles along his jaw clench. “I’m sorry. I apologize for my behavior. It was shameful, drunk or not.” She was surprised to see a faint blush rise on his cheeks beneath the warpaint but he stayed silent. She swallowed and said in a shaking voice, “I have caused offense. I see that.” He took a deep breath then let it out slowly but still didn't answer. “If I have caused offense…please, tell me how to make amends. I—“

“Just don’t let it happen again,” he said curtly, staring at the carvings on the door. “That is all. Just… don’t.”

“All right. I promise,” she whispered, nodding. He grumbled and went through the door, letting it fall shut behind him. She swallowed hard and listened to his heavy steps on the stairs then they were gone. 

She sank back into the chair and began forcing down the apples and sweetroll, the pastry not as delicious as she had hoped it would be. Nothing ever was. It was obvious that Vilkas was uncomfortable around her now, more so than before, and she had no idea how to fix it other than to leave him alone. Maybe with time he would warm to her, enough to be at least civil. It wasn't as if he hated her. She might have been drunk last night but she remembered everything. She remembered seeing him laugh and clap, though not as enthusiastically as the others had, his smile every bit as beautiful as Farkas’. She remembered him watching her dance through those intense eyes, especially after she had gotten too hot and sweaty and thrown off her wool overdress. The memory of that made her groan in humiliation through a mouthful of pastry. She had found the dress neatly turned right-side out and folded by her bed this morning, probably by Tilma, along with her pack. The cleaning woman had been up before everyone else, bright and early. Bryn couldn't imagine when she found time to sleep.

Bryn finished her meal and set the mug on the plate for Tilma then hefted her pack onto her shoulder and went upstairs, as ready to set out as she was going to be. Her pack was full of necessities, leaving her much better prepared than when she had set out from Riverwood: plenty of dried trail food and a canteen of water; a few minor healing and magicka potions; a firestarter; her map, journal and pencil in a side pocket. Her bow and quiver were on her back along with the shield; Farkas had shown her this morning how to arrange her gear more efficiently, to be more comfortable and more easily accessed during battle. She felt a swell of affection for the big, kind man. He had taken her to his room last night and held her on his lap as she cried, listening patiently as she wept and told him her life’s story in pathetic, sordid detail. He hadn't even blinked an eye when she’d blown her nose on his shirt, something that had horrified her when morning had come. He had let her fall asleep in his bed as he’d patted her back and the next thing she had known she was waking up in her own bed in the common quarters. She had never in her life been treated with such unselfish decency, and she loved him for it. He didn't stir her the way Vilkas did, for some reason, even though they were identical twins, but she loved him. She might have even told him that, when she was drunk.

She went silently up the stairs, feeling a pang of grief. She wished she had been drunk enough to not remember anything. Not remember how Vilkas had felt underneath her, how he had smelled, so warm and cleanly masculine, his pale gray eyes blazing like stars. Up close they had been stunning, almost silver, with a ring of darker gray around the outside of the iris. And then the fury had come, like a sudden bolt of lightning, as if she were repugnant to him. Farkas had said last night that Kodlak had told the Circle about her background, that everyone was fine with it and it wasn't an issue. Something about her though had offended Vilkas, maybe even had from the start, and she had no idea what it was. She had spent all morning running over it in her head, trying to figure out what was wrong with her, wondering what it was about her that bothered Vilkas, hoping it was something she could fix. She had no idea how to make it right with him, because surely ignoring him and staying away from him wouldn't do it. She knew that much.

Aela was waiting at the front door, face painted and armor on, and the other woman gave her one of her brief, cool smiles as Bryn approached. She said, “I see you made it to morning. Torvar’s rather proud of you. He says you didn't even puke.”

Bryn glanced at the man, who was leaning on one hand at the table, looking ill, but he grinned at her with bleary eyes and gave her a thumbs up. “She’s a champ,” he said with pride. “We’ll see how round two goes tonight.” Bryn made a sound of horror and shook her head vehemently.

Aela rolled her eyes at the man then said to Bryn, “Once was enough, eh?”

“Most certainly,” she stated. Torvar made a sound of disappointment and went back to poking at his breakfast. Bryn’s eyes scanned the hall and she saw that Vignar’s door was still closed; Athis was heading out the back door to the yard with a practice weapon in hand; Skjor was polishing his armor at a side table; Vilkas was in his usual spot at the right hand end of the table, slowly chewing his food and staring at the ever-present fire, pointedly ignoring her, his eyes narrowed. Maybe he was always like this. Maybe it wasn't just her.

“Good girl. Now, focus,” she ordered, grabbing her shoulders. Bryn’s eyes returned to her and the young woman nodded seriously, her attention on Aela, standing up tall. By the Nines the girl was tall, even for a Nord, as tall as Kodlak, though not nearly as tall as the twins, who were some of the tallest men she had ever met. “Kodlak told us where you’re going today. So. Focus.”

“Yes.”

“Keep your wits about you. I have never ventured into one of those crypts, and I don’t plan to, but I have heard enough about them. Be quiet and the dead will most likely stay that way, but if you go banging around in there, Arkay knows what will happen. The draugr have been sleeping for thousands of years, but every so often… _something_ wakes them up. I've heard you can tell the ones that still have some sort of unlife in them, as opposed to the truly dead. Look for the ones whose armor is still intact, who still have more flesh on their bones. Put an arrow into them first chance you get. I've seen your aim, and it’s good. Take them out before they even awake and you might make it out without ever having to engage hand-to-hand. If nothing else, you’ll have some damage in before that.” Bryn nodded seriously. “If you see one leaning back as if to take a deep breath, spin away to the side. It’s the _thu’um_ —“

“The what?”

“The _thu’um_. A Shout.” The girl looked perplexed. “Ah, I forget. Well, suffice it to say that I've heard some of them can do it. Knocks you flat on your back, and they hack into you while you’re still trying to regain your feet. If it looks like they’re getting ready to Shout at you, drop to the floor or spin away to the side. It’ll lessen the impact.”

“I’ll remember,” she said in a serious tone. When Aela had nothing else to add she asked, “Are there any taboos I should be weary of breaking? I’m still unaware of so many Nord customs, and I don’t want to cause any offense in a place of the dead.”

Aela snorted and let her hands fall. “The dead can’t be offended that I’m aware of. I’d say that whatever you find in there is yours to keep. The dead have no use for gold or trinkets.”

Bryn glanced at the hall and no one disagreed, or even seemed to care. “What of bandits? What should I do if I encounter them? What are the rules?”

Torvar responded to that, saying wryly, “Rules? Ain't no rules when it comes to that, sister. Strip them of everything of value and leave the carcasses to the bears and wolves. Can make a pretty septim that way.” He ended the advice with a resounding belch.

“Oh, I…see. Yes. I will remember that.” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I am off, then.”

“All right. Be careful out there. I wish you could take a shield-sibling with you, but…well.”

“I know. Thank you. I’ll be back soon.”

“See to it, sister.”

Bryn smiled gratefully at her then Aela turned away, heading for Skjor, who looked up from his work and gave Bryn a brief salute. She smiled and nodded in reply. Torvar had laid his head on the table. Her eyes moved to Vilkas and he quickly looked away to the back door. As if he had been watching her. She bit her lip and left. It was no use trying to figure out what was in that man’s head. A complete waste of time. She told herself that, but she thought about it—and him—all the way to Riverwood.  
-  
“Bear, moth, owl,” Bryn whispered. “Seems simple.” Ridiculously so. She stared at the golden claw in her hand, taking the opportunity to rest a bit and drink some water; if she hadn't yet unlocked the door, nothing else could come through the other side. Gods only knew what the door was keeping in, since it surely wasn't keeping much of anyone out. The few puzzles she had come across had been simple, easily solved as this one had been.

She had made her way through the levels of the barrow with only slight difficulty; Aela’s advice had been spot on. Bryn had shot every bonewalker she had found sleeping in their niches, finishing off with her mace any that hadn't been taken down by the first shot or two. The creatures were stupid as well, easily tricked and sloppy fighters, if brutal, as if their desiccated brains were no longer capable of anything but instinct. She longed for a sword, but the dry bodies were most likely best dealt with this way. It had been hard to recover her iron arrows though, most of them getting caught in the bones and snapping off, becoming useless. She had been able to take a number of ancient arrows from the creatures’ quivers, but the shafts felt brittle with age and she was reluctant to use them; she was saving those to use as last resort. 

It had been the bandits that had troubled Bryn most; they were clever fighters, cunning, quick, and not easily tricked. She had only been able to get in a few shots in stealth and the rest had to be finished off by hand, something that had nearly been the end of her several times. She’d quickly gone through her potions but had her healing magic to fall back on, and she silently thanked her aunt for drilling the skill into her. She hadn't liked killing actual people, but she wasn't going to lose sleep over it either; the bandits wouldn't hesitate to kill her, not for one second. The Stormcloak deaths she had caused still haunted her though. Hadvar had wanted to reason with them and they wouldn't listen. The fighting had been so very unnecessary.

She wondered where Hadvar was now; he hadn't been in Riverwood, was most likely on his way to Solitude to report in. She wondered if he had thought about her at all. Alvor had seemed pleased to see her, if a bit distant, and had been interested to hear that she had tried her hand at smithing and suggested someone named Balimund in Riften as a skilled teacher. She thought she might look him up some day if she had time. The Valerius siblings had been nice enough, though their bickering had quickly gotten old, and there seemed to be some rivalry over Camilla between the town Bard and the Bosmer, Faendal, that she refused to get involved in. She hoped Lucan had the decency to give her a price break once she got the claw back to him.

“All right then,” she said firmly, putting her canteen away, ready to move on. It was a simple matter to spin the stone rings into position and fit the claw into the lock. The door slid down into the ground with a rumbling, grinding sound that she was sure could be heard for miles, making her grit her teeth.

A stairway led up, lit by braziers, and for the hundredth time she wondered who was maintaining the things down here. Maybe it was the draugr, going about their routine by mindless habit, who knew. The stairs led up to a large chamber, and her eyes were drawn to the large engraved wall behind a sealed crypt. She had never seen anything like it, capped by a stylized dragon’s head, though of course in her sheltered life she hadn't seen much of anything so far. She crept along the right hand side of the chamber, keeping her eye on the crypt. The dragonstone she was here for was undoubtedly up there, along with whatever new horror was sleeping in the sarcophagus; it was too much to hope that its occupant was truly dead. She just wasn't going to get that lucky.

Bryn cringed as bats flew past her, but it told her an exit was nearby, and indeed the air in here smelled fresh. A waterfall flowed down on either side of the wall, and she crept off to the right to refill her nearly empty canteen. Once that was done she slipped across the bridge, never taking her eyes off the crypt, and made sure to take out her mace and shield as a precaution. She stepped softly toward the stairs leading up to the crypt, then she stopped still in her tracks as a soft murmur sounded in her mind. She glanced around in confusion and slowly moved forward, hearing the murmur grow into chanting. It was coming from the wall.

Unable to help herself, Bryn walked woodenly towards the arc of carved stone, seeing runes, one set of them starting to glow bright blue and crackle. The chant became deafening, and she stiffened then fell to her knees with a gasp as the glow reached out and wrapped around her, making her vision go black as pressure filled her head. “Fus!” she cried, unable to stop the word from bursting out of her mouth. She stayed on her knees, panting, as her vision slowly returned and the crackling hiss stopped along with the chant. She shook her head, feeling dizzy and a bit disoriented, and climbed to her feet, putting her back to the wall to keep her eyes on the sarcophagus. _Fus_ …the word whispered in her mind, its meaning beyond her comprehension. Aela hadn't said anything about this at all. She hadn't even mentioned anything like it.

Once she was recovered, within a few minutes, Bryn decided to start searching for the stone, hoping against all hope that it wasn't in the coffin. That hope didn't hold out long as she edged around the wall and heard the telltale crack of a crypt opening. She spun around and put up her shield, a shiver of horror going through her as the skeletal visage swung around and glowing undead eyes riveted to her. Eyes that had much more presence than any of the previous ones had.

Bryn peeped with fear as the creature leaned back and seemed to take a breath, and before she could move it shouted _“ZUN!”_ Her mace flew out of her hand, leaving her stunned and disarmed, and she backed away and began frantically looking for it. Thankfully the draugr wasn't particularly fast, and she was able to roll out of the way of several other Shouts, catching only the edge, which still left her shaken, and use her bow to take several shots at the creature. After running around like a fool for what seemed like an eternity, Bryn stumbled over the mace and tumbled to the ground on her face, knocking the breath out of her. She heard the patter of draugr feet behind her and she grabbed the mace and rolled to her feet, narrowly missing an axe in the head.

The draugr drew breath again, and Bryn bashed it in the face with her shield, stopping it cold, but it immediately brought up its axe and brought it down on her shield, the impact sending a shudder through her arm. Bryn and the creature began to circle each other, exchanging blows, and it began to wear her down. Before she could get out of the way it shouted _“FUS!”_ at her, making her stumble, and she brought up her shield just in time to block another blow, but another quickly followed, catching her in the side, sending a searing cold through her. She cried out in agony, breathless, and began backing towards the stairs. The draugr looked like it was falling apart but still came at her, its rictus grin never failing, eyes malevolently glowing. She turned and limped down the stone stairs, gasping for breath, hoping she could raise the stone door before it came through.

She cried out in desperation when she saw no mechanism to raise the thing; it had completely receded into the floor. She tucked the mace under her arm and focused her mind enough to heal herself partway and close the wound, though it still ached. She heard the draugr pacing at the top of the stairs but to her relief it didn't come down. She backed into the shadows as best she could, slowing her breathing with an effort to be silent, and waited, and within a minute she heard the footsteps recede. More presence than the others it may have had, but not much more smarts.

Bryn finished healing herself completely and tiptoed back up the stairs, seeing the creature slowly crossing the bridge, dragging a leg. She nocked an arrow to her bowstring and crept forward, sighting between the draugr’s bony shoulder blades, then slowly drew back and let it fly. The creature stumbled, and she hit it again, seeing it fall to its knees. She readied a third arrow and its arms flew outward as it fell face down and went still.

She let out a shuddering breath and put the bow on her back as she ran forward, readying her mace and shield again. She gave the thing a wide berth, never taking her eyes off it, and she blew out a breath of relief and lowered her weapon when she saw that the glow of its eyes was extinguished. Bryn still approached it cautiously, prodding its foot with hers before she trusted that it was truly and permanently dead. It was. She put away her shield and mace and knelt down to go through the draugr’s armor for any gold or treasure, and she clapped her hands in triumph when she found a flat engraved stone tucked against the creature’s chest. It was five-sided; the back was engraved with more runes, and the front had a dragon’s head exactly like the one on the word wall, along with a map of Skyrim, dotted with stars that clearly marked something. She stowed it away safely in her pack and took her time inspecting every nook and cranny of the cavern; she was already loaded with gold and loot, but a little more never hurt, and more she found. For good measure she took the draugr’s weapon as well. It seemed sturdy for its age, a small axe, and a soft white gleam crawled over its surface, the weapon enchanted. That explained the terrible burning cold that had accompanied the wound. She wasn't skilled with an axe, but she was sure Adrianne would like to see it, and maybe offer her a bit of gold for it, or maybe some better armor in trade. What she had now was certainly not up to this kind of abuse.

It was easy to find the way out, and when she came out on the side of the mountain she grinned and took a deep breath of fresh air. The river was below, no doubt the one that ran by Riverwood, and it was evening; she had been inside the barrow nearly all day, and now that she thought about it she was starving. She looked for a way down and saw the ivory of bones lying everywhere…mammoths and deer. She scanned the area and didn’t see any predators, though she did catch sight of a metallic gleam to her left. She cautiously made her way down the mountainside toward the gleam and was delighted to find a vein of corundum ore. She had picked up a pickaxe from one of the bandits, thinking it might come in handy at some point, and that point was now. It didn’t take finesse to work a few lumps of reddish-green ore from the vein. Adrianne had a smelter that would make short work of it, and give Bryn more coin in her pocket. It was taxing, but not difficult, though she was already exhausted. It had been one hell of a day, but in the end a good one.  
-  
It was well past full dark when Bryn arrived back at Jorrvaskr. It was also past the time when the Jarl held court, and she wasn't about to bother him or Farengar this late in the evening, so she went home. _Home_ , she thought happily. Maybe it really was, at least for now. At least it wasn't any more uncomfortable than the one she had left.

When she went inside she was glad to not see Vilkas glowering anywhere, but equally disappointed to not see Farkas either. Aela and Skjor were talking quietly to each other in a corner. Bryn couldn't help wondering if they were lovers, from the intimacy of the discussion and how often they were in each other’s company. Farkas had told her there were no rules against it, though it was discouraged as it could cause dissent or jealousy among shield-siblings. She could see that happening.

The hall was empty at this late hour other than Aela and Skjor, and as Bryn headed to the table to eat the older man noticed her. “Ah, the crypt delver returns,” he said with amusement as the two of them walked over. “Good to see you made it out in one piece.”

“Barely,” she said through a mouthful of roast beef. She was completely famished. She had nibbled here and there in the barrow but had found the place unappetizing to say the least, full of the smell of death and corruption, and she had been in too much of a hurry to get home to stop for food after that. She had barely had time to run through Whiterun’s gates and sell off her spare gear and trinkets before the shops had closed. Adrianne had found the frost axe interesting but had said it was showing its age, and hadn't given her much for it, but Bryn had picked up so much that between the loot she had unloaded and the gold she had picked up in the barrow she had made a whopping thousand gold. She had so much money now that she didn’t know what to do with it. She still needed a decent set of armor, but that could wait until morning.

The two senior Companions settled on either side of her and she swallowed and said to Aela, “I saw, heard, that Shout you told me about, the _thu’um!_ You wouldn't believe it, Aela. It Shouted the weapon right out of my hand. I thought I was doomed. I ran around like a beheaded chicken trying to find the thing while avoiding the draugr. I probably looked ridiculous.”

Aela laughed, “I hope you didn't leave anyone or anything alive to tell about it.”

“Not a thing,” Bryn said in an eager tone. She heard the sound of the downstairs door opening and closing and several sets of feet on the stairs. “Oh, it was glorious, Aela, glorious! I thought it would be terrifying, and it was, at first, but I followed your advice and it saved my hide.”

“Good, good,” she said proudly, squeezing the girl’s knee. She looked past her to Skjor and saw her friend staring at the girl thoughtfully, though he was smiling. He noticed her gaze and smirked at her, his thoughts no doubt running along the same lines as hers, as they usually did. Well, they had time enough for that, and the way the girl was going it wouldn't be long. She heard a commotion by the stairs and saw the others had roused themselves from their rooms. She waved them over. “Come, our little adventurer here was telling us about her busy day.” The other Companions gathered around, though as always lately Kodlak hadn't made it up. Aela never ceased worrying about the old man’s deteriorating health. It seemed the healers should have been able to do _something_ for him, at least to make him more comfortable.

“Tilma said you were back,” Farkas said in a happy tone as he came up behind her, removing her helmet to ruffle her fair hair. “Did you see a lot of draugr? I haven’t seen too many. Don’t like caves and dungeons. Too dark and creepy.” And usually full of spiders.

“The place was crawling with them,” Bryn stated. “Well, not literally crawling. Most of them were sleeping in their burial niches. But I picked most of them off before they could even get to their feet.”

“Good practice,” Aela said with approval. “I’ll bet your aim feels a lot sharper after today, doesn't it.”

“Oh yes, much. I feel…” She took a deep breath then let it out, shaking her head. “I feel sharper all around. Different, but better. I feel I learned a great deal from today.” She kept the experience with the rune wall to herself for now. That had been too weird and mystical to explain without sounding brain-damaged. _Fus_ still rolled around in her mind, almost as if it were trying to take root and wasn't able to. She knew what it meant though; that draugr at the end had used it enough on her. She continued, “I found what Farengar sent me for. I’ll take it up to him in the morning, but I’m too tired now.”

Athis said, “Not too tired to spin your tale, I hope.”

Ria eagerly added, “Yeah, start from the very beginning. Don’t leave out a thing!” She rubbed her hands together. “Wow, a real crypt. Why don’t we ever get jobs like that?”

“Because we are the Companions, not treasure hunters,” Vilkas said with disapproval. “We are not _adventurers_. There is no honor in creeping through burial chambers robbing the dead.”

Bryn’s mouth fell open as Torvar muttered in dread, “Oh boy.”

“I was on a mission for the Jarl and his wizard,” Bryn stated, anger keeping her voice steady. He had no right to judge her after what she had been through today. His pale eyes shone, his face clean of warpaint and freshly shaved, and he wore his regular clothing. His hair was wet and slicked back as if he had just bathed, and it highlighted his high cheekbones. He was altogether too handsome for his own good, or hers, but it didn't stop her from being furious with him. In fact it made it a hell of a lot easier. It seemed wrong that such a mean person should be blessed with that kind of masculine beauty. It made her want to punch him.

“It was not Companion business,” Vilkas countered.

“It was everyone’s business. Whiterun's business, Skyrim's business.”

“You cannot be running jobs for two people at a time, girl. It goes against everything we believe in.”

“It wasn't a job! How can you call it that? And I wasn't doing a job for anyone else!”

He sneered and said, “I hope you didn't do it for free. If you have the time for such things then you should be doing jobs for the Companions, for _our_ honor and glory, and pay, not the Jarl’s.”

“Tell me, will you sit here and let Jorrvaskr and the city of Whiterun burn down around your ears when the dragon comes, because there is no coin in it for the Companions?” She dug through her pack and took out several leather sacks and threw them on the table. “There, _there_ is your cut, if you are nothing but a mercenary. Half of everything I fought and bled for today. Will that satisfy you?” Vilkas bared his teeth at her, growling furiously. “Kodlak said my time was my own, that I could come and go as I wish!”

“That is so,” Vilkas stated, nearly trembling with the effort to contain his anger. He knew he was overreacting. He knew it and yet it was nearly impossible to stop.

Seeing he was trying, Bryn lowered her eyes from his. She felt Farkas’ hands come down on her shoulders, big and warm and comforting, and it was all she could do not to grab for his hands and hold them like a child. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Aela scoffed, “What are you sorry for? Defending yourself? Forget him. Finish your tale. I would hear how many foes you took down today. I hope you kept track.”

“Nine bandits, I think. A giant spider.” Farkas made a sound of disgust. She shivered. “It was big. Really enormous. And…oh, I don’t know, I lost track of the draugr. I would say at least twenty. They really weren't that hard to fight, one at a time, except that one at the end. By the Divines, that was hard. I thought I was dead for sure. And the bandits outside the barrow, they nearly took me down at first too. I’m not very good yet at fighting hand to hand.”

“Good enough for today, obviously,” Torvar stated. “In fact this calls for a drink in celebration.” There was soft laughter at that and Bryn grimaced and put up her hands.

Athis offered, “I could teach you a thing or two, one-on-one tutoring…for a price.” He eyed the coin on the table. “That amount there would do nicely.” Seeing he was serious, Bryn nodded and motioned for him to take it, and he did so with a gleam in his red eyes. “Azura’s wisdom to you, friend. Meet me in the yard tomorrow morning, bright and early. I’ll put you through your paces, see where your technique needs work.”

“Yes, thank you, sera.”

His eyes widened slightly then he smiled and inclined his head to her. “So, continue with your tale.” Sera…he had never heard that word out of the mouth of anyone in Skyrim but his own kind. He hadn't heard the word in years, in fact. The only two of his kind for many miles were the two females in town, and one was a sociopath and the other the Jarl’s housecarl. That Irileth though…magnificent woman. All business, that one, and deadly as a spider. Beautiful as one, too. It was a shame she was so standoffish, even for one of their kind. You couldn't get anywhere near her without her hand straying to her weapon. Damn shame.


	5. Chapter 5

Bryn crouched behind the rock outcropping next to Irileth, her heart hammering with terror. How did she get caught up in things like this? This was Helgen all over again…the smoke, the burning bodies. The Dunmer woman seemed completely immune to fear, yelling out orders without a hint of panic in her voice. The men were all looking to Bryn too, nearly as much as they were to Irileth, and she kept her expression as calm as possible. It was barely possible. Why would they think she knew anything about dragons just because of Helgen? She knew nothing about dragons! She was only out here because Balgruuf had looked at her with trust. _There's no time to stand on ceremony, my friend,_ he had said. Friend. Well, if he considered her such then by Talos she refused to fail him.

“Spread out and look for survivors,” Irileth ordered. “We need to know what we’re dealing with here.”

She ran for the watchtower and the scant shelter it provided, her guts turning to water. She felt like screaming at the Dunmer _There is no dealing with it! We’re all going to die!_ Still, the guards were out here, even the one who had whispered, “We’re so dead!” before they’d even left the city gates. Many of them surely had wives and children waiting for them. If they could be brave, so could she, but then she had seen a dragon and what they could do, as if the situation here weren't clear enough. 

A guard came limping out of the tower, yelling to her, “No, get back! It’s still here somewhere!” He crouched down and scanned the sky. “Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!” 

Irileth barked, “Guardsman, what happened? Where is this dragon, quickly now!”

A distant roar sounded. “Kynareth save us all, here it comes again!”

Bryn pulled out her bow and Irileth nodded curtly to her before yelling at the others, “Here he comes! Find cover, and make every arrow count!”

Hands shaking, Bryn leapt down from the ramp and put her back against the base, not about to get trapped in the tower. A guardsman jumped down next to her, and she saw he was armed with a sword. “You need a bow!” she said breathlessly. “Where is your bow?”

“I don’t have one,” he replied, his face glistening with nervous sweat. “Never could get the hang of it.”

“Divines save us,” she groaned. She gasped as a dark form blotted out the sky above them and a reverberating roar shook her to her bones. She forced herself to study the dragon as it flew over. It was smaller than the one in Helgen, and green, not black, its skin smoother. It was still huge, still monstrous. It made another pass and blew a cone of frost over a guardsman on a nearby height, and he shuddered and fell to his knees. Nord or not, the cold was too intense to bear. He tried stiffly to raise his bow and the dragon began to hover near him, and Bryn swore she could hear a faint echo of sinister laughter. She sighted her bow and put an arrow into the beast’s snout, making it roar in pain and veer away. The frozen guardsman was already warming, jumping down to safer ground.

Irileth raised her sword, her left hand crackling with lightning, and cried, “Did you see that? It can be wounded, and if it can be wounded, it can be killed!” Heartened, the guardsmen poured out into the open, and with every pass the dragon made a few more arrows hit their mark. Irileth hit the creature with lightning, her aim deft, and within ten minutes the dragon was on the ground, crawling like a bat on its wings, reddish-black blood glistening on its emerald hide.

Bryn ran towards the grounded dragon from behind, staying out of reach of its tail, peppering it with arrows. She stumbled backwards as it swung around to face her, grinning with what seemed like a thousand teeth.

“You are brave. _Balaan hokoron._ Your defeat brings me honor.”

“Wh-what!” she cried, and had no time for more than that as the creature snapped at her. She danced out of the way, and as it opened its mouth to roar she sent an arrow down its throat. It rose on its haunches, thrashing, and Bryn put another arrow into its belly, along with the surviving guards. The dragon fell onto the ground again and began crawling towards her, hatred in its eyes, a tangible thing she could feel crawling along her skin. She held her ground and sighted one of her few remaining arrows between the dragon’s bronze eyes, which suddenly widened as if seeing her for the first time.

_“Dovahkiin?! Niid!”_

Bryn let the arrow fly, shifting her aim slightly to put the arrow through its left eye. It rose with a shriek, thrashing anew, then it fell to the earth, making the ground quake.

“Let’s see if that overgrown lizard is really dead,” Irileth ordered as she ran towards the carcass. “Damn good shooting, boys!”

Bryn stared at the dragon, numb, disbelieving. They had done it. They had really done it. They had killed a dragon. She had killed a dragon. She heard the jangle of armor as the guards and Irileth ran up behind her as she tentatively reached out a hand to touch the dragon’s snout. It was smooth, hard, like a turtle’s shell, or a beak, glistening with black blood. She pulled her hand away, staring at it, then she slowly moved back as she saw the corpse start to glow from within. It burst into flame, but with no heat, and she moved tentatively forward again. Before she could touch it however a sudden stream of light flowed out from the dragon’s body, wrapping around her.

Stiffening, Bryn’s ears filled with a rush of sound, unable to hear anything but a deafening waterfall rush and whispers on the edge of her understanding, though she did understand one word: _Mirmulnir._ The dragon’s soul filled her until she felt like her head and heart would burst, then it faded away into silence, leaving only the crackling sound of the fort’s burning wood.

“Did you see that!” a guard whispered.

“Dragonborn!” another cried. “Like the tales of old!”

Still reeling, Bryn felt the guards surround her. The dragon’s corpse was only a skeleton now, with a few gray scales clinging to the bones, the vibrant green color peeled away. She also saw with a swell of nausea the remains of a Whiterun guard’s gear. She wondered if it was Hroki or Tor.

“I can’t believe it,” the guard closest to her said in a reverent tone. “You…you’re Dragonborn! You must be!”

“What?” she whispered, shaking her head to clear it of the fog. “What do you mean, Dragonborn?”

“In the very oldest tales, back from the time when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power.” The girl stared at him blankly. “That’s what you did, isn't it? Absorbed the dragon’s power?”

“I…I don’t know what I did,” she stammered, close to tears. Whatever it was that had happened, it hadn't been anything she intended, and it certainly wasn't anything she wanted. Then the book she had found in Helgen came back to her. She had flipped through it briefly, finding it interesting if only because of the dragon she had seen in Helgen. Now she would have to re-read it, if what the guard said was true. But it couldn't be true! She wasn't even a full-blooded Nord! She was nobody!

Another guard said, “There’s only one way to tell if you’re really Dragonborn: Shout.”

Bryn rubbed her face, hearing the guards talking excitedly amongst themselves, encouraging her to shout. She could feel _Fus_ inside her, firmly settled into place, the dragon soul she absorbed seeming to feed it and give it the means to become a permanent part of her. She distantly heard Irileth trying to regain control of the situation and deflect attention from Bryn, which she appreciated. She hadn't killed that dragon alone, not by a long shot.

The first guard insisted, “Go ahead, Shout. That should prove it.”

Just wanting the whole thing over with, and doubting the reality of it all, Bryn turned back to the dragon’s skeleton and stared at it for a moment. She could feel the guards staring at her, waiting, then she took a deep breath and cried, _“FUS!”_ A shockwave of power surged out of her, shaking the skeleton apart and sending the skull tumbling away from its body. Her mouth stayed open as she gaped in shock, horrified. She couldn't have done that. It just wasn't possible. Her aunt had always said she was too loud, but she had never done anything like that before!

“Now that was a Shout!” a guard cried in amazement.

“The _thu’um_ , the voice of dragons!” “Dragonborn!” “Hail, Dragonborn!”

“No,” Bryn whimpered to herself, so softly none of the others could hear. “Please no.” She didn't want this kind of attention. She hated being the center of attention!

“Do it again!” “Shout, Dragonborn!”

“Enough of this,” Irileth reprimanded. The men fell silent, staring reverently at Bryn, their faces shining with hope. She went to Bryn and said, “That was the hairiest fight I've ever been in, and I've been in more than a few.” The girl nodded, her chin trembling. Irileth wasn't one for weakness and had no sympathy for it, but even she felt bad for the child, who seemed heartbroken to be the focus of all this attention, and over something so bizarre. It was true that she had been all across Tamriel and had seen things just as outlandish as this, but this was close to home, in her Jarl’s backyard.

“What should I do?” Bryn asked her. “Is it true?” It couldn't be possible. She was no one special. She was no one at all. Just a mongrel. A mistake.

The Dunmer snorted. “I don’t know about this Dragonborn business, but I’m sure glad you’re with us.”

Bryn nodded and gave her a fleeting smile. “Yes. That I am.” The other woman certainly had a way of making everything seem manageable. Normal. If only for a little bit.

“Good. You’d better get back to Whiterun right away. Jarl Balgruuf will want to know what happened here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bryn took off for the city at a run, relieved to have direction. It was late afternoon and she wanted to get back before it started getting dark, but then anything she faced after this would seem tame in comparison. She had just reached the crossroads near the stables when the crack of thunder sounded all around her, shaking the earth and making her nearly trip over her own feet. She hoped to the gods it wasn't another dragon. The horses in the stables were frantic, whinnying and kicking at their stalls.

_“DOV-AH-KIIN!!”_

“What now?!” Bryn screamed at the sky as the thunder struck again then receded in a distant rumble. “Leave me alone!” As usual, the Divines probably wouldn't listen. At least it wasn't another dragon, whatever it was. She remembered Mirmulnir’s voice, grating and inhuman, resonating with thunder as it spoke. This latest voice had certainly been that of men. She recognized the word though, one the dragon had said before dying: _Dovahkiin_. She wondered what it meant.

She quickly made her way up to the gates, and a guard looked her over and said in amazement, “You really did it! You killed a dragon!”

“No. _We_ killed it. All of us,” she corrected him. The last thing she needed was for everyone to start treating her differently. She wasn't even fully settled in here yet and didn't need any more hardship than she’d already suffered.

“Oh, aye, that’s what I meant. But did you hear that Shout just now?”

Bryn nodded and pushed through the gates quickly. She didn't want to talk anymore about it. Whatever it was, it no doubt meant trouble for her. She had been a magnet for it since the second she’d gone over the Pale Pass. Maybe even since she'd been born.  
-  
Bryn stared disconsolately at the campfire, ignoring the other woman’s worried gaze.

“My thane, please,” Lydia pleaded. “Eat something. I made venison stew. We shouldn't let it go to waste.” Bryn sighed and lifted her eyes to Lydia’s, her expression bleak. Lydia had followed her lady Brynhilde for the last nine days, in awe of the taller, slightly older woman. She had trained all her life to be a housecarl, like her father before her, expecting to spend her career assigned to some spoiled, effete thane who expected her to be nothing more than a glorified servant. She had never dreamed she would end up roaming Skyrim in the service of one of the Companions. The Dragonborn, of all things. An honest-to-gods hero!

“There it is again,” Bryn said sadly. “Stop looking at me that way, I’m begging you.”

Lydia was taken aback. “Like what, my thane?”

“And will you stop calling me that!”

“But…that's what you are. You've been recognized by the Jarl as a person of importance in his hold. A hero.”

“I am not a hero.”

The housecarl stared at her as if she were out of her mind. Maybe she was. Lydia knew the road had been hard on her; she hadn't been all that talkative from the start, her eyes always refusing to meet Lydia’s, eyes always on some invisible something in the distance except when she was fighting (and oh, such fighting!), but she had spoken barely a word in two days, since failing to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller for the Greybeards. Lydia had stayed in the background during Bryn’s initial training with the old men, watching avidly, but Bryn had just gone through the motions, as if the entire experience were painful to her, instead of the outrageous honor it really was. 

Each day away from Whiterun, each obstacle they faced and conquered…instead of inspiring Bryn it had seemed to break something inside her just a little bit more. While Lydia was tired too, she had found the entire journey exhilarating, the stuff of Bards' songs, indeed they had heard a song about the Dragonborn in every inn they had visited, something that had made Bryn nearly walk out each time while Lydia longed to scream at her to grab all the glory she could hold. The fools hadn't even realized the Dragonborn was right there in front of them, a living legend! Lydia had even fought a dragon with her, in Ivarstead. It had been magnificent! Lydia had nearly fallen to her knees in reverence as she’d watched the dragon’s soul merge with Bryn, and had nearly done so again in Ustengrav when she’d watched the word wall respond to her mistress’ presence. How could Lydia be so lucky in this life as to have as her thane one who was touched by the Divines?

“And there it is again.” That look. The expectations she couldn't possibly live up to. Didn't want to have to live up to.

Bryn’s eyes began to shine in a way that alarmed Lydia deeply, and when the other woman seemed to wilt and rolled herself into her bedroll and turned away she knew they had reached a critical juncture. Lydia hadn't realized things were this bad. Maybe she had taken a wrong tack this entire time. Time to try something entirely different. “This won’t do,” Lydia stated firmly. “No, this will not do at all.” Bryn ignored her. Lydia moved away from the fire to stand over Bryn and said with clenched fists, “I’m trying to take care of you, and you aren't letting me! What am I supposed to tell Jarl Balgruuf? How do I explain how I have failed you?”

“Tell him that the Dragonborn was a fraud and she died in a bandit cave somewhere.” Lydia made a sputtering sound of disbelief. “Or tell him the truth: that I wanted a big, blond Nord husband and rosy-cheeked babies in a little village somewhere, and I ran away. That...that was all I ever w-wanted.”

The bedroll began to shake and Lydia was dismayed to hear strangled sobs, and she stared at the shuddering form under the furs and felt her own eyes start to grow wet. It was all so clear now, and she felt like an idiot for not seeing it. Bryn hadn't wanted any of this. These things that Lydia had dreamed about her whole life, had yearned for…the fame, the glory, the treasure… All Bryn had wanted was a home and a family, something warm and quiet, something Lydia herself had little interest in. Lydia sank to her knees and carefully put her hand on the other woman’s shoulder, murmuring, “I'm sorry. I had no idea.” And to be honest, she knew not a damn thing about her mistress. She hadn't even asked, figuring that if Bryn wanted to talk about herself she would, and Bryn had said nothing. She had been thoughtful about listening to Lydia’s chatter, asking questions, seeming politely interested, but always distant. Now it seemed that in order to fulfill her duty Lydia would have to force the issue. Maybe that was what her lady needed.

“I’m pathetic,” Bryn wept. “Weak and useless. I never should have been born. I’m not even a full-blooded Nord!”

“Neither am I,” Lydia stated with a shrug. “My father was an Imperial steward for a thane in Falkreath, and died in his service. I thought I had told you that, but—“

“I’m half-Elven, dammit!” Bryn cried, throwing back the furs. “Half Altmer! Look at me, can’t you see it?”

Lydia stared into her golden eyes, though the gold was only the iris, not the entire eye as in Elves, and they were slightly tilted up at the corners. She was quite tall too, taller than Lydia by at least four inches, and slender, or she had been at the start of their journey; now she was thin as a rail, though stronger than before. Her hair was a paler blond than was usual on Nords, too.

“See?” Bryn sniffed. “You see it, don’t you! Why do you think they all stare at me, everywhere we go?”

“Because you’re beautiful, my thane.” That shocked the other woman out of her weeping. Lydia sat back on her heels and continued, “Yes, I’ll admit I see some small signs of Elf blood in you. Just as you can no doubt see the Imperial blood in me--”

“But you’re fully human. Don’t you see, that’s the entire problem! I’m not just a half-blood Nord, I’m a half-blood human. A mongrel!”

“No, you’re not, and in any case I don’t see that as a problem. Has it been a problem here? Has anyone who knows given you grief over it? Does anyone even know?”

“Well, no, but…hardly anyone knows. The Companions know, but--”

“Then what is your fear, if they knew and let you in?”

“They let me in before they knew.”

“And they could have just as easily thrown you out. They _have_ thrown people out, you know. Even members of the Circle have been thrown out, the last one only ten years ago.”

Bryn hesitated then stammered, “No, no I didn't. I didn't know. There’s…so much I still don’t know. I was only with them a couple days before…all this. The dragon. The Greybeards. They probably think I ran off or got killed or something.” She wondered how long they had worried before writing her off. If Vilkas had even worried at all or had been relieved that she had disappeared. She hadn't had time to tell them she was leaving. She hadn't even thought to, too rattled and confused by the fight with Mirmulnir and the Dragonborn business. Though she supposed it would be easy enough for one of the Companions to just ask a guard, or one of the Jarl’s people, if they really wanted to know. But what if they had, and they decided she was no longer what they were looking for in a member? Why the hell would they want the damned Dragonborn among their ranks? She could never be just a Companion anymore. She had barely been one at all.

Lydia saw the tears start to well up again, and she shook her head and firmly said, “No. No more of that. You sit up, turn yourself around, and eat some stew. You’re going to eat stew until it’s coming out your ears. Then we’re packing up in the morning and going home.” Lydia wasn't even sure where the hell they were right now. Somewhere in the mountains smack dab in the middle of Skyrim, she knew that much. They’d start walking south and look for landmarks from there.

“I have no home.”

“Bullshit. Besides, I sat up taking stock of our kit last night, and we have more than enough gold and baubles and spare gear to sell off to buy Breezehome. We’re heading back to Whiterun in the morning, and I’m marching you up to Avenicci and we’re going to buy that house, and have it furnished, and then no matter what happens you will have a home. _We_ will have a home.” Bryn stared at her with wet eyes, but the tears didn't fall, and finally the other woman nodded. Bryn started to turn toward the fire, but Lydia grabbed her arm and stopped her. Bryn waited, and Lydia grabbed her hand, feeling the bones within like a bird’s, but overlaid with steel. “I am your sword and your shield, my thane,” she vowed intently. “And whatever else you need me to be.” Bryn shivered, some of the tension finally starting to leave her, letting Lydia know she had said the right thing, and she had meant it. “I’m not a big, blond Nord husband, but I will take care of you until you find one, and even after that. I will guard your home and your family and all that you own with my life.” After what they had been through the last week she would follow Bryn to Sovngarde and back. Bryn smiled hesitantly at her, the first smile Lydia had seen out of her since the moment they had met, and it was so fearful and childlike that it broke Lydia’s heart. It was as if Bryn were constantly waiting for the entire world to wound her. She didn't know how someone with such fearsome potential could be so incredibly fragile.

“All right,” the other woman whispered. “If you say so.”

“Yes my thane, I do.” She gave her hand another squeeze then grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. “Now, eat. Then sleep. Then we go. And on the way home you’re going to tell me everything.”

“Yes. I will.” And she did.


	6. Chapter 6

“Do you get to the Cloud District very often? Oh, what am I saying, of course you don’t.”

Lydia stared at the man and stated in aggravation, “Actually, my thane was just there, reporting to the Jarl. Seeing as she’s his _thane_ and all. Did I mention she is a thane, which to my knowledge you are not?”

Nazeem blinked then said in an offended voice, “Thane! Oh, well, my mistake. Carry on.”

Lydia rolled her eyes and shook her head as she leaned back against the bench. She’d never liked the man, though his wife Ahlam was very kind, a healer in the temple of Kynareth, but from what Lydia had heard she couldn't stand her own husband much more than anyone else could. She saw her thane staring at Jorrvaskr then Bryn sighed and turned her attention back to the statue of Talos looming over them. She had brought Bryn here a few minutes ago to lay hands on the Shrine and pray to Talos for guidance; she had hoped it would help, for one Dragonborn to look to another for direction, and just maybe to heal any ills she might have picked up in their travels. Indeed Bryn already looked much better, a hint of pink in her cheeks, and Lydia fretted that she might have gotten bonebreak fever from one of the many bears they’d fought. She’d have to start carrying a few cure disease potions in their kit. Things were hard enough for her lady to deal with without adding sickness to it.

Bryn sighed heavily again and looked up at Jorrvaskr as the priest Heimskr started in on his endless sermon again. She shouldn’t put things off too much longer. Maybe after she had rested up a bit and taken care of a few loose ends she could run a few simple jobs for the Companions. It might be nice to take care of something small and easy instead of some grand quest. She did need to go fetch that horn, though. It aggravated her to no end that someone had snuck in and snatched the horn from her, then had the audacity to leave her a note to come and get it. They’d said it was urgent, but they could damn well wait.

Lydia stood as Bryn rose from the bench, and she asked, “What now, my thane? Do you want to go see the house? It’s empty, but we could look at it.”

“No, not yet. I want to see it cleaned up and furnished first. I want to walk into it as a real home.”

“Yes, my thane. I have the spare key. Would you like me to see to everything?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

“Are you going to go see the Companions now?”

“No.”

“Don’t you think you should?” Lydia said in a lowered voice. Bryn didn't answer but after a few seconds she sighed and nodded. She moved closer to Bryn and went on intently, “You have nothing to answer for. You answer only to the Jarl and the Divines themselves, and even then, only if you feel like it.” She was relieved to see Bryn nod. Lydia had spent the last three days on their way home working on the other woman and they had made what Lydia felt was great progress. She had forced every single tidbit of information out of Bryn that she could, had wiped every tear she had shed, and while Bryn was still quiet, it was a thoughtful quiet. Still sad, still quiet, but it was as if a poison had been purged from her. In turn Lydia had drilled into her what it meant to be a Nord, that Bryn was for all intents and purposes a Nord, that the Divines themselves had put their mark on her but that it was up to her what to do about it. She didn’t have to blindly follow anyone’s orders or what she thought was the gods’ will, like some hapless leaf caught in a stream. Whatever she chose to do, she could do it in her own time, or not at all. That had really seemed to finally get through to her.

“I just…I worry.”

“About Vilkas?” Lydia snorted. “That one will only make your life difficult. He might not intend it, but it’s what he does.” That was the biggest mistake Lydia had made on the road back home: bringing up Vilkas, in the worst possible way. She had a tendency to run off at the mouth, and she had run off more than usual in trying to put Bryn at ease and figure out what made her tick. They had been talking about the Companions and Lydia had related her own experiences in town with them, including the times she had taken either of the brothers to bed, Vilkas only once. Farkas was an easy, fun bedmate who you could take a tumble with, slap each other on the back afterwards and go your separate ways. Vilkas though…it had been a chance encounter after a feast the Jarl had thrown at Mid-Winter, in one of the balconies overlooking the hall of all places, Vilkas claiming with a smirk that he had gotten lost and perhaps he could show her where he was supposed to go? She wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole after that. Not that it hadn't been good. Damn good, gods it had been good, but too intense, too intimate. Those eyes had bored into her in a predatory way that still sent shudders down her spine. She frankly found him a bit creepy after that. More than a bit, actually.

Bryn had listened to all of it as stiff as a board, staring at the fire with huge eyes, and Lydia hadn't noticed even though she was sitting right next to her. Bryn craved the touchy-feely stuff and Lydia didn't mind sitting by her when they talked, close enough that their shoulders or knees touched every so often. There wasn't anything sexual in it; not that Lydia would have minded, really, but she preferred men. All kinds of men. When she’d finally trailed off and noticed Bryn sitting there rigidly, breathing funny, her cheeks red, she had asked what was wrong, and after a great deal of prodding and pestering Bryn had come out with it, thoroughly mortified. The other woman had a childish crush on the dark, brooding man, and to top it all off she had never heard anyone talk about sex like that before. Or really at all. Twenty-seven years old and she was as ignorant and sheltered as a little girl, but then that was what her aunt and grandmother had treated her as her entire life. That had been a bigger eye opener than anything else. Nords were easy about that sort of thing: faithful once joined in marriage, but anything went before that. Lydia had teased Bryn about being The Virgin Thane, about being purer than the snows at the peak of the Throat of the World, on and on as Bryn got madder and madder, until they’d both finally burst into peals of laughter, giggling until they’d collapsed against each other. A bit more of the poison purged. 

Heimskr’s voice rose as he cried out, “But what of tomorrow? What then? Do the Elves take your homes? Your businesses? Your children? Your very _liiiiives?_ ”

“Divines bless us, he’s mad,” Bryn whispered with mixed admiration and concern. The man’s histrionics were astonishing.

“A little bit, yes,” Lydia said tiredly. “Sometimes I still get a kick out of him, but not today.” She squeezed Bryn’s shoulder then said, “I’ll go get your home ready for you, my thane. I see Avenicci’s men coming now.”

“Thank you, Lydia. I appreciate it.”

“It is my duty and my pleasure, my lady.”

She watched her housecarl walk away, Lydia’s back straight and proud even under the weight of all their gear. It was nice that she had made Lydia happy. Someone should be. Bryn wasn't miserable at this point, but she wasn't happy. She already missed Lydia. You couldn't spend nearly two weeks with someone every waking moment, fighting and nearly dying together, spilling your guts to each other every night around the campfire, without forging a strong bond. She trusted Lydia implicitly, in everything. It was nice to have one person in the world she could count on. Time to see if she could count on any others.

She hauled herself up the stairs to Jorrvaskr, hearing Eorlund hammering away up at the Skyforge. The weather was beautiful today and she decided to bypass the dark hall and go around to the back; surely someone would be outside, training or having lunch, since it was about that time. Indeed as she came around the building she heard the clank of steel on steel and lively conversation.

“I prefer the smaller blades myself,” Athis said to Farkas. The two men were sitting on the back porch, watching Vilkas spar with Ria, the dark-haired man trying to teach her the art of the large two-handed blades.

“Eh, what’s the point,” Farkas replied dismissively. “The little blades don’t hurt enough.”

“Yes, but ten cuts from a little blade hurt just as much as one from a big blade.”

“Really? I need just one swing to cut you in half.”

“Well, when you put it that way.”

Bryn couldn't help laughing at the conversation, and as Farkas turned to grin at her in welcome Vilkas glanced over in distraction. Ria screamed and swung at him, smacking him hard across his shoulder blades with her wooden practice sword.

“Damn it woman, watch what you’re doing!” Vilkas barked at her.

Ria countered, “You told me just two minutes ago not to let myself get distracted. And then you hit me. Fair is fair.”

“Whatever. I’m done.”

Ria rolled her eyes and put up her blade then trotted over to Bryn, who was staring at Vilkas then looked away. She had circles under her eyes and looked a bit pale, and when Ria grabbed her arm in greeting the Imperial woman said in dismay, “Great Divines, you’re nothing but skin and bone, Bryn! Where have you been?”

“Ustengrav, a few days ago. Morthal before that, then…High Hrothgar. Ivarstead. A dozen necromancer caves and bandit camps in between.”

“Really?” she breathed in amazement. “Well you look ready to fall over. Come sit down and have something to eat then tell us all about it!”

“I just did. Lunch. With the Jarl. I’m okay though…better now.”

“You call this better?” Farkas growled, coming over to take her shoulders and steer her to the porch. She felt painfully thin under the dress, which looked new and rather expensive but was hanging off her. It looked like her hair had been neatly trimmed as well. “If this is better, I don’t want to see what worse was. What the hell have you been doing the last two weeks?”

“No one told you?”

“Yeah, Kodlak did. The Jarl’s brother Hrongar came down the day after you left to talk to the old man, fill him in on where you were going and the dragon and all that, but we haven’t heard anything since.”

Ria fidgeted eagerly as Farkas sat Bryn down and said, “I can’t believe it! You killed a dragon. You’re really Dragonborn? Like Tiber Septim?”

“So it seems. Funny, isn't it,” Bryn said tiredly, staring across the courtyard. Vilkas stared back for a few seconds then casually looked away, though he did deign to come over and join them.

“Funny? How so?” Farkas asked in a wary tone. She didn't answer, staring past them all at the dummies in the practice yard. There was something off about her entire manner that didn’t sit well with him at all. Like she was one step away from jumping off a cliff or something.

Oblivious, Ria asked in excitement, “Did you fight any other dragons? Or just the one?”

“There was another, in Ivarstead,” Bryn answered, focusing on the other woman with an effort. “I didn't take them down alone, either of them. Both times there were guards there, and the second time Lydia as well.”

“Your housecarl,” she breathed. “Wow, I can’t believe you’re a thane. What are you going to do now?”

“Take it easy,” Farkas stated. “That’s what she’s going to do.”

Bryn slowly nodded, saying, “Yes, I am, I mean…I will. I’m…exhausted. I sent Lydia home to take care of things, but I wanted to check in here first. See all of you.”

“Home.” She looked up at Vilkas’ statement and he folded his arms. The spark she’d had in her eyes before was gone, and he fought not to feel guilty as he said, “And where would that be? I don’t see her anywhere. Your _housecarl_.”

“Breezehome. I just bought it.”

“Ah, and there we have it. Too good to bunk with the other whelps now, are you? Thane of Whiterun has to have her own private house?”

“Vilkas…” Farkas growled in warning. Bryn had flinched back from Vilkas’ words as if he had slapped her. Vilkas had always been the dominant twin, the leader, but Farkas wasn't going to let him pick on anyone, especially someone so inoffensive. It was as if Vilkas went out of his way to find reasons to be offended by her.

Bryn said in a near whisper, “I have nightmares. I talk in my sleep. I don’t want to bother the others.”

Athis said diplomatically, “Your concern is touching, muthsera. You must of course do what you feel is best.”

Bryn was still staring at Vilkas, who grumbled and looked away, arms still folded, his upper lip twitching as if fighting not to sneer. How she wished she wasn't so attracted to him. It just figured that the first man in her life she really wanted absolutely despised her, and she still didn't know why. She swallowed the lump in her throat and said, “What I feel is best is never the right thing, is it.” She stood, nearly swaying on her feet with exhaustion. “I should go see Kodlak.”

“He’s resting,” Vilkas stated shortly. “You should leave him alone.”

Ria frowned at him and said, “How do you know he’s resting? You've been out here with me for the last hour.”

“Mind your own business.”

“How is this any less my business than yours? Is she our Shield-Sister or not?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” he countered, turning back to look at Bryn. Instead of defending herself she stood with her fingers twined together, looking off to the side at nothing, and the pang of regret it gave him only served to fuel his anger. He wasn't even sure at this point who he was angry with.

Athis grumbled, “This has grown tiresome,” and headed for the doors.

Ria added, “Yeah, it has.” She looked at Bryn and said, “If he keeps giving you crap, punch him. If you can take down dragons, you shouldn't have to deal with his bullshit.”

“You had better give a little respect, newblood,” Vilkas growled at her back as she followed the Dunmer.

“ You've made it hard to lately. We’re all getting tired of it. No one rules anyone else here.”

Once she was gone, Farkas said to him, “Maybe I’ll punch you instead.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Vilkas hissed. Bryn slowly turned away and made her way to the doors, and Vilkas snapped, “Where are you going?” She ignored him, though he saw her flinch at his words. She was gone, and he rubbed his hands over his face, feeling like he was coming apart at the seams. He began pacing, his nerves jangling and his blood boiling.

Farkas watched him for nearly a minute before he asked curtly, “What the hell is wrong with you?” Vilkas snarled and flexed his fists. “You need to get out and hunt.”

“No. I promised I wouldn't, just as you did.”

“This isn't working for you. It isn't going to. It’s only been, what six or seven weeks?”

“It shouldn't bother me,” Vilkas said in a shaking voice.

“Why not?”

“It isn't bothering you.”

“I just don’t think about it.”

“Yeah, well that’s easy for you. Not thinking.” Farkas stared at him, his tongue in his cheek. “I…I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that.” It wasn't his brother’s fault that he sometimes lost his train of thought, or stared blankly into space when he wasn't occupied with anything. It wasn't his fault at all, and Vilkas knew why that was, and it would never stop grieving him. They should have been the same. They had been, up to that certain point in their lives, then everything had changed. Farkas didn't remember much of it, but Vilkas did.

Seeing Vilkas was truly horrified by what he had said, Farkas muttered, “ You've always had a temper. Everyone knows that and we're used to it. But lately you've been cruel. Not just to Bryn, either. It isn't right.”

The back door flew open and Ria breathlessly said, “You had better get inside—“

_“VILKAS!!”_

Both brothers’ eyes widened fearfully at the furious roar, one they hadn't heard since their teens. Ria whispered, “He’s really mad! I've never seen him so mad!”

Glad he wasn't the one it was directed at, Farkas asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Bryn just left. I don’t know what they talked about, but she ran out in tears and he was trying to call her back but he couldn't get his breath. Torvar tried to see if he was all right but he took one look at the Harbinger and turned tail.” Ria didn't blame him. She was terrified.

Vilkas swallowed hard, feeling cold sweat break out on his skin under his armor, then he forced himself to go inside. No one would meet his eyes, and he was glad Skjor and Aela were gone again doing whatever it was they did or they would have given him hell. His brother didn't follow, and Vilkas wished he had. He had never faced Kodlak’s temper alone, not once during the twins’ wild youth; they had always gotten their hides tanned together.

He was mortified to see Kodlak prowling his sitting room, breathing heavily and holding his side, and when the old man’s steely gaze fell on him he whispered, “Harbinger, I—“

“Shut the doors!” 

Vilkas did so, keeping his back to them. “Please, Master, you must calm your—“

“No. No, it is _you_ who had better calm himself! I am furious with you, boy. What are you trying to accomplish, driving away a Shield-Sister! The…the damned Dragonborn, fool!” 

Vilkas recoiled and said in a tight voice, “It has to be some kind of mistake. That…that whelp can’t be Dragonborn. It’s impossible.”

“You think a dozen men and Irileth seeing her absorb a dragon’s soul is a mistake? You think their hearing her use the _thu’um_ was… Ah…” Kodlak stopped his circuit of the room to catch his breath, his side burning.

“I am sorry,” he said haltingly. Of course it wasn't a mistake, but why in Oblivion would the Divines make some skinny, awkward waif Dragonborn when there were so many, many other real Nords the gift could have been given to? Gods only knew what she would do with the power. Probably something stupid, something meaningless.

“Not…me.”

“Yes, Harbinger,” he whispered. No, it wasn't Kodlak he should be saying it to, though he was horrified to be the cause of Kodlak’s current state. He stood silently, his eyes on the floor, keeping his mouth shut until the older man’s breathing calmed enough to continue, falling into a chair.

“She is not a whelp,” Kodlak growled. “Not a newblood. She is…beyond those things. None of us could have known at the time what she was, but we know now, and we will be _grateful_ for the time she chooses to spend as a Companion, do you hear me, boy?”

“Yes, Harbinger.”

“Once in an era one with the dragon’s blood comes among our people, and you treat it as if it is nothing, as if it is a thing she can simply set aside as an inconvenience to you. She has a greater destiny than running errands and chasing bandits, but I was going to invite her to join the Circle anyway in hopes of keeping our star hitched to hers, and you come along and blunder into everything like a clumsy, jealous child.” 

Vilkas’ mouth fell open then he stammered, “The Circle? But Master, she…she cannot…she hasn't earned it! She hasn't even had a proper Trial!”

“Have you not been listening to me, boy?” Kodlak shouted. “What would you have her do, fetch family heirlooms and kidnapped citizens for the next ten years, just because you had to?”

Hurt, he replied, “Yes, yes she should have to, or what do we stand for?”

Kodlak brought his armored fist down on the table then stood, bearing down on Vilkas who dropped his eyes, shivering. He stopped little more than a foot away from him and said with quiet intensity, “We are diminished here, Vilkas. The four regular Companions we have, while they are good enough and try hard, are not going to be remembered even a hundred years from now except in some dusty roster book. I am dying, rotting away on the inside, day by day, fretting endlessly over the future of this company while worrying at the same time over the state of our souls. And then into our lap falls this strange girl, as if dropped out of the sky by the gods, and it turns out that yes, indeed, she was.” His expression hardened again as his voice rose. “And from the moment she comes here she is given nothing but grief and harassment by one of those who should be guiding her! After everything she has done in the last two weeks-- Should I remind you of it?”

“No sir, that is not nec—“

“She escaped Helgen. She killed a dragon. She absorbed its soul in front of a dozen guards then Shouted its carcass apart. She was called to High Hrothgar by the Greybeards, which I know you heard, so you can’t ignore that. I can’t even begin to guess what else she did while she was gone, because you turned on her like a rabid wolf the moment she came back here and I didn't get to hear any of it!” Vilkas closed his eyes, grimacing. “She came back _here_ , damn you. Everything she has done, everything she has the potential to do, and yet _this_ is where she chose to come back to, hoping we would welcome her back. Well I hope you are satisfied boy, because she came in here to tell me she had made a mistake in joining us, and it wasn't because she all of a sudden thinks she’s too good for us, it’s because she said that her presence here obviously distresses _you_ personally for some reason, and she won’t stay in a family where she is detested, again. She said if a member of the Circle doesn't want her here then she won’t impose herself on us. She said you must have good reason for hating her. Or at least I think that is what she said, since I could understand only half of what the poor lass was blubbering about.” Vilkas cringed, his cheeks red, and Kodlak could see that he had finally hit home. He went on with less heat, “You will make this right, Vilkas. You alone, no leaning on your brother. She loves him, and I won’t have you use him as leverage.”

“Yes, Master,” Vilkas whispered, nodding. “I will do so.” Of course Bryn loved his brother. Everyone did, especially the ladies. He never lacked requests for repeat performances, no matter where he went. He supposed he should be happy that his brother could just bumble along through life with so few worries. Let a drunk girl cry on your shoulder for a couple hours and she was yours, simple as that. That hadn't stopped her from making eyes at Vilkas, though. Well, she couldn't have her sweetroll and eat it too. The thought made him sick to his stomach.

“If she agrees to come back to us, and she had damn well better for your sake, you will teach her whatever she wants to know, whether it be our history or giving her training, it doesn't matter. If she asks you to be her Shield-Brother on a job, you will do so without hesitation. No more snide comments. No glaring. We must do everything we can to keep her with us, for as long as she is here. If you cannot tolerate doing this for base decency’s sake, consider that if we help and support her, every time she goes out into the world folk will say our name and hers in one breath. Companion, Dragonborn. It can’t help but look good for us that she is one of our number. I will not have it get around that one of our churlish associates drove her out in tears, and a member of the Circle at that. It makes us look petty, Vilkas.” Kodlak returned to his seat, tired, but the pain gone, as if the anger had burned it out of him temporarily.

He mumbled, “No, it makes me look petty.”

“I am glad you said it before I could. I’m…disappointed in you, son.”

“With good reason. Farkas says…I have been cruel. Ria said everyone is getting tired of my behavior.”

“Yes, they are. I was going to talk to you about it eventually, but this opened the door.”

Vilkas opened and closed his fists as he stood away from the doors to pace the room. “I feel like I am losing my mind,” he said in a tight voice. “I don’t think I can keep doing this much longer. Resisting the call.”

“Then don’t.” The young man looked at him in shock. Kodlak sighed tiredly, leaning on the arm of his seat. “If it is affecting you this badly, then go hunt tonight. I’m beginning to believe it makes no difference in the end whether we resist or not. I’m looking into other…options, shall we say. I will continue to refrain, as my time is nearing and I would at the least go before Tsun with a clean soul.”

He shook his head. “No. If you resist, then I shall continue to do so. I will find some other way to manage. Take more jobs myself, get out in the field more with the younglings.”

“That sounds reasonable.” Kodlak smirked at him and said, “Maybe you could talk Brynhilde into taking you on one of her missions. It might do you some good to see what it is she is out doing. See her in action. Build some rapport between you.” The poor girl clearly was sweet on Vilkas if his words had crushed her so terribly. He wondered if the boy even knew, and if knowing would make a difference, make things better or worse. Maybe Vilkas knew and it angered him for some reason, though Ria and Njada’s open flirting with him never had.

“I will consider it.” It wasn't an outright lie. He would go if she asked first, but she would never ask, and he would never offer. The thought of being out alone on the road or in some crypt with Bryn was distressing, to say the least.

“Go see her now and tell her to come to dinner tonight. I will see if I can drag my sorry carcass upstairs to attend.”

“Yes, Harbinger.”

“Off with you. Leave the doors open.”

Vilkas immediately left Jorrvaskr, to not give himself time to be cowardly about it. He didn't bother to look around the hall as he left, but it seemed empty, as if everyone had fled; maybe they had, not wanting to hear Kodlak’s raging. He headed for Breezehome, nodding to the guards as they called “Hail Companion!” as he passed. He could see a commotion outside the building, some of the steward’s men unpacking boxes or carrying large furniture, and a few children and citizens watching with excitement over the long vacancy being filled, and by the Dragonborn, no less. Everyone seemed terribly proud that the Dragonborn was choosing Whiterun as her home, making Vilkas feel even lower than before. 

Lydia and Bryn were nowhere to be seen, so he went inside the small house, which smelled musty and closed up, thick cobwebs in every corner. It had been empty for so many years that he honestly couldn't remember who the prior owners had been, an older couple perhaps. Lydia suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs, and before he could open his mouth she threw a wet, filthy cleaning rag at him, hissing, “You’re a despicable human being, Vilkas!”

“Yes, I am aware,” he stated quietly, plucking the rag off his armor and throwing it back to her. “Where is she?”

“Why should I tell you?” she retorted as she came down the stairs, fire in her deep blue eyes. “Come to finish her off? Make sure you stomp her down completely this time, not just partway?”

“I came to invite her to Jorrvaskr for a dinner in her honor. And to apologize.” Lydia glared at him suspiciously.

“Maybe it would be best if you didn't. Maybe the lot of you should just stay away from her.” She moved out of the way of two burly men carrying pieces of a double bed upstairs. Once they were out of earshot she continued, “She has a home of her own now, a safe haven, just as she wanted. She has someone to take care of her now: me. She has the Jarl’s trust and respect, and a place in his court. She is Dragonborn, the first in centuries, and her destiny is greater than you…you _mercenaries_ can conceive of. If you only knew the things I've seen her do!”

Vilkas said impatiently, “Yes, yes, I know all this, why do you think I am here, woman? What I did was wrong, everything I have said and done from the start was wrong. I am an ass, a big braying ass. She can punch me in the face if she likes when I see her, and I’ll take it. What do you want from me?”

“I told you: stay away from her.”

“No. She is a Companion—“

“She is Dragonborn!”

“She was a Companion first,” he countered.

“No, she was not. She was born with the soul of a dragon. It was in her all along, a gift of the Divines. And you spit on it, and her.” Lydia pointed at the door. “Get out of my thane’s house.”

Vilkas sneered, “I will find her on my own then.” He turned on his heel and left before he got so angry that it would spill over onto Bryn when he saw her.

He headed back up to the marketplace and checked the Bannered Mare, but no one there had seen her since the last time she left Whiterun; she wasn't in any of the shops either, though Belethor gleefully said she had been there that morning to sell off quite a bit of loot. He asked Carlotta if he had seen Bryn and she said she had seen her about twenty minutes ago, hurrying past on her way down from the Wind District towards her new house. He turned back around, aggravated, wondering if the girl had been hiding in a back room or upstairs all along. He paused across the street on the steps of the Drunken Huntsman, pondering his next move, then he decided to check at Warmaiden’s. Adrianne saw everyone come and go, and she wasn't a smart ass like most of the guardsmen; it seemed sarcasm was a prerequisite for the job.

He walked across to the smithy and was shocked to see Bryn pounding away at a sword on the anvil. She had changed into a dirty but sturdy wool dress and leather apron and thick gloves. Vilkas had no idea she knew anything about smithing. He came up behind her but she couldn't hear him over her pounding, though he could hear her talking to herself as she did.

“Jackass!” Clank. “Gods, I hate him!” Clank. “I wish this was his face!” Clank. “Prick! Fucking prick!”

Vilkas couldn't help laughing at the scene, and she whirled around, armed with a red-hot sword blank and a very heavy hammer. He put his hands up and said in wry amusement, “Careful there, you could hurt somebody.” She glared murderously at him, her golden eyes glowing, though he could see with guilt that her eyes were red from crying. She had smears of soot across her face like warpaint.

“I should,” she seethed. “I should put this hammer right in your thick head!”

“I would deserve that, wouldn't I.” Her anger faltered as she stared at him, and he waved at her and said, “You shouldn't be exerting yourself like this. You should be resting.”

“I can have no rest. I’ll never have any rest. And why should you care? You don’t, so go away.”

_I know what you mean,_ he nearly said. None of the Circle slept well, but for entirely different reasons than hers. He suddenly had the horrifying thought that if she joined the Circle she would be offered the Blood. The thought sent a barely suppressed shudder of dismay through him. Kodlak had said that for most of the Companions’ history that hadn't been the case, but it was now. Maybe with things what they were now she could join without it being offered. Without ever even knowing about it. It sent guilty concern through him that she would be asked to deal with that on top of what she already did. Then he felt another pang of guilt over her having to deal with his behavior when she was clearly exhausted.

He finally stated, “I have made things intolerable for you, up at Jorrvaskr, and…I apologize.” Her anger evaporated, her expression softening, then she blushed and turned away, putting the blade back into the coals. Uncomfortable, he said, “I never knew you could smith.”

“I’m not that good at it yet. I’m trying to help Adrianne. She…she needs the help.”

“So I have heard. Idolaf Battle-Born never shuts his big mouth about it.”

“He’s the reason I’m doing this. I overheard him badgering her. And I do want to learn smithing. I need a new set of armor. I’m not leaving town again in Imperial gear.” It had caused some tense encounters with the occasional roving band of Stormcloak soldiers.

“It’s an honorable craft. Farkas dabbled in it, when we were younger, helping Eorlund. I know he still misses the work, and he was good at it.” As in Eorlund never yelled or grumbled at him, which was saying a lot.

“He should consider taking it up in the future. From what Lydia says, neither of Eorlund’s sons is taking after him as he hoped, and if a Gray-Mane no longer works the Skyforge it only seems right that a Companion should.”

Vilkas stared at her back then quietly said, “That…is an interesting thought.” It had never occurred to him in the slightest. Even Kodlak had never mentioned such a thing, and it was so reasonable that it amazed him that no one had ever brought it up. Eorlund had been heard to curse his sons’ lack of interest in the craft now and then, more often in the last half a year since Thorald had disappeared.

“ I've had a lot of time to think, lately.”

“One wouldn't think so.”

“What time should I arrive at Jorrvaskr?”

The abrupt change in subject let him know they were done, as did her refusal to turn around and look at him. “Seven o’clock.”

“All right.”

She immediately went back to the forge, and he let her be, seeing that was how she wanted it. He had no idea how her thin arms had the strength to lift the hammer. He wished to the gods that he had kept his mouth shut earlier. He must have been out of his mind to have said the things he had to her. He had to find some way to keep his temper under control, to head it off before it grew beyond his ability to contain. There was one surefire way of doing so, but the pickings were slim these days. Farkas was a popular bedmate no matter where he went, but Vilkas was not. Not past the first time. He still wasn't sure what it was about him that put women off after bedding, but no matter how he tried to stifle... whatever it was, it never failed to come out, and the women always seemed uncomfortable afterward, quick to leave. He had never slept with the same woman twice, and most likely never would, and Skyrim was getting very small in that respect and smaller every year. Farkas wanted a wife and children someday, and when the time came he would settle down quickly and easily, the only difficulty picking a mate out of a wide pool of women who would be more than happy to oblige. Vilkas would be happy for him when the time came. Vilkas had never wanted that for himself, his entire life the Companions, but the older he got he couldn't help wondering every so often if he really wanted to end up like Kodlak, or Vignar. Kodlak had told him in his more maudlin moments that the best years of his life had been when the twins were young and running around Jorrvaskr, that it was those memories he clung to more as time passed than any battle he had fought.

Bryn glanced behind her and Vilkas started, realizing he had been staring at her back, lost in thought. He cleared his throat and nodded then quickly left.  
-  
Bryn sighed as she gazed up at Jorrvaskr, framed on either side by the moons. Lydia hadn't wanted her to come. Lydia wanted her to write off the Companions forever. Lydia had argued against Bryn tying her magnificent destiny to a mob of mercenaries and drunks, saying she was meant for more than that, that she was better than that. She thought Lydia was a little jealous, as well as being overprotective, but hadn't said so. Lydia couldn't go everywhere and do everything with her. While she intended to take Lydia with her as much as possible, it wasn't always going to be possible. Lydia couldn't be everything to her, and there were people here who could. She wasn't ready to give up on that hope. If Vilkas hadn't come after her, she would have. She didn't doubt Kodlak had given him hell for what he had done, but in the end it had been Vilkas’ choice what to do about it. He had stayed talking to her when he could have delivered his apology and left. He had stayed there staring at her when she hadn't known he was still there.

“Idiot,” she whispered chidingly to herself, and went up the stairs. She braced herself before going through the doors, expecting to hear shouting and laughter, but it was quiet, eerily so. She wondered if she had heard the time wrong.

She pushed open the door and to her amazement saw all the Companions at the tables, waiting silently, Kodlak at the center, and he stood as she hesitated on the steps before the fire. He raised a mug and said in a booming voice, “Hail, Shield-Sister! Welcome home!” Cries of Hail! rang through the hall, from all the Companions. Even Vilkas and Njada. She gazed at the Harbinger with wet eyes then looked around the table, and he sank back into his seat and patted the empty one next to him. “Come, sit,” he gently ordered. She meekly did so, though she quickly pecked his cheek before sitting down. “Oh ho! None of that now,” he said in delight. “This old man’s heart can’t take that sort of thing anymore.”

As Farkas poured her a mug on the other side and the Companions began talking amongst themselves, Bryn whispered to him, “Thank you. I appreciate this.” She had been terrified they were going to start shouting _Hail Dragonborn!_ at her, like the guards did. At least it was only Whiterun guards so far who knew who she was on sight, but then she hadn't gone into any other major cities yet.

“We appreciate you giving us another chance,” he replied just as quietly. “I appreciate it, more than you know.”

“I overreacted.”

“No, you did not. Enough of this. Eat, drink, be merry and all that, and perhaps once you’re comfortable we could hear a story or two?”

“Yes.”

Farkas leaned toward her, tapping his cheek as he said, “Who has a little sugar for Farkas now, eh?” Bryn giggled as the others laughed and she leaned in and peppered his cheek with kisses. He leaned past her and said to Kodlak, “See that?”

“Hard not to,” the old man stated.

Torvar began rising out of his seat with a grin, and Bryn’s finger shot out as she firmly said, “No, not you!” The others roared at that.

“I’m not even drunk!” he protested as he sank back down. “Not yet, anyway.”

Farkas swore to her, “And I promise not to get you drunk.” He set a small plate with a sweetroll on it in front of her. “That’s for later.”

“Oh Farkas,” she sighed, patting his cheek as she beamed at him. She stroked his face and asked in surprise, “Are you growing a beard?” His face felt nice, rough in a pleasing way, nothing like a smooth Elven face. Elves began to be able to grow facial hair in early middle age, but they often shaved it off when they did.

“I do sometimes. Like to mix things up a bit. Plus I get tired of looking like him,” he said, jabbing his thumb Vilkas’ direction. His brother was glowering at them, unnoticed by Bryn, who had her back to him. He couldn't imagine what his twin’s problem was this time, but he had been watching them since Bryn sat down.

“I think it will look nice.”

“Oh, it will,” he said confidently, making her laugh. She was such a beautiful girl when she laughed, not that she wasn't always beautiful. He wished for not the first time that there was some sort of spark between them. The few times they had been around each other they had been so easy with each other. Comfortable. They had hit it off from the start, but then he did with most women. He had never been truly attracted to Bryn, and that was odd for him. He sure loved women. And he kind of loved this one too, but not in the right way. Or maybe it was right.

Bryn frowned as Farkas started to look through her, his eyes going vacant, and she patted his face and whispered, “Farkas!”

“Huh?”

“Are you okay?” No one else had seemed to notice, or maybe had but weren't concerned.

“Oh yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about me. Kind of drift off sometimes when I’m thinking about something.”

“Well, all right.”

“Some people don't think I'm smart. Those people get my fist. But you, I like.”

She said in offense, “Anyone implies you’re dumb and they’ll get _my_ fist.”

Farkas grinned at her and lifted his mug. “Cheers, little sister.”

“Cheers, big brother.”

He glanced at Vilkas, who was staring at the fire, brooding about something as he so often did. He said to Bryn, “Skjor says I have the strength of Ysgramor, and my brother has his smarts.”

“Is that so? I haven’t seen much evidence of those smarts so far.” Kodlak laughed heartily into his mug on her other side. “And there are many kinds of smarts, Farkas. You have a certain…wisdom, I think.”

“Wisdom!” Farkas laughed. “Never heard anyone say that about me before.” He motioned to her plate and said, “Better eat something, little bird. I heard you spent all afternoon at Warmaiden’s pounding away. Can’t go doing that when you’re supposed to be resting and getting some meat on those bones.”

As she put some venison and roasted vegetables on her plate Bryn said, “Vilkas told me you used to smith with Eorlund.”

“Well, I wouldn't say that. I mean, he used to let me do simple things around the forge. He never barked at me much though, so maybe I was okay. He’s touchy like that.” He bit off a chunk of bread and said as he chewed, “I liked it though. Smithing. Kind of miss it sometimes.”

“I told Vilkas you should think about doing it again. Ask Eorlund if he could use an apprentice.”

“Nah. It’s always been a Gray-Mane at the Skyforge. Always.”

“Times change, and I’m sure it hasn't been always. Since his sons most likely won’t follow him, what can it hurt to ask him? Besides, I see you guys sitting around here so often, you clearly have the free time for it.” Farkas shrugged. “I really like smithing. I've been helping Adrianne, when I have time—“

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he repeated.

“I know, but she needs the help.”

“You can’t help everyone, lass,” Kodlak stated, and she turned to look at him, worry in her eyes. “You’re burning the candle at both ends.”

“It isn't as if my motivation is entirely unselfish. I find a lot of armor and weapons in my travels. If I can upgrade on the road and not wait until I hit a town it will make my life easier. I need to keep up Lydia’s gear as well. We both ended up in some dire straits a few times when neither of us could properly mend our armor or sharpen our blades. I've learned a lot from helping Adrianne.”

“All right then. But pace yourself.”

“I will,” she promised.

“So, this new home of yours…how do you like it?”

Bryn’s gaze darted over to Vilkas, who was rolling his eyes as Athis once again expounded on the virtues of small blades. “We’re still unpacking, but it’s nice. Very cozy.” Lydia kept a fire burning at all times, so the house was warm and comfortable, and Bryn now had secure chests to keep any loot she found. There was also a small room off the dining area with an alchemy table, which was interesting. Maybe she’d ask Arcadia to show her how it worked. It would be useful to know how to mix up healing potions, and Skyrim was full of interesting mushrooms and plants that had to be good for something.

“And dare say a sight different from what you’re used to.” Bryn nodded, still nervous about her heritage being brought up. “I visited the Imperial City a few times when I was young. Never liked it. Too hard, too much stone. Never liked Windhelm for much the same reason, or Markarth. They say that city was built by the Dwemer. Have you seen any Dwemer ruins yet in your travels?”

“No, not yet. Plenty of caves though, and not one of them empty. I swear the ones Lydia and I cleared out will be re-inhabited in a month’s time.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. But it keeps…keeps us in business.” He shifted in his seat, feeling a pang of agony in his gut that nearly doubled him over. Bryn put her hand on her arm and he whispered, “I’m fine, lass.” 

She withdrew her hand and shifted her gaze away, seeing the others had noticed and showed varying degrees of concern. Beads of sweat stood out on Kodlak’s brow. She refilled his empty mug from a chilled bottle and went on in an effort to take his mind off his ailment. He took a long drink of it and Bryn could see his hand shaking slightly. “We, Lydia and I…we climbed the Seven Thousand Steps. We um, we took turns counting them, to take our mind off the climb, but kept losing track. Do you think anyone has ever actually counted every one?” Kodlak shook his head, his eyes closed. The group had gone silent, listening, and she supposed it was time to tell her tale, if only to distract the Harbinger from his pain. “It took most of the day,” she started.

“Speak up, girl,” Vignar demanded. “I can’t hear a damn word you’re saying.”

“She said the climb took most of the day,” Brill repeated helpfully.

“What climb? What the hell was she climbing?”

“The Seven Thousand Steps to High Hrothgar.”

“Ah yes,” Vignar sighed. “Quite the climb, that. Done it a good dozen times in my life.”

Bryn said with dread, “I just may meet that number by time the Greybeards are done with me.”

Grinning, Farkas called across to his twin, “Hey, remember that time we planned to climb the Steps then sled all the way down? Maybe she should try that, huh? Save half the trouble?” Bryn laughed merrily at that and even Kodlak chuckled briefly.

Vilkas couldn't help laughing at the memory, saying, “It seemed a good idea at the time.”

He said to Bryn, “Maybe I’ll go with you one of the times you go up there. I always wanted to see a Greybeard.”

“They don’t seem to enjoy visitors,” Bryn said with regret. “They made Lydia stay by the doors the whole time. They barely acknowledged her existence.”

“Probably didn't know what to do with two pretty girls at the same time. I've never had that problem.” She laughed again, her cheeks pink. “So what did they say?”

“Well, only one talked, Master Arngeir. The others were too strong to speak; they can only Shout. But Master Arngeir has been able to master his voice enough to talk normally.”

“So you can Shout, right?”

She hesitated and said, “Well, yes, a little. Parts of three Shouts are all I know so far.” She had learned _Feim_ in Ustengrav, and it had settled instantly due to the soul of the dragon she had absorbed in Ivarstead. She had tried it right away and Lydia had nearly screamed when she went transparent.

“Show me.” Bryn grimaced, and he nudged her shoulder. “C’mon. Show us one. I promise this is the only time I’ll ever ask.”

Vignar scowled as he barked at Farkas, “The _thu’um_ isn't a party trick, boy!”

“I don’t mind,” Bryn lied. Farkas didn't mean any harm by it, and maybe it would help the group take her more seriously, and help them understand why she wouldn't be able to spend much time here once she was rested up. And maybe it would teach Vilkas a little respect.

“You should,” Vignar scolded. “These are our sacred traditions we’re talking about.”

“Yes. The Greybeards impressed all that on me. I spent two days studying with them. My doing this is not intended disrespectfully, Revered.”

“Well…all right. Have to admit I wouldn't mind seeing it for myself.” 

Ria clapped her hands and nearly squealed in excitement as Bryn rose from her seat. Bryn smiled slyly at Farkas and asked, “How would you like to be part of the demonstration, since you wanted this so?”

No longer amused, Farkas looked at her warily and muttered, “I don’t know. Depends.”

“This shouldn't hurt.”

“ Shouldn't, or won’t?” Bryn shrugged. He got up. “Okay, but Vilkas has to do it with me.”

“No, I do not,” Vilkas said in annoyance.

“C’mon, don’t be a stick in the mud.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Uh-uh.”

From the amused looks on everyone’s faces this was a long-running thing between the twins, and Bryn bit her lip and tried not to laugh as Farkas pulled Vilkas out of his seat by force and dumped him on his feet, Farkas the same height as his brother but much stronger.

“I will kill you for this,” Vilkas hissed at him. “These are my good clothes!”

“Stop being a pansy,” Farkas said with a smile. “We’re about to get shouted at by the Dragonborn and live. Who can say that?” He looked at Bryn and added, his eyes twinkling, “We’re going to live, right?”

“I’m fairly certain,” Bryn said, deliberately sounding uncertain, and she heard a snicker from Skjor.

“Take it like a man!” the older warrior yelled at Vilkas, grinning.

Aela added, “It is an honor to be killed by the Dragonborn, Vilkas. You should be more grateful.”

“All right, all right,” Vilkas groaned. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“That’s the spirit,” Farkas said with a grin.

Bryn stood in the open area away from the tables and fire. It would be better to do this outside, but she didn't want to drag everyone out there, and frankly she wanted this over with as well. She motioned for the two men to stand about twelve feet away from her. Farkas was grinning from ear to ear, like an excited little boy, while Vilkas’ face was like stone, his pale eyes glaring at her as if saying _You know you can put a stop to this at any time._ Yes, she could, and wasn't going to. “Brace yourselves,” she murmured. They quickly did so, and Vilkas’ eyes widened as she opened her mouth, a split second before the power came rushing out.

_“FUS!”_ The two brothers stumbled backwards as everyone gasped. As they righted themselves, she said, “That was the first part of Unrelenting Force. The second part, _Ro_ , would knock you to your knees. I don’t know the third part yet.”

“Wow!” Farkas laughed. “Never felt anything like that before!”

“And hopefully never will again,” Vilkas said sourly, running his hands back through his short dark hair as he returned to his seat. It had felt like a giant fist of air punching his entire body at once. There was no doubting however that Bryn was certainly Dragonborn; for a normal person, learning even a single part of one Shout took months of study with the Greybeards, or so he had heard. The only other living being who knew how to Shout was Ulfric Stormcloak, and he had spent nearly a decade in High Hrothgar learning what he knew. Dragonborn…it just didn't seem possible. Some scrawny, half-breed girl from Cyrodiil? He wasn't sure he would ever be able to wrap his mind around it.


	7. Chapter 7

Vilkas frowned as he came upstairs just as Bryn was going out the front doors, armed and armored. He went to Aela, who it seemed had just been talking to her, and asked, “Where is she off to this time?”

“Valtheim Keep,” she answered.

“What for?”

“It seems Amren finally found someone to fetch his father’s sword for him.”

“Did he also finally come up with the coin for the job?”

“No, he did not.” Vilkas’ eyes narrowed as he grumbled and went for the door, and she warned him, “I’d watch it with her if I were you, brother.”

Vilkas ignored her and pushed through the doors, seeing Bryn going down the stairs. “Hey,” he called. She paused and looked up at him then away again, in that way that always made him uneasy. For the last several weeks she had been splitting her free time between Jorrvaskr and Warmaiden’s, training with the Companions and helping Adrianne fill the Legion’s order. She had gone out on a few small jobs in the meantime as she built up her strength and reserves, and from what he could tell she was there. She had put on much-needed weight and lean muscle, mostly from Farkas’ force-feeding her from what Vilkas could tell. His twin seemed to take some odd pleasure in babying Bryn, and Vilkas still hadn't gotten up the courage to ask him if the two were sleeping together. From the affection between them it appeared they were; Farkas often had his arm around Bryn’s shoulders, and Bryn always had a kiss for Farkas’ cheek, though to be fair she always had one for Vignar and Kodlak as well. The two often retreated to Farkas’ room, and Farkas sometimes visited Breezehome, and at those times it nearly drove Vilkas mad debating with himself as to whether anything was actually going on. He had never seen his twin act like this with a woman before.

Well, if she were his brother’s woman, he had to treat her with respect, and he had. He had taught her about the Companions’ history, had taught her anything she wanted to know, though training with her had been rather uncomfortable, for both of them. The girl wouldn’t look him in the eye for more than a few seconds at a time, if at all, but he often caught her staring at him. It made him alternately restless and angry, feeling the lack of female company, wondering if the girl wanted them both, something that made him feel ill. He and his brother had agreed nearly fifteen years ago to tell each other who they had been with and keep a distance there, not fishing the same pond for several months afterward, and it had worked for them. But Farkas wasn't telling him about Bryn. And Vilkas couldn't bring himself to ask. Asking would make it seem like he was interested in her himself, and he most definitely was not. She was very pretty, there was no denying that, and of course he found her height intriguing, having never been with a woman that tall, but he would never touch a Shield-Sister in that way. But then he had been sure Farkas never would either.

She glanced at him then away again, saying, “I told Aela where I was going. I have something that needs doing.”

“How much is Amren paying you for it?”

“Nothing, as far as I’m aware.” She heard a growling, scoffing sound and looked up at him, seeing he was angry. It never took much, but at least he wasn't snide with her anymore. She could handle anger, but not that.

“You would risk your life for nothing?”

She folded her arms and said, “His family doesn't have much. He has a wife and child to feed. Should I have his family starve so the Companions get their coin?”

“Of course not. That sword should sit where it has for the last ten years, rusting in some bandit’s lair.” _Like the piece of trash it is,_ he nearly added, before catching himself.

“Until he comes up with the coin, you mean.”

“Yes. Yes, that is exactly what I mean. Good intentions won’t put food on our table.”

“I've never seen that table empty, so it would seem you are all still doing rather well for yourselves.”

“We can’t go down that road,” Vilkas insisted more quietly, moving closer to her when he saw a guard by the Gildergreen watching and trying to pretend he wasn't. He swore a natural nosiness was another prerequisite for the job. “That has never been our way.”

“Perhaps your way should change.” Vilkas shook his head as he put his hands on his hips and looked out over the city. As she gazed at him her heart ached. How she wished he wasn't so damned handsome, and how she wished she and Farkas could love each other the way they wanted to. They’d even tried one night to sleep with each other, about a week and a half ago, and they’d both ended up laughing before they could get very far. She had told Farkas then that she was a virgin and he had suggested setting her up with someone to take care of the job, in his blunt yet caring way, and she had been so mortified by it that they hadn't spoken of it since. Not openly anyway; he wasn't above teasing her obliquely about it. He knew that she had feelings for his brother, and he’d told her they couldn't go anywhere, that Vilkas had never touched a fellow Companion and never would, but then he’d told her he would never do that either and he had been willing to try with her. How she wished she could transfer that spark to the right brother!

“You think we should just dump four thousand years of history in the privy?”

“No, I didn't say that--”

“You can talk about honor all you want, but in the end it is coin we fight for. We are not a charity, woman.”

“I realize that, _man,_ but it doesn't mean you can’t show some once in a while. I can’t operate as a pure mercenary, Vilkas. I can’t. People need my help, our help. I find it hard to believe that if you came upon someone getting attacked on the road that you wouldn't help until you found out what monetary gain was in it for you.”

“Of course not, and if offends me that you would even suggest it.”

“If people can pay for our services, then they should. If they can’t, we should still try to help them. If the Companions don’t want to do that, then I will do it on my own. The client gets their problem solved, I pick up some loot and experience, and the Companions get their name attached to a good deed. It’s a win for everyone.”

“Except, once again, it puts no coin in our coffers. Jorrvaskr does not run itself.” Bryn frowned at him, and when she was silent he looked at her warily. “What?”

“What are you afraid of?”

He glowered at her. “What do you mean, what am I afraid of? I am afraid of nothing. I simply have to look out for this company’s best interests.” Kodlak was either too ill or too preoccupied these days to do so, and Skjor had no head for it, so the burden of balancing the books fell to Vilkas. Not that he found it such a burden, but it was a large responsibility. The Companions had been doing rather well for themselves lately though, he had to give her that.

“I've refused my cut of all the jobs I've taken recently. That should even things out.” Vilkas was taken aback by that, his scowl deepening. “I want—I need—to help people. What am I here for, if not that? Why do I exist? What is my purpose?”

He met her earnest gaze for several moments then he was the one to look away first. He wasn't used to having philosophical discussions with the girl, or anyone, really; he enjoyed them, but Jorrvaskr was light on stimulating conversation on even the best of days. He knew what she was asking: why was she Dragonborn, and why had the Dragonborn appeared now? “The Greybeards didn’t tell you?”

“No, and I didn't think to ask while I was there. I was numb at the time. And to be honest, I’m afraid to find out. I’m not here to clear out bandits and necromancers, I know that. Anyone can do that.” She bit her lip as she watched Heimskr come out of his house to start his preaching. She murmured to herself, “I suppose I should go find who has the horn.” She had a good feeling about what her purpose was anyway, from reading and re-reading that damn _Book of the Dragonborn_. No, it wasn't a good feeling. There was nothing good about it at all.

“Of Jurgen Windcaller?”

“Yes. I’ve put off the task longer than I should have. The more I think about it however…it makes me rather angry. Everything Lydia and I went through to get the horn, and they have the… _nerve_ to leave me a note?”

“What did it say, exactly?” He found himself curious against his will. Bryn hadn't elaborated on much of anything the night she’d returned to Jorrvaskr. Everyone had wanted to hear about her battles, about the dragons she had fought. So had he, but getting the details now was intriguing. Whenever the two of them had interacted it had always been him who had done all the talking, training and teaching her as Kodlak had insisted he do. It hadn't really occurred to him to ask her anything, sure that she would have nothing particularly interesting to say. There was also the notion that any woman who was seriously interested in his brother had to have about as much brains as Farkas did.

“ _’Dragonborn- I need to speak to you. Urgently. Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I’ll meet you. –A Friend’._ ”

Vilkas slowly shook his head, frowning. “Sounds like a trap.”

“Yes, it rather does. I want that horn though. Maybe after I finish up at Valtheim. It shouldn't take long.”

“No, I would imagine not. Clearing it out was one of the first jobs Farkas and I took together, when we were just pups, barely able to grow half a beard. Vignar says even he can’t remember Companions younger than us.”

Bryn smiled and said, “Farkas has told me plenty of stories about the trouble you two were always getting into.”

“I think every Companion here when we were growing up tanned our hides at some point or another,” he laughed.

“From what he’s told me, you both deserved it, though…” She shook her head, suddenly troubled. “I could never strike a child. I never…um, well, mer don’t do that. Spank their children. I was never hit as a child. No one had ever struck me until my cousin bashed me in the head.” Vilkas grunted, his expression dark, his eyes haunted. He shook his head and moved to leave. “He told me, about Jergen.”

“Of course he did. He probably told you that our ‘father’ raised us here as happy little pups, biting at knees. I love my brother, but his brains are not his strong suit.” He hesitated then said, “I don’t know if the man was our father, and I don’t care. He left to fight in the Great War and never came back. Tilma and Kodlak raised us after that, as best they could. We owe Jergen our lives, but that is all he gave us.”

“About Farkas…” She saw Vilkas suddenly tense up, his cheeks flushing. The reaction was bizarre, but she pushed on. Vilkas was talking to her, really talking to her, about personal things, not just some dry history. “I love him too, but the way he drifts off at times…it worries me. Has he seen a healer? I asked him to and he brushed it off and told me I was being silly.”

Vilkas said tightly, “It is nothing a healer can help.”

“But—“

“Since you have spent so much time with my brother,” he stated with extreme difficulty, “and he told you about Jergen, surely he told you how we came here.”

“Yes, and it was horrible. I should be glad he remembers nothing about it.” They had been held captive by a circle of necromancers, until Jergen had found and rescued them. Farkas was sure that Jergen was their father. Bryn seriously doubted that but didn't have the heart to debate it with him.

“As am I, but the reason for it…”

When he didn't continue she softly said, “It’s all right, Vilkas. I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

He shook his head. “No, if you’re going to be around my brother you should know.” He took a deep breath then went on quietly, his eyes unfocused, “We were just babes, three maybe, so I remember little of it. I remember nothing before it, anyway. But I remember that Farkas and I were the same, before…well, before. They were…brutal to us. I can’t begin to fathom why we were there at all other than to amuse them. Better to think that than think our mother was one of them and allowing us to be treated so.”

“Oh Vilkas,” Bryn breathed, her eyes wet. The disconnected way he spoke of it was more heartbreaking than grief or anger would have been.

“One day, I suppose we must have caused them more trouble than usual. One of them, an Altmer woman, took Farkas from our cage and swung him against the cave wall, then threw him back in the cage. I thought he was dead. It wasn't until he started moving again two days later that I realized he wasn't. Jergen found us the day after that and got a healing potion into him, or I think he probably would have died, but still, the damage was done.”

“Merciful Mara,” she whispered, close to bawling. Tears were running down her cheeks. She couldn't help wondering if that was why Vilkas had hated her at first, knowing she was half-Altmer.

“Ever since then he has had trouble. I was no better than a wild animal for months after that, and Farkas barely spoke at all and used to hide in whatever nook or cranny he could find, and when he did speak, he no longer sounded just like me. Jergen was patient with us, they all were, especially Tilma, but I think caring for us wore him down. We were not quite eight years old when he left. I suppose going off to war seemed preferable to raising two hellions, whether they were your own or not.” He heard a sniff and finally looked at her, and she was staring at him with an anguished expression. He shook his head and looked away. “Do not grieve for me, if you are,” he said sternly. He couldn't stand the thought of her weeping for him when he had been so cruel to her.

“I grieve for those two little boys, and I will never feel sorry for my own upbringing ever again.” His frown deepened, but he didn't seem angry. She pulled off her gauntlet and rubbed the tears off her cheeks. “I will leave you alone now,” she said quietly. “Farewell, brother.”

“Farewell…sister,” he murmured. It was the first time she had ever called him such a thing. He couldn't help wondering either if she called him that because he was a fellow Companion, or because he was her lover’s brother. He couldn't help hearing her voice over and over again though… _Oh Vilkas. It’s all right, Vilkas. Oh Vilkas…_ It made him feel like punching something.

Bryn turned away and went down the steps then across the courtyard, the sun glinting off her pale blond hair. He watched as Danica Pure-Spring rose from a bench and stopped her, concerned about her tears, and Bryn shook her head and waved her off. Bryn then pointed at the tree, and as Danica gestured at it and talked he grumbled in aggravation, wondering if she was being talked into another fool mission. The tree had been dead for nearly two years but the priestess refused to give up on it, still treating it as if it were alive. When Bryn folded her arms and pinched her lower lip thoughtfully he whispered, “Damn it, woman, don’t you dare…” Bryn nodded and Danica looked delighted. 

Vilkas sighed heavily, and when Bryn glanced up at him he slowly shook his head. She shrugged and smiled at him, and he couldn't help snorting a laugh and shaking his head again. Her smile brightened and she beamed at him, her eyes glowing, then she turned away and walked down to the Plains District with a spring in her step. It was just as she disappeared from sight that he realized she was wearing new armor of oiled leather, something she must have recently crafted at Warmaiden’s. She was there nearly every day and had even spent some time up at the Skyforge talking to Eorlund, so she seemed serious about the craft. The armor looked serviceable and well-fitted, so it looked as if she knew what she was doing, though it worried him that she favored light armor. He would never want just leather between him and a sword blade. She had a shield and was competent with it, thanks to Njada, though the two women still couldn't stand each other. If Bryn wanted to go out and save the world no better equipped than a bandit that was her decision. At least this time it seemed she was doing so with a clear head.  
-  
“Now look what you've gotten yourself into.”

Bryn put her hand over her eyes, feeling like an idiot. “Sorry, I wasn't thinking,” she said in dismay. “I should have seen that coming.” Running this job with Farkas felt strange to say the least. Since hitting the road he had shown little of the humor or sweetness he showed at Jorrvaskr, and since entering Dustman’s Cairn he had been all business. While Bryn had watched him train plenty, his prowess in their first encounter with draugr a few minutes before that had been astonishing. He had barely broken a sweat while she had struggled a bit; these draugr had been up and walking around already, unsettled by whoever had gone through the crypt before her and Farkas. She was used to picking them off at a comfortable distance, or at least getting a few arrows in before having to deal with them hand-to-hand. In the close quarters of a few minutes ago that had been impossible. When they returned to Whiterun she would make sure to get more light weapons training from Athis and Amren.

“No worries. Just sit tight, I’ll find the release.”

“All right. Sorry.” Bryn gasped, startled, as the other barred gate rose and half a dozen bandits ran in from the other tunnel, weapons raised. Before she could warn Farkas he spun around, his two-handed sword in his hands.

“Aw hell,” Farkas muttered.

“Time to die, dog!” one of the bandits yelled. “We knew you’d be coming, Companion.” 

The last was said with contempt, confusing Bryn to no end; the Companions were universally respected, not only in Skyrim but all of Tamriel, or so Vilkas had told her. The bars of the grate were too close together for her to shoot at the bandits with any accuracy, and Farkas was being encircled by them, making it impossible for her to Shout them away without also stunning him. Bryn clung to the bars, biting her lip to stay silent in an effort to not distract him. Clearly, these weren't ordinary bandits, but whoever they were, it was beyond her why they had laid what was turning out to be a trap for one of the Companions. This entire job should have been quick and easy; after much debate amongst themselves, the Circle felt that Bryn should go through the usual route of becoming a full-fledged Companion, whether she was Dragonborn or not, just to avoid any resentment from the others, and she didn't mind. She had already done plenty of small jobs for them but hadn't gone through her Trial, so this was it; she would retrieve the fragment of Wuuthrad that supposedly resided here, while Farkas ‘observed’ to make sure she behaved honorably. It was all just a formality, Skjor had said.

“Which one is that?” a woman asked.

“Doesn't matter,” yet a fourth answered. “He wears that armor, he dies.”

“Killing you will make for an excellent story,” the woman said with delight as she closed on the big warrior.

Farkas growled, “None of you will be alive to tell it.”

Bryn’s cried out in dismay as Farkas bent over and his sword clattered to the ground. She feared he had gotten hit by an unseen archer, but then he began to twist and growl, and she watched in horror as his armor fell away and his clothes split from his skin, which was quickly becoming covered in coarse black fur. He reared back and roared, and Bryn peeped in terror and stumbled backwards away from the gate. Her heart hammered so hard in her chest that white noise filled her ears. Farkas was a werewolf. Her dear friend was a murderous beast. A creature that feasted on human flesh. She had heard plenty of stories about werewolves, and they were horrible monsters, killers, baby eaters, cannibals. And the entire Circle… She shuddered as Farkas swung around him, sending the bandits flying. The entire Circle were werewolves. They all wore the same armor, emblazoned with a wolf’s head, except for Aela, and Bryn didn't fool herself that the older woman wasn't also a werewolf. She had to be.

That overheard conversation between Vilkas and Kodlak now made perfect, terrible sense. _‘I still hear the call of the Blood.’ ‘We all do.’_ Her beloved Vilkas was a monster, and that dear old man as well. She simply couldn't believe it. They were all good people, she was sure of it. Vilkas had sounded tormented, as if it were a curse, and Kodlak’s words bore that out: _‘It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome.’_ Maybe they were trying to fight it. Trying to find a cure. She had to cling to that hope. She had to, or the Circle were nothing but savage beasts and she would feel compelled to destroy them, the people who had become a surrogate family to her. She hoped to the Divines she wasn't forced to do that, or try to rather.

It didn't take long for Farkas to dispatch the last of his attackers. He stood at the center of the room and breathed heavily, making small growling sounds, and when his head swung around to look at Bryn she shivered and met his gaze with huge eyes, resisting the urge to grab her sword. He stared at her for a few seconds then hung his head and rubbed his nose, then he made a sad whining sound and ran out of the room. Bryn flinched as she heard the sound of a thrown lever then the gate started to rise.

When Farkas didn't reappear she hesitantly left the alcove, feeling her gorge rise as she looked at the shredded bodies. She was used to blood and death, but there was something so horribly wrong about all this, about seeing human beings reduced to…meat. Farkas still wasn't appearing, and she steeled herself and whispered, “Farkas!” She had to trust that he wouldn't harm her. If she couldn't trust him, she couldn't trust any of the Companions.

“Yeah.”

“Where are you?”

“Uh…hiding.”

The deep unhappiness in his voice touched her and took away some of her fear. He hadn't wanted to have to do that in front of her, she was sure of it. She licked her lips then said, “Come out. I…I won’t run away.”

“I hope I didn't scare you,” he said miserably as he came out of the tunnel, holding a scrap of tattered, moldy grave linen over his groin. “I mean, I know I did. Scare you.”

“Maybe a little,” she whispered, near tears from the shame and embarrassment in his expression. Of course he would never hurt her. “What happened? That…thing you did?”

“It’s a blessing given to some of us. The Circle. We can be like wild beasts when we want to. Fearsome.” He stood there for a moment, looking around for his pack, and Bryn found it and held it out to him and looked away. He glanced at her as he got dressed and she was looking elsewhere, frowning, her eyes glistening as if she were about to cry. He sighed heavily and strapped back on his armor; it was made to break away during the transformation but was a bitch to get back on afterward.

“So, all of you then.”

He was relieved when she finally spoke. “Yeah, the whole Circle. Vilkas and Kodlak and I have been trying not to change. Not to give in. Kodlak worries we’ll be kept out of Sovngarde when we die, that we’ll be forced into Hircine’s Hunting Grounds for an eternity. Skjor and Aela are fine with that, but we’re not. Kodlak has been trying to find a cure, but it’s hard. The rot is getting worse all the time.”

“Do any of the other Companions know?”

“Nah, it’s a secret to everybody. Well, not everybody. Eorlund knows. He kind of has to. And Tilma. She knows everything that goes on in Jorrvaskr, not sure how. Vilkas thinks Vignar knows too. He said he asked Vignar once when we were kids why he wasn't a member of the Circle, since he was so old, and Vignar looked at him funny and said they had asked him to join but he decided it just wasn't for him.”

“I see.” She didn't blame the old man for not wanting to become a werewolf; the price to join the Circle was simply too high. “It’s been a while then? Since you've changed?”

“Yeah, quite a while. Nearly three months I think, both me and Vilkas.” He shouldered his pack then looked for his sword. He began overturning bodies with his foot as he looked for it. “I don’t really miss it. I never really did it all that much to begin with. The beastblood doesn't affect me like it does the others. Especially Vilkas. It’s been pretty hard on him.”

“That’s…too bad.”

“It’s part of the reason he was such a jackass to you at first. The smallest thing pissed him off. All that bottled-up tension, you know?”

“Sure.” It actually helped quite a bit to know that.

“Of course you don’t,” he sighed, hitting his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Hey, there it is,” he said with relief, grabbing up his sword and sliding it into the sheath across his back. “We’d better keep moving. Might be more of them around.”

“But who are they?”

“The Silver Hand. Bad people who don’t like werewolves. So they don’t like us either.” He motioned with his head toward the tunnel. “Come on, let’s finish this. Keep an eye out, there might be more Silver Hand down here.” Bryn nodded, still not meeting his eyes. He sighed and said, “Hey, we can’t go on until this is sorted out. You’re still thinking.”

“I’m always thinking.”

“I mean about the werewolf thing.”

She frowned deeply, hesitating, then said, “The things I've heard about werewolves…they aren't good.”

“I've never eaten a baby, if that’s what you mean.” Bryn finally looked at him, horrified, and when she saw him smirking she made a sound of offense and smacked him on the arm, making him laugh. “It isn't what you’re thinking. We don’t have to turn every full moon, though it’s hard not to. We don’t run around eating people, at least Vilkas and I don’t. There was a guy in the Circle, years ago, named Arnbjorn…Kodlak and Skjor found out he was out hunting people, every chance he got, and kicked him out. Not sure where he went after that. They probably should’ve just killed him. He’s probably the one that ended up getting the Silver Hand on our trail, with the stuff he did.”

“So you've never eaten another person. You or Vilkas. Not one bite.” He hesitated, and she shuddered and looked away, feeling sick.

“It was early on,” he said in a pleading voice. “When you first turn you don’t have the control you get later on. We both did things we aren't proud of, when we were younger, but it’s been a long time Bryn, I swear. We aren't savages or cannibals.”

She stared into his pale eyes for a long moment, seeing he was honestly distressed, then she nodded and looked away. “All right,” she whispered. “Just…give me time to think about it. Get used to the idea.”

“We’re hoping you won’t have to. Kodlak is trying to find a cure. He says it wasn't always like this. The Circle I mean.” She nodded again. “Come on, let’s go.”

As they made their way through the crypt they encountered a number of Silver Hand members, and Farkas didn't feel compelled to change again. Bryn found a good amount of gold on them along with potions for curing disease and a couple copies of Physicality of Werewolves, one of which she stuck in her pack to look at later. It seemed the numbers of Silver Hand would never end, but after reaching a large room and finding a key to the lower levels it seemed they had seen the last of them.

They finally passed through a set of double doors and came into a room filled with sarcophagi, and Farkas whispered, “This can’t be good.”

“It most certainly is not,” she agreed. “It…ah, well.”

Farkas followed her gaze to the far end of the room, where a rune-covered wall dominated. “Is that one of those word walls?”

“Yes.”

“I've seen those before. Up high on mountains, or down in places like this. Never thought much of them, since they didn't seem to do anything. They feel kind of creepy but that’s it.” She didn't answer, staring at the wall. “Can you read it?”

“No. It’s in the dragon language. The Greybeards know it, but I don’t. Not yet.” She licked her lips and continued, “I ah, have to go look at it.”

“Sure. I’ll cover your back.”

The two Companions crept as quietly as possible across the room, both of them with skin crawling over the number of crypts against the walls. Bryn saw the fragments of Wuuthrad on a small pedestal on the table in front of the wall, and she cautioned, “Don’t touch that yet. It’s most likely a pressure plate.”

“Got it.” Farkas stayed next to the table as Bryn walked to the wall as if drawn to it. She staggered slightly as her hands went to the wall as if to hold her up, and she squeezed her eyes shut as the words glowed faintly then died. It seemed rather anticlimactic, nothing like what the select guards who had helped her kill the first dragon had seen.

_“Yol,”_ Bryn whispered.

“What’s that?”

“The word is _Yol._ ” She rubbed her eyes then shook her head, feeling the word floating in her skull, untethered, unusable.

“A new Shout?” She nodded. “Can you use it now?”

“No. I haven’t seen any dragons since Ivarstead. Without a soul available to help…anchor, I suppose, anchor the word, I can’t perform that Shout. I won’t really know what the Shout does until I use it for the first time.” She rotated her neck and shoulders then pulled out her sword and shield. “Ready, Shield-Brother?”

“Any time you are, Shield-Sister.”

Bryn picked up the heavy fragment and quickly slid it into the front of her armor, and within seconds the first pop of a casket was heard. Farkas grinned at her then ran towards the action, and Bryn stayed off to the side with her bow, either finishing off those he had damaged or putting in the initial damage and letting him finish them off. Between the two of them they quickly dispatched at least a dozen draugr, and while it had been challenging it had been easier than dealing with the Silver Hand, who had the cunning of the living on their side.

“Now that’s what I call a fight!” Farkas shouted happily. “We make a good team, little bird!”

“That we do, big bear,” she replied in kind.

“Big bear, huh? I like that.” He nodded up the wood stairs to a crypt that lay open to a tunnel. “What do you want to bet that’s the way out?” She nodded, slinging her bow onto her back. She pulled out the steel fragment and showed it to him. “You keep that safe, you earned it. Let’s get back to Jorrvaskr.”

“Let’s.”

It was late afternoon outside when they left Dustman’s Cairn. Bryn never could keep track of time underground and was always surprised by how much had passed. Neither suggested spending the night inside the barrow by the warm braziers; Whiterun was only a few hours away, and after a brief rest, a drink and a quick meal they set off for home.

The walk back was wonderful to Bryn, spending time with a dear friend under a fantastic sky, with no one else on the road other than a lone courier running past going the opposite way. They spent the entire time talking, Farkas free to tell her more about his and Vilkas’ past now that she knew they were werewolves. Her anxiety and distaste over it eased as the night went on and she realized that the particular brand of lycanthropy that afflicted the Circle wasn't quite the same as what she had read about. Farkas had no idea how it had originally come about, but Kodlak seemed to think it hadn't always been that way. Bryn was also able to gather quite a few flowers on the way home for use in potions; Arcadia had shown her how to make the most basic ones, but for now that was all she needed. She could heal herself but Lydia needed healing potions. One of these days Bryn was going to have to learn the spell to heal others; it would be easier to do that than carry around heavy, clunky potions. Maybe once she helped Danica with the Gildergreen the priestess would be willing to show her a few things.

It was nearly full dark by time they returned to Jorrvaskr, to find Vilkas standing at the top of the steps. Bryn couldn't help admiring him, tall and unfairly handsome, still in full armor with his greatsword across his back even at this late hour. He smiled slightly at her, making her heart flutter a bit. So he was a werewolf. Well, that was all right, if he was as honorable in his behavior as Farkas said they were. It certainly explained a lot about his temperament.

“We’ve been awaiting your return,” he stated.

“Why is that?” she asked.

“Come, follow me.”

She glanced at Farkas and saw a smile playing about his mouth, and she guessed this was all part of the formalities. It would be good to get it over with so Torvar with stop with his mutterings and Njada would lose an excuse for her dirty looks, though of course they wouldn't completely cease.

When they reached the back of Jorrvaskr she saw the rest of the Circle standing in the training yard. The rest of the Companions were gathered under the porch. The twins joined the others in the Circle, and the men all certainly made a majestic sight in their wolf armor. She hesitated but Kodlak motioned for her to come join them. They left a space open for her between Aela and Vilkas and she went to stand there, feeling grubby and not very presentable, but then Farkas was too.

Though it was all only a formality, the brief ceremony that followed was deeply touching, Farkas’ words especially so. He was solemn as he said the ceremonial words, but his eyes shone, and she couldn't help beaming at him as he spoke.

“It shall be so,” the Circle chorused, then broke up and moved into the mead hall with the others, leaving her alone with Kodlak. This was the first time Bryn had seen him outside, and only the second time she had seen him upstairs. He was in full armor and looked uncomfortable, though he hid it well.

“Well girl, you’re one of us now. I trust you won’t disappoint.”

“I will do everything in my power not to, Harbinger,” she stated. She turned and glanced back to see that they were alone then turned back to Kodlak, licking her lips as she frowned slightly.

“Your expression is troubled,” he stated. “What is it?”

“We were ambushed in the Cairn,” she said softly. “By the Silver Hand.” Kodlak made a sound of dismay and closed his eyes. “I was trapped in an alcove. Farkas was surrounded. He…did what he had to, to protect us both.”

“I see.” He opened his eyes. “You've been allowed to know some secrets before your appointed time. No matter. Yes, it is true: we are werewolves. Only we of the Circle share the Blood of the beast, though some take to it more than others. I’m sure you can guess who those are.”

“Yes, I think so.” Aela, most certainly. Vilkas, probably, his denial of it extremely difficult on him. “And what of you, Harbinger?”

“Well, I grow old. My mind turns to the horizon. To Sovngarde. I worry that Shor won’t call an animal to glory as he would a true Nord warrior. Living as beasts draws our souls closer to the Daedric Lord Hircine. Some may crave an eternity in his hunting grounds, but I crave the fellowship of Sovngarde. I am a man, not a hound at some foul Daedra’s beck and call.” That last sentence was exactly what had come out of Vignar’s mouth when he had declined to join the Circle. Kodlak had thought him a fool at the time.

“Farkas said you were looking to cure yourself?”

“Yes, but it is no easy matter.” He shook his head. “You needn't concern yourself with the worries of an old warrior. Tonight is to rejoice in your bravery. And tomorrow, speak to Eorlund if you want a better weapon to replace…whatever that is.”

“Yes, Harbinger.” She had gotten used to her steel sword, but she had to admit it was old, repaired a few too many times, found in some cave she and Lydia had traipsed through. Having Skyforged steel in its place would make her feel much more secure. She would make certain to get herself a new sword first thing in the morning, then she and Lydia would be setting out again, this time to finally track down the person who had stolen the horn of Jurgen Windcaller right from under her nose. She just hoped she hadn't waited too long, and that the note was sincere, because if they weren't a friend…


	8. Chapter 8

At the sound of the lock on the front door turning, Lydia ran downstairs. Seeing Bryn she hurried over to take the heavy pack from her, saying breathlessly, “My thane, another dragon?” She could hear the particular clank that dragon scale and bone had to it. They had collected some from the dragon in Ivarstead and kept it in the chest in the alchemy room. Neither woman was sure what good it was to collect them, but if nothing else they made good trophies and could be sold if the coin was needed. Bryn’s armor was scorched and the tips of her hair singed, and she looked tired but edgy, having been gone for days. Lydia had been worried sick about her.

“Yes.”

The tension in Bryn’s voice and the fire in her eyes was something new, something Lydia wasn’t used to. Bryn was seething about something. “Did that woman betray you?” Lydia asked, her own protective anger rising in response. Delphine had been furious that Bryn had brought Lydia to the meeting in Riverwood, and had refused to speak any further to her until Lydia had been sent back to Whiterun. Bryn had been angry then but willing to listen, recognizing the woman from the time early on when Bryn had retrieved the dragonstone for Farengar.

“No, she did not, but…ugh.” She pulled off her helmet and stuck it under her arm and shook out her fair hair. “What do you know of the Blades?”

“She’s a Blade?” Lydia whispered in shock. “I thought they were all dead.”

“Apparently not. She wanted me to prove I was Dragonborn. It wasn’t enough for me to demonstrate a Shout or two. She wanted me to kill a dragon in front of her and take its soul. So I did. She helped, I’ll give her that. We went to Kynesgrove and saw that black dragon from Helgen, raising another from the dead. Sahloknir. Delphine thinks the Thalmor have something to do with all this, the dragons coming back. I don’t see how they could. This is bigger than the Thalmor or the Aldmeri Dominion, though I don’t doubt that they will exploit it if they can.”

“Aye, my thane,” Lydia whispered, unsettled by Bryn’s agitation and the steel in her voice.

As she began pulling off her armor Bryn scoffed, “She said the Blades’ duty was to guide and protect the Dragonborn. Protect me from what, pray tell? All she wants is to use me for whatever game she is playing. I could see the greed in her eyes as I took Sahloknir’s soul.” She threw the scorched leather on the floor. “Now she wants me to sneak into the Thalmor Embassy. She wants me to be a spy, of all things! I told her she can damn well wait. I have business to attend to. She gave me the horn, and in the morning we’ll take it back to the Graybeards. At least they don’t lead me to believe they have an ulterior motive.”

“Yes, my thane.”

Bryn dropped into a chair in front of the fire and began to serve herself the savory stew that Lydia had warming there. “I was thinking about taking Farkas along as well, if he wants to go. He said he’s always wanted to see the Greybeards, so now is his chance.” She blew on the spoonful of stew then put it in her mouth. As the warmth of the stew and the fire seeped into her she felt her anger calming, and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath in an effort to force the rest of it away.

“My thane…Bryn…” The other woman’s eyes opened lazily and Lydia suppressed a shudder as they glittered in the firelight, serpent-like. “Are you all right?” Bryn stared at her for a moment then sighed and began poking at her stew. Relieved, Lydia set the pack down and knelt at her lady’s side. “Did something happen?”

“I breathed fire,” Bryn murmured. “I took Sahloknir’s soul and _Yol_ settled in me, and I shouted fire.” She snorted a bitter laugh. “I suppose it was a good thing Delphine wasn't in the way.” She scooped up the stew and blew on it. “I’m a real fire-breathing dragon now, Lydia. Isn't that wonderful.”

“Oh Bryn,” Lydia whispered, hearing the catch in the other woman’s voice. She grabbed Bryn’s arm and squeezed it. Lydia thought it wonderful, exciting, exactly the sort of thing the Dragonborn should do, but of course Bryn didn't see it that way.

“Will I even be a person when all this is over?” she asked brokenly. “Will I still be a woman? Will any man want me when this is done, if it ever is? And will I even still want a husband and children by then?”

“Of course, how can you say—“

“I can feel it in me now, Lydia,” Bryn said in a shaking voice. “The edge that wasn't there before. The ambition. The entire way home all I could wonder was if this was how it started for Tiber Septim. If I could actually end up doing the things he did. If I stop the dragons, what then? Where does it end? Will I be satisfied to leave it at that? If I keep going the way I am…I could unify Skyrim. I could throw out the Thalmor, no, I could _destroy_ them, and the Aldmeri Dominion. Tiber Septim was Dragonborn, but he didn’t have dragon souls to feed on. What if that is why I was born, to do this? I’m half-human, half-Altmer, and maybe there’s a reason for that, and a reason why a half-breed like me is Dragonborn. That was all I could think about, the whole way back, over and over. The wheels never stopped turning, and I just kept getting angrier, and angrier. I kept hoping for another dragon to appear on the way back, or even a damn pack of wolves, anything to let me vent, let me destroy something.”

Lydia stated in the strongest voice she could muster, “All you’ll be destroying tonight is that bowl of stew. You’d better get to it before it gets cold.”

Bryn stared into the fire for a moment before whispering, “I do love you so, Lydia. You always know the right thing to say.”

Touched, she answered, “I was born to serve you, my lady. One half-breed to another.” She gave Bryn’s arm another squeeze then stood to take the pack to the back room and stow away the scales and bones then secure the Horn a little better. She heard the scrape of the spoon on the bowl, reassuring her, so she set to restocking and preparing their gear to set out in the morning while she warmed water over the fire for Bryn to wash with. She regretted the lack of a proper bath, but maybe one day when they had enough extra coin they could add onto Breezehome.

An hour later Bryn’s stomach was full of stew, bread, mead and a sweetroll, her body washed and put into a fresh clean sleeping gown and tucked into bed, snug and cozy under the furs and blankets. Lydia closed the door to the bedroom quietly, hearing the telltale deep breathing that told her Bryn was out cold, exhausted. She hoped her mistress stayed that way long enough for Lydia to run up to Jorrvaskr and beg for help.  
-  
“She did what again?” Farkas asked in a maddeningly calm voice.

“She said she breathed fire,” Lydia repeated.

“Huh. So that’s what that Yol was.”

“I need help,” she pleaded softly. They were outside along the right wall behind Jorrvaskr and everyone else was inside, yelling and drinking and acting like fools as usual. She had to wonder if anyone had noticed them leaving other than Vilkas, whose pale, creepy eyes had followed her the entire time. She didn't doubt Farkas would tell his twin everything once she left, but frankly she didn't care as long as Farkas came along tomorrow to jolly Bryn out of her funk, and perhaps help her feel a little more human again.

Farkas nodded and agreed easily, “Sure. Not a problem. Always did want to see a Greybeard.”

“She was frightening me, Farkas,” Lydia insisted. “I’m really worried about her.” Lydia found the notion of being Dragonborn and breathing fire glorious, but it clearly was troubling Bryn deeply. Bryn hadn't been raised with Nord traditions and felt like a freak instead of the hero she was, or would end up being.

“Hey, don’t worry. Nothing much frightens me. Well, frostbite spiders a little, maybe…creepy buggers…”

Lydia waited a few moments, and when it seemed he wasn't going to come out of it on his own she slapped him on the shoulder. His eyes focused and he smiled at her, and she returned the smile and said, “I'll tell her I asked you to go with us, knowing you wanted to see the Greybeards. Don't let on that I was worried about her.”

“Sure. Not a problem,” he repeated.

“Thank you. I appreciate it. It’s not that I can’t handle her, mind you. It’s just that you seem to be one of the few people who can make her laugh and forget herself for a while. I’m not exactly a barrel of fun.”

Farkas wiggled his eyebrows at her and murmured, “Well, I don’t know about that.”

Lydia laughed and slapped him on the shoulder again. “See, that’s what I’m talking about.” She spun on her heel and walked away, feeling much better. “See you tomorrow, big fella.”

“Hey, maybe we could share a bedroll, eh?”

She laughed again and turned to look at him. “Maybe some other time. I wouldn't want to traumatize my thane.”

“Oh yeah, that whole virgin thing. Why don’t you just take her somewhere and get it out of the way? Find some nice, experienced guy to deflower her.”

“Sweet Dibella, she would be mortified,” Lydia said with mock horror. “She has somewhat delicate sensibilities, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Yeah. Well, I tried to do it and we just couldn't get it to work. Too gooda friends and all that. No spark there.”

Her eyebrows shot up in shock. “Really! She never told me that.”

“She’s good at keeping secrets I guess.”

“Unlike you.”

Farkas laughed, “Hey, I know all sorts of things about her you don’t.”

“If you mean her crush on your brother, you’d be mistaken.”

Farkas rolled his eyes. “Like anyone can’t see that. I told her it can’t ever go anywhere. She knows that, but I guess you can’t help who you love. Or something I heard like that.” He’d never been in love himself, though he thought that the affection he felt for Bryn was a platonic version of that. From what he’d seen of people falling in love, it made you feel kind of sick, and he wasn't into that.

“Well, she’s told me more than once that she wants that blond family of her dreams, and if I have my way she’ll get it.”

“You usually get your way.”

“That I do.” 

She touched her fingers to her forehead in a salute then sauntered away. Farkas watched her hips sway under her armor as she walked, and he said to himself, “Damn fine looking woman.”

“Heard that,” she called back without stopping or turning around.

He chuckled to himself and headed back to the doors, and he felt aggravated to see his brother standing on the porch, his arms folded. He frowned at him and said, “Going to start lurking in shadows now? Got tired of just brooding?”

“I wanted some fresh air,” Vilkas replied in annoyance.

“You’re the worst liar I’ve ever seen.”

“I can do what I want, oaf.”

“I hope to hell you weren't eavesdropping.”

“You were just having a tryst with Lydia, weren't you, so what would there be to eavesdrop on other than a lot of grunting?” He knew they weren't out here fooling around, Lydia’s expression when she came for Farkas too serious for that. He had to wonder though how Bryn would take Farkas diddling her housecarl.

“You’re a real shit sometimes, Vilkas. Besides, my trysts last a lot longer than five minutes, which is more than I can say for you.” His brother made a sputtering sound of offense, and he went on, “I was talking to her about Bryn, if you need to know so bad that you followed me out here.”

“I did _not_ follow you out here. I came out just as she was leaving.”

“I’m going with them in the morning to see the Greybeards. Bryn got the horn back and she came home tonight all weird and angry, talking about breathing fire and toppling empires.” Vilkas’ anger faded as he frowned, unsettled. “Yeah, I don’t like the sound of that. Lydia’s worried about her and asked if I would go with them to keep Bryn’s spirits up.”

“And Lydia’s pants down?”

Farkas stared coldly at him for a few seconds then said, “You need to get out more. As in you need to go get laid somewhere. You’re starting up again.”

Vilkas rubbed his hands over his face and muttered, “Argh, you’re right. You’re right. Sorry.”

“Seriously, when was the last time you left Whiterun?”

“I don’t know.” He let his hands fall. “I’m afraid if I do that I’ll run into something that will force me to change.”

“Maybe,” Farkas admitted. “It happened to me in front of Bryn. How do you think that made me feel? Or her? She was terrified, of me. _Me_. She thinks I’m some kind of big cuddly bear and then that happens, and it was messy, real messy.”

“It seems she got over it well and quickly enough.” Big cuddly bear. How sickeningly sweet.

“Probably only because it was me.” Vilkas didn't reply, staring at his brother as he chewed on his bottom lip, as if he wanted to say something. “What?”

“Are you…ugh, never mind.”

“Am I what?”

“I said never mind!”

Farkas looked at him with his tongue in his cheek, then he said, “All right, you’re coming with me tomorrow.”

Vilkas replied in dread, “No I am not. I am most certainly not.” It would be intolerable to see Farkas and Bryn together. To see Bryn constantly. Smell her constantly.

“Yes, you are. We always said we would climb the Steps together. I’m not going without you.”

“You were ready to a few minutes ago.” He turned away to go inside. “Who knows, maybe you can get both of them in the bedroll—“ He heard a growl of anger a split second before he was tackled from behind. The breath was knocked out of him as they hit the cobblestones, neither of them wearing armor, and he felt his right cheekbone hit the ground painfully before he could catch himself. He swung back an elbow and caught Farkas in the ribs then threw him off, and both men sprang to their feet, panting and glaring at each other. “What the fuck was that for!” Vilkas shouted furiously.

“I’m sick of your bullshit!” Farkas barked. “You don’t talk like that, damn it!”

He sneered, “Like what? Afraid your half-breed lover will find out about your other half-breed lover—“ Farkas roared and punched him in the jaw, and Vilkas staggered for a moment then threw himself at his brother, sending a table and chairs over. 

They hammered on each other and rolled around for several minutes before Farkas could get Vilkas off him. His twin was snarling like an animal, his pale eyes dilated and his skin bristling with dark hairs that erupted then retracted again. Farkas could tell he was only seconds away from a full change, and with all the noise they’d made it was a wonder no one had come running yet. Farkas backed away and Vilkas came towards him, breathing heavily, his teeth bared.

“You can’t have your sweetroll and eat it too,” Vilkas growled, “and neither can she!”

“She isn't my lover, you stupid son of a bitch!” Farkas yelled in disbelief. “Either one of them! Is that what all this is about?”

“Don’t lie to me, idiot! Do you think I’m blind?”

“Yeah I do.” Vilkas lunged for him but Farkas spun out of the way, his anger seeping out of him as Vilkas’ seemed to grow. “Knock it off, damn it!”

“I don’t like being played for a fool! I’m sick of her making eyes at me while she’s fucking you!”

“No one’s playing you, or anyone else. I've never slept with Bryn, ever, and I haven’t touched Lydia in months.” 

Vilkas stopped his advance, still breathing heavily. “I don’t believe you.”

“I’ll never sleep with Bryn. I can’t. I just don’t feel that way about her, no matter how much I’d like to.”

“She spent the night in your bed,” he insisted.

Farkas frowned in confusion. “When?”

“The first night she was here, dummy!”

“All we did was talk. Well, she did most of the talking. And all the crying. I kind of patted her back the way Jergen used to when we were little, and she fell asleep in my bed. I put her in one of the spare beds not ten minutes later.” He narrowed his eyes at his twin before moving to pick up the mess they’d made. “And it pisses me off that you think I would take advantage of a drunk girl. Or lie to you. I've never lied to you, asshole. It pisses me off that you think I would lie. I've never lied to anyone in my life.” Vilkas took a deep breath and looked away, drained and guilty, then he lowered his eyes and joined his brother in picking up the displaced furniture and broken dishes. Farkas went on, “You almost changed. You need to get out.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You’re coming with me tomorrow.” Vilkas didn’t respond. Farkas insisted, “You’re coming with me, damn it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Too bad.” Vilkas grumbled. “We always said we would climb the Steps together, and we never thought we would get to see the Greybeards. Well now we can, and this might be our only chance, so we’re going, together.”

“It isn't only the two of us.” It would be the two women too. It would feel too much like an extended double date. The thought made him feel ill. In fact now he just felt ill in general, his body flooded with stress hormones that had no outlet, frustrated by the near change.

“So what? Bryn’s nice, and Lydia’s easy to be around.”

“I’m not either of those things.”

“Then keep your smart mouth shut the whole time and don’t glare at anyone. Easy enough.”

“It is _not_ easy. Nothing is easy anymore.”

Farkas sighed, feeling sorry for his twin. “Yeah, I know. Look at the bright side, maybe we’ll run into a dragon.”

“Sure.” He doubted they would, but he would be stuck travelling with a dragon in the form of a girl instead. Breathing fire and toppling empires… He didn't want to see Bryn breathe fire, or Shout fire, more accurately. The thought of seeing her in action as Dragonborn was rather unsettling, and the thought of sleeping in close proximity to her for however long this took was even worse. He would hear her breathing nearby. Maybe smell her as they walked, with that hint of lavender that was always about her. It would drive him mad.

Farkas put his arm around his brother’s shoulders and gave him a shake. “Come on, don’t be so squirrely.”

“You mean surly.”

“Whatever. Bryn’s a sweet girl. It’s not like she’s going to come on to you.”

“She already did once.”

“She was drunk. Everyone gets a pass when they’re drunk. So she has a little crush on you, big deal. It’ll go away eventually, just like Ria’s and Njada’s did. Besides, you aren't even what she’s after. She’s told me and Lydia and Adrianne and who knows who else that she came to Skyrim to find a blond husband to give her cute blond babies.”

“Is that so.”

“Not sure if you’ve looked in a mirror lately, but you aren’t blond.”

“No kidding.”

Seeing that he wasn't improving his brother’s mood any, Farkas gave him another shake and pulled him towards the doors. “Let’s go swig a healing potion so the girls don’t see us all beat up in the morning.” 

Vilkas grunted and went along, and when they went inside Tilma shook her broom at them and said, “I hope you two cleaned up after yourselves.”

“Yes ma’am,” they said obediently.

“All right then. Good night.”

No one else seemed to notice their developing bruises or their messy clothes, or if they did, they didn’t care. It wasn't as if the twins hadn't brawled all the time when they were younger, though it had been a long time. At nearly thirty-eight they were way too old to be acting like this, and it made Vilkas burn with shame. He was the one who started it. He always had been. He wasn't even sure now why he had started it this time, why he had gone outside in the first place. Bryn’s business was not his, though it wasn't as if he had no concern for her well-being. Everyone had been concerned when Lydia had come back without her, and Lydia wouldn't say where she was or what she was doing, and she had been gone for days, and it had been rather worrisome and mysterious when Lydia had come into Jorrvaskr alone tonight and whispered in Farkas’ ear. Bryn couldn't have been dead or Lydia would have told everyone, would have looked shaken up. Vilkas hadn't been able to help getting up and going outside, and he felt like an idiot for it. He felt like an idiot for saying things to his brother that were inexcusable no matter if Farkas were sleeping with her or not. Maybe he had even subconsciously said those things to spur Farkas into admitting it, knowing he didn't have the courage to ask on his own. He almost had though. And when Farkas had stated quite clearly that Bryn wasn’t his, it had sent relief mixed with anxiety through him. And then you aren’t even what she’s after…

As he crawled under the blankets that phrase kept echoing through his head in his brother’s voice: _you aren't even what she’s after_. If she was after such a thing, why was she here in Whiterun, doing jobs for the Companions and following her own path, which left no time for a husband and children, blond or otherwise? He had seen her talking to Jon Battle-Born at various points in time in town, and she had shown no interest in him, handsome as he was, or in the equally handsome Bard Mikael, in fact she seemed to detest Mikael, which wasn't hard to do. Jon was laid back and pleasant, finding the clan rivalry ridiculous, but then it was growing apparent that he and Olfina Gray-Mane were carrying on a not-so-secret affair. Bryn didn’t seem attracted to any of the guards either. In fact the only man she really seemed attracted to was Vilkas himself. In hindsight, he didn't see any kind of carnal affection between Farkas and Bryn, maybe only the affection of a close brother and sister.

He tossed and turned for nearly two hours, frustrated and exhausted to the point of considering getting up and going through the Underforge to the plains and changing so he could run and hunt it all out of him. Bryn didn’t belong to Farkas, or anyone, so Vilkas had nothing more than his own sense of propriety to keep him away from her. He wasn’t so delusional that he couldn’t finally admit he was strongly attracted to her. He had never been attracted to a Shield-Sister before and so he had never been tempted, but now that he knew she wasn’t his brother’s woman he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He wasn’t even what she was looking for in something permanent, and he wasn’t interested in anything permanent with anyone, so perhaps it wouldn’t be an issue if they simply took a roll in the furs and got it over with. He would scratch an itch, let out some tension, and it would cure her infatuation, since women invariably found him distasteful afterward.

Feeling calm settle over him, Vilkas rolled over and fell asleep, feeling a sense of peace for the first time since the girl had shown up in Whiterun.  
-  
“Great,” Lydia drawled as Vilkas followed his brother out Jorrvaskr’s front doors, outfitted for the road. Bryn didn’t seem to hear her, her golden eyes gazing up at Vilkas with poorly hidden regard, and when Vilkas returned that gaze with an uncharacteristically warm smile Lydia felt her blood boil. Bryn blushed and looked away, and it was all Lydia could do not to say something snide to the man. She wasn’t sure what he was up to, or why his attitude had suddenly changed, but she didn’t like it one bit.

The twins came down the steps and Farkas said to Bryn, “I hope you don’t mind if Vilkas tags along. We always said we would climb the Steps together.”

The girl shook her head and said, “Oh no. I mean, that’s fine. I understand. This…this will be fun.”

Lydia glared at Vilkas and the tall man gazed back with a smirk, one eyebrow raised. She slowly shook her head at him and he put on an expression of innocence, but she wasn’t fooled. This was wrong, just wrong, on some level she couldn't quite grasp yet, but she was going to be on him like stink on a troll every minute of this trip.  
-  
"Long has the Stormcrown languished with no worthy brow to sit upon. By our breath we bestow it now to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of old. You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North. Hearken to it."

“Ysmir’s beard,” Vilkas whispered, feeling a shiver run through him even though he was warm between Farkas and Lydia on the bench near the doors where they had been banished to. The entire mountaintop had trembled as the Greybeards had spoken to Bryn, and the three of them had had to clap their hands over their ears to tolerate it, but Bryn had barely reacted to the onslaught, stumbling only slightly before regaining her poise. Vilkas didn't doubt the Greybeards’ warning to the three of them that anyone but the Dragonborn standing at the center of that would suffer grievous harm, if not death. Well by Talos she was the Dragonborn. He didn’t think it had really hit him until now.

“Ysmir has no beard this time,” Lydia murmured as she stood, “and you will damn well give her the respect she deserves, Companion.”

Vilkas bit his tongue, not about to get into an argument in one of the holiest places in Tamriel, certainly the holiest place in Skyrim. Even Farkas knew better than to say a word here. He was tiring however of Lydia’s constant vigilance and dirty looks. As if he would try anything with the other two around! He dismissed the woman from his mind and watched and listened intently as Bryn spoke to the Greybeards’ leader, still glad he had come on this journey. It was momentous, what he was witnessing, and as long as he lived he would not forget it.

“Why are the dragons returning?” Bryn asked. “Is it because of me? Or was I born because the dragons were about to return?”

“No doubt the appearance of a Dragonborn at this time is not an accident,” Arngeir stated. “Your destiny is surely bound up with the return of the dragons. But as to which is the cause and which the effect, it is impossible at this time to say. Akatosh himself brought about your birth, and it is not difficult to imagine that he did so with foresight, knowing the dragons were about to reappear. The Dragonborn always enter the world at a critical juncture.”

“What do I do next, Master?”

“You should focus on honing your Voice, and soon your path will be made clear.”

Bryn listened respectfully, trying to be patient with their measured training, trusting that at least Arngeir and the Greybeards in general had no ill intent or ulterior motives. The Greybeards were removed from the world, deliberately so, and so had no reason to play games or politics. Bryn thought that perhaps it was Delphine’s manner that had irritated her more than anything, the older woman brusque and too intense, but Bryn still couldn't bring herself to trust her whole-heartedly. The Greybeards she did. They were concerned for her and her alone, simply because she was Dragonborn. If they thought it best to grow her Voice slowly, by roaming Skyrim and finding word walls, then she would. She still hadn’t seen the vast majority of this cold but magnificent country.

She returned to the others, the two men standing as she approached, and when Lydia handed over her pack she pulled out her journal to write down the location Arngeir had given her. Lydia softly said, “Mount Anthor then, my thane?” It didn't seem right to raise one’s voice in this place.

“Yes, but I’m not really sure where that is. I should have asked Master Arngeir to mark my map.”

Vilkas held his hand out, saying, “Here, I know where it is.” Bryn hesitated then handed over the map and pencil, and when their fingers brushed he saw Lydia’s fists clench out of the corner of his eye. The housecarl certainly wasn’t going to make this easy, though it might be amusing in the meantime. “It is high in the mountains, southwest of Winterhold. It may be easiest to take a carriage to the city, what little remains of it, then travel from there. It is brutal country up there, even for Nords, so dress warmly.” He saw Lydia relax slightly as she realized he wasn't going to try to go with them. He would find his own place and time, when Bryn’s business wasn’t quite so urgent. It wasn’t as if he didn’t grasp the importance of what she was doing, and he had a newfound respect for her after witnessing her courteous interactions with the Greybeards and how gravely she took her responsibilities. Bryn wasn’t a child, was in fact a bit older than Lydia herself, and it was none of Lydia’s business who Bryn associated with. It was almost as if the woman was trying to protect Bryn from him, which was laughable. If he tried to bed her and she was agreeable to it, it was really not Lydia’s concern at all, and it aggravated him that she was trying to make it hers. Lydia was a Nord and should understand how these things worked.

Bryn took back the map and pencil, avoiding his touch this time, trying desperately not to blush, which she did much too easily. “I was going to stop for a bit in Ivarstead first,” she stated. “Last time Lydia and I came through here, Wilhelm, the proprietor of the Vilemyr Inn, said there was some problem with the barrow outside town. I should look into it for him while I’m there.”

“What kind of problem?” Farkas asked.

“A haunting. He said he had seen a spirit wandering about the mound. Someone named Wyndelius went in there about a year ago. The townfolk heard screams the next night and he never came back out.”

Farkas grimaced. “I don’t like those kinds of places. Dark and creepy. Probably spiders in there too. Leave me out of it.”

Vilkas casually offered, “I wouldn't mind taking a look at it with you.” Bryn looked at him with wide eyes, surprised. Hopeful. _Yes_.

“My thane,” Lydia quickly interjected.

“It’s been some time since I've seen any action.” She smiled at him, her eyes bright and cheeks pink. He returned the smile. Action indeed.

“My thane!” Lydia protested in a panic, seeing exactly where this was going and not missing Vilkas’ double meaning. Vile man! He was eyeing sweet, innocent Bryn like a predator. “We should go to Mount Anthor, as Master Arngeir suggested.”

“The word wall isn’t going anywhere, Lydia,” Bryn stated, tearing her eyes away from the intense gray gaze, framed so enticingly by black warpaint. Vilkas actually wanted to go on a mission with her. Actually seemed interested in her. She wasn’t sure what had changed, but it had. She wasn't so naive that she couldn't tell that. She also wasn't so naive that she couldn't see Lydia’s deep concern over Vilkas’ behavior. She wasn't stupid or a child. It was as if Lydia was afraid for her, and it borderline angered her that her housecarl, her best friend other than Farkas, was trying to shelter her from something she should have experienced a good ten years ago. The longer she waited the harder it would be, and if it had to be anyone she wanted it to be Vilkas. She didn't expect flowers and romance. She just wanted _him_ , any way she could have him.

Lydia felt a horrible foreboding fall over her as she met Bryn’s gaze. Yes, Bryn knew what she was doing. She knew it might not even be good for her and yet was doing it anyway. Just like always. She quietly said, keeping her voice even with an effort, “Yes, my thane. Farkas and I will return to Whiterun, and I’ll await you there.” Bryn smiled brightly at her, her golden eyes shining, and the look was so innocent and childlike it broke Lydia’s heart. She returned the smile, trying not to give in to tears, savoring that look, wondering if she would ever see it again.


	9. Chapter 9

Vilkas warmed his hands over one of the braziers near the entrance to Shroud Hearth Barrow as Bryn readied her gear. He quietly said, “I am with Farkas on this one. I’ve never liked these places.” They made his skin crawl, frankly, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

“I’ve gotten used to them,” Bryn replied as she sorted out her arrows. She was using mostly steel-tipped these days but kept a bundle of iron ones as backup, and of course she always seemed to find more ancient Nord arrows on the draugr. “I suppose I even like them, in a way. They’re quiet, and I don’t feel like something is going to spring on me from behind or the sides, as in the wilds. I can take the crypt at my own pace and think about what I’m doing before I do it.”

“Huh. I could see why that would be.” He hesitated then added, “Perhaps it is only because of what Farkas and I experienced as children that makes us dislike underground places.”

“Most likely.” She sighed sadly. “I think about it sometimes, when I’m talking to Farkas, wondering who he would be now if he hadn't gotten hurt like that. Then I look at how happy he is most of the time, how everyone loves him. What happened to you both was terrible, but I think it was worse for you, seeing and remembering it. Except for his episodes he doesn't seem any worse for it.”

“Of that there is no doubt,” he murmured. “My brother is a simple man, but a good man, the best I know.” It was surprisingly painful yet touching to hear her talk about it like this. Everyone had always shied away from the subject, never wanting to talk about it, even when he was a child and pestered all the adults around him with endless questions on it. Jergen had refused to talk about it at all, seeming to find the subject unbearable. Vilkas still resented the man deeply for leaving. Jergen had taken good enough care of the twins, but there had never been a strong connection there between him and Vilkas, not like there had been between Jergen and Farkas. Farkas had never questioned that the man was their father, though no one had ever said he was. They’d never said he wasn't either, and Vilkas had asked. Every adult’s answer had boiled down to _Whether he is or not, he saved your life and brought you here for raising, and that is enough._ Well it wasn't enough. It never had been.

As she took out her bow and strung it, still avoiding his gaze, she went on, “He’s the most decent man I’ve ever met. I always wanted a brother, and he always wanted a sister, and…it all worked out. Well, I suppose I had a brother growing up. Yancarro and I were only a few years apart in age, and we were raised as siblings, but then your sibling shouldn’t want to murder you.” Vilkas made a grumbling sound of distaste. “Well, now I want to murder him, so I suppose we’re even. He’ll get what’s coming to him eventually, either at my hand or by choking on his own poison when he hears that I’m still alive, and Dragonborn at that. I think that would be more satisfying, letting him wallow for the next several centuries in the knowledge that I became a hero that comes along once in an era. It’s part of why I do what I do, other than the pleasure of helping people. Everyone in Skyrim will know my name, and eventually everyone in Tamriel, and it will be because of what he did to me.”

“That…is certainly one way of looking at it.” He had been dismayed to hear her talk of murdering her cousin, but then he knew she didn’t have it in her to do so. Hopefully she never would.

Bryn put her bow over her shoulder and looked at him, and he met her gaze evenly, unafraid. She gave him a brief smile and said, “Shall we?”

“Aye.”

Vilkas shivered as they went down the spiral wooden staircase, feeling a cold draft rising past him that caused an eerie moaning sound. Bryn led, seeming unconcerned, her feet light on the stairs with hardly a sound. At the base she pocketed a soul gem then moved down the hall. He followed as quietly as possible, feeling like a clumsy oaf as his armor clanked softly and boots rang on the stone floor, while Bryn slipped along like a shadow, silent in her leather boots and armor. He wasn’t comfortable here, not like he was out in the open, every sound he made magnified by the stone walls. He watched as she deftly plucked gold from the mummified bodies in their niches or gems and rings from urns where the remains had long ago deteriorated into nothing but a film of dust. She seemed to have a knack for finding these little riches, and he could see how they would quickly add up.

They reached an area where the tunnels branched off, and Bryn jumped as a ghostly apparition appeared to her right. She saw Vilkas quickly draw his sword, but the specter stayed on the other side of the gate.

“Leave this place,” it moaned. “Leave this place. Leave…leave… _leave_ …” It turned and drifted away out of sight.

“What the hell,” Vilkas muttered. Gods, he hated this place already. Getting laid hardly seemed worth it now. “Have you seen one of those before?”

“No, never,” she whispered. “I wonder if that was the ghost Wilhelm saw?”

Vilkas watched in bemusement as she shrugged and turned away from the gate and inspected the draugr standing at attention. He could tell as well as she could that they were truly dead, their clothing and armor having rotted away completely without undead magic to sustain them.

“Wow, look at these,” she breathed, holding out three gleaming reddish-gold arrows to Vilkas. “Aren’t they beautiful? I’ve never seen anything like them!”

“Dwemer arrows,” he said with a nod. “You would do well to save those. They’re somewhat rare.” Her expression shone as she slid the shafts into one of the divisions of her quiver. It was charming how happy the small find made her.

They went into a small alcove to find the switch for the gate, and instead found four. Bryn examined the walls and saw a series of small holes. “Darts,” she stated.

“And poisoned, most likely.”

“Yes.”

“Stand out there and I’ll start throwing switches.” She looked at him with worry, and he assured her, “Look at the angle of the holes. I’ll throw the switches from here by the entry, out of the way.” She nodded and did as he suggested, and within a few seconds he found the combination that opened all the gates, indeed tripping the dart trap in the process, though none of them came near. He looked around the alcove for anything useful before leaving, and found an interesting book with a rich leather cover, _Before the Ages of Man_. He flipped through it and found mention of Ysgramor, and made a sound of interest and stuck it in his pack.

They paused in the next hallway long enough for Bryn to pick a lock, nimbly jump over a pressure plate then disarm a chest trap, causing Vilkas to say with mixed amusement and disapproval, “Quite the thief, aren’t you.” He’d had no idea she knew how to pick locks. Between that skill and her sneakiness she could have a rather lucrative career if she knew the right, or wrong, people. He hoped she stayed away from Riften.

“I only steal from the dead, I assure you. They’ll never miss it.”

“I suppose.”

She threw open the chest then cried, “Eleven gold? That’s it?” She heard Vilkas laugh as she pocketed the disappointing amount of loot, ignoring the battered hide shield in the chest; it wasn’t even magical. She looked around the room, sure there was more hidden away somewhere, but other than a few more gold on the dead draugr standing by there wasn’t.

“Really, are you not wealthy enough as it is?”

“No, I’m not. I want to buy a horse. Two, actually; one for me, one for Lydia.” Horses cost a shocking amount, and she had sunk nearly her entire savings into Breezehome. It still needed work, especially the roof which could use thatching and some new shingles. She hadn’t really thought past buying the house and hadn’t taken its upkeep into consideration other than making sure she gave Lydia all her spare coin to keep them both fed and warm.

Vilkas frowned as she jumped out over the trap. “What for?”

“I get tired of walking everywhere.”

He shook his head and warned, “Leave horses to the poncy nobles who don’t like getting their feet dirty. They are a liability. You’ll grow soft riding, and the horse won’t last long, the places you go. A horse can defend itself from a wolf or two, but leave it outside a cave or crypt and you’ll come out to find your ride half-eaten, and a thousand gold in the privy.”

“Oh. I hadn’t considered that. In Cyrodiil everyone rides horses everywhere.”

“This is not Cyrodiil.” She stared at him, and he muttered wryly, “Which I suppose goes without saying.” She laughed quietly then continued down the hall.

They avoided a spike trap then came to an area with two doors. Bryn noticed another trigger trap and quickly disarmed it then opened the door. Water dripped from the ceiling in this area, and she opened the next door, seeing a long gallery with a puzzle door at the end. She turned back and said, “The door needs a dragon claw to open it. We might find it later on.” He nodded and they continued through the other door.

Bryn heard the crackling of a fire and held up her hand, and she sneaked forward on her own to see what it was, as it didn’t sound like the usual lit braziers. She was shocked to see the ghost from earlier sleeping on a bedroll to the side of a small fireplace. She crept closer and saw an entire small household set up: an alchemy table, books, food, some potions. She slipped back to Vilkas and whispered her findings to him, and he whispered back, “Ghosts need none of those things. They don’t need sleep or warm fires either, as far as I’m aware.” Something smelled rotten here, and it wasn’t just the draugr. “Toss a pebble at it and see what happens, but be ready.”

It quickly became apparent that their ghost was not a spirit at all; between the two of them the fight was over quickly and the ethereal appearance instantly was dispelled. Vilkas rolled the Dunmer over in the hallway he’d backed them into and searched him while Bryn healed herself. He was startled for only a moment by the glow, having seen her do it early on after training sessions. He had to admit it would be a handy skill to have.

“Nothing,” he finally said as he stood. “Let’s check his little hideaway. What do you want to bet he’s that Wyndelius person Wilhelm mentioned?”

“Probably.”

They returned to the small room and found the man’s journal on a desk. Bryn felt her heart trip expectantly as Vilkas moved behind her to look over her shoulder and read at the same time. “He doesn’t have the claw,” she said in disappointment.

“So it would appear.”

The deep voice in her ear made her shiver, and as she snapped the journal shut she said, “We ah, we should take this back to Wilhelm. At least the townsfolk will know the barrow isn’t haunted.”

“Aye.” He moved away from her to give her space, though her trembling had excited him to the point of nearly bending her over the desk right then and there. Unfortunately he was in no condition at the moment to partake, having taken the brunt of several fire and ice spells.

Bryn glanced at Vilkas to see him grimace and take off his pack to begin looking through it for a potion, kneeling on the fur rug. “I…um, I’ve learned a spell to heal others. It could save you the potion.”

“That would be appreciated. We aren’t done here yet, and I have the feeling that whatever is behind that puzzle door is much worse than one deluded Dunmer.” The notion didn’t bother him, having gone for healing many times in the temple of Kynareth. Each time he did though he feared that somehow they would sense his nature. Bryn was well aware of it. And yet even after finding out, the way she looked at him hadn’t changed.

“Yes, um, all right.”

Vilkas continued looking through his pack for his canteen, and when he got it out he looked up to see Bryn still standing nearby, staring at him with huge eyes, her body stiff as a board. He frowned and asked in confusion, “What is the matter?” He took a drink of water and saw her shake her head as she swallowed nervously.

“N-nothing.” She felt sick with nerves and squeezed her eyes shut, feeling like an ass. It wasn’t as if he was going to take her right here. She shouldn’t be afraid of simply touching him, especially for the act of healing alone.

Bewildered, Vilkas rose to his feet and her eyes shot open, and she stared at him like a frightened deer. “What is the problem?” he asked. She didn’t answer, and he saw the pulse leaping in the hollow of her throat. Her eyes were dilated though, and he knew what that meant. The girl was nervous, that was all. Best to get it out of the way so they could focus. He said in a nonchalant tone, “You need to touch skin to heal, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, for now, but…” Bryn blinked owlishly as Vilkas began slowly stripping off his armor. He smiled slyly at her and she realized in shock that he really did intend to do it here. In a crypt. With a dead man not thirty feet away in the hall. She opened her mouth to stop him but nothing came out, and she snapped it shut again as he stopped at his clothing. If she didn’t do it now, she might never do it, and probably never with him, and she couldn’t risk that. She couldn’t risk him finding out she was a virgin, though she was certainly acting like one, not that she knew any other way to act. He moved closer to her and she held her ground with an effort, unable to meet his eyes.

Vilkas took her right hand and she shivered, and when he placed it in the opening of his shirt against his chest she let out a tiny peep that made him chuckle. “What’s wrong, little mouse?” he murmured. “Afraid I will pounce on you?” She didn’t answer, staring at his chest, and he could feel her pulse racing in her wrist. He reached up with his other hand and pulled off her helmet, and he smelled a waft of lavender from her cornsilk hair as he tossed the helmet on the ground. He pulled her against him and put his nose into her hair, feeling her trembling like a bird in the hand. His free hand came up to the small of her back and pressed her against him, the feel of leather enticing and frustrating all at once. Her other hand was balled up between them, her entire body thrumming with tension. If he hadn’t known better, if he couldn’t smell her arousal so strongly, he would think she was afraid, which was laughable in a woman her age. He said with amusement, “So maidenly. Do you think I’ll tear you apart because I am a werewolf? I will be slow and gentle if you want. You needn’t fear me any more than you do my brother.” He felt her nod and some of the stiffness in her eased, affirming what he had guessed, that she didn’t quite trust him or his nature. Well, he would give her no cause for complaint. He never did, but somehow things always turned bad right after he finished. He nuzzled near her ear and whispered, “Heal me, so that I may do right by you.”

Bryn shuddered and pressed her hand against his chest as she melted against him, laying her head on his shoulder, and as the magic began to flow she heard him sigh and let go of her wrist to put his other hand against the back of her head.

“Ah, no potion could feel as good as that.” All potions were foul-tasting to some extent, even if only in aftertaste, but healing magic felt like a warm blanket and a cool bottle of mead all at once. The glow faded, and he felt the first tentative movement of her hand across his chest, as if she were feeling his chest hair, then he felt the slightest touch of her nose against his neck and her breath on his skin as she smelled him. Encouraged, he began slowly searching for the buckles that held together her leather armor, doing as he promised so as not to frighten her off, though it took supreme willpower to continue that course of action when he felt the hand between them slowly slide down then up inside his shirt.

Vilkas was careful every step of the way, enjoying the slow blossoming of the girl’s arousal as he stripped her then worshipped every inch of her pale, creamy body with painstaking attention, until finally she was pulling him up by the hair and pleading tearfully for him to take her. He had never experienced such a thing and it drove him wild, and when she arched against him and whimpered as he slowly entered her it made it nearly impossible to continue without losing it.

The slow, deep movement inside her was more than Bryn could stand. The searing pain was still there but quickly subsiding to a dull ache. His body was warm on top of hers, his breath sweet against her cheek, and she wound her arms around his neck as he began kissing her again. The movement was too slow though, driving her mad, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed, whispering against his mouth, “More! Faster!” He slammed into her, making her cry out as her eyes flew open, and she saw his pale gray ones in front of her, intense and searching, all the more intense with the black warpaint all around. He lifted away from her and began thrusting deep, holding her gaze, and when she couldn’t take it any longer she squeezed her eyes shut. She felt him against her again and a mouth on her nipple, drawing hard, and she couldn’t help almost screaming from the blissful sensations. When he slowed down again she nearly sobbed, and when he shifted slightly then rolled to put her on top she gasped.

“Ride me, girl,” he growled. She stared at him, panting, her eyes and hair wild, and he bucked his hips and began moving her. She quickly found her rhythm and began rocking on him, her hands braced against his chest. He held onto her hips and watched her as she bit her lip and closed her eyes. She was a thing of beauty in the firelight, glinting off her pale gold hair, the nipples of her small breasts as fair as the palest pink rose. He reached up to pinch one and she shuddered on him, then he began kneading the other one, and he soon started feeling the tell-tale tightening around him, her movements becoming smaller and more intense as a look of concentration passed over her face, tiny beads of sweat glistening on her forehead. She threw back her head and moaned as the orgasm pulsed around him, squeezing at him, and he growled and grabbed her by the back of the neck and rolled her onto her back again to pound into her. As he came he spared the faintest thought that it was a good thing only the dead were down here to hear her shrieking and hoped that it didn’t carry through the mound to terrify the folk of Ivarstead.

Vilkas blew out a shaky breath and rubbed the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, the room too hot, and when he started to pull away he was shocked to feel Bryn’s legs quickly lock around him. She stared up at him with glowing golden eyes, her cheeks pink, and when she reached up and gently stroked his cheeks and smiled shyly at him he felt his heart turn over in his chest. Her entire expression shone with pure contentment. She practically glowed with it, and with what he could only guess might possibly be love shining out of her eyes. It was over and she was holding him here, beaming at him, when she should have been subtly inching away from him and avoiding his eyes. It had been one of the most intense, moving sexual experiences he’d ever had, but it should be over and the two of them going about their business as expected. Except they weren’t. He couldn’t make himself pull away, and it seemed she didn’t want him to. But she was supposed to want him to go away!

“Oh Vilkas,” she sighed happily. “Vilkas, it was so perfect. I…oh Vilkas.” He gazed at her with a dumbstruck expression, and for a moment he almost looked like he was going to cry. She pulled him down for another kiss, and after hesitating for a few seconds he sighed shakily and returned her kisses. She made a sound of gratification and broke away, letting him go, and he slid off her to lie at her side on the fur rug, staring at the fire with a puzzled expression. She ignored the now burning soreness between her legs; she would heal it later, and it hadn’t been as painful as Lydia had said it would be. She hadn’t felt anything give way, so her hymen had no doubt broken long ago as it did for many girls in the normal course of things. 

She stretched her arms up over her head, arching her back, and Vilkas’ eyes were drawn back to her, almost as if against his will. She rolled onto her side to face him, and after a few seconds his hand slowly came up to trace the slight curve of her hip. She ran her fingers through the dark hair on his chest as her eyes traveled over his body, familiarizing herself with it, leanly muscular with more than its share of scars. She had never seen a naked man before, and she liked what she saw, though the rapidly deflating, sticky, messy thing that had given her such a good time was bizarre-looking to say the least. She hadn’t really seen much of it during the act, but it had felt wonderful. She sat up on her elbow to look him in the eyes, and he didn’t meet her gaze at first. He was acting odd, or at least she thought so. She wasn’t really sure how men were supposed to act afterward, but then she wasn't sure how to act either. Worried, she said, “I…I appreciate…well, it was wonderful, so wonderful.” It had made her childish infatuation ignite into full-fledged love, and it was all she could do not to tell him. She knew better than to go there.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said faintly. Of course she had enjoyed it. That had been patently obvious. He was glad the puzzle door was still locked so any roaming draugr didn’t shuffle in here wondering what the ruckus was. He hadn’t exactly been quiet either at the end. The orgasm had been so intense it had left him a little light-headed, something that hadn’t happened since he was a much younger man. But then he had never bedded a Shield-Sister before. He couldn’t believe he had bedded a fellow Companion. He had bedded the Dragonborn. She was supposed to get up and want to get away from him as quickly as possible. That was how it was supposed to go, and here she was putting her hand on his cheek again. Tilma was the only woman he could ever remember stroking his cheek, when he was a little boy, and he wasn't a little boy. He was Vilkas of the Companions, an esteemed member of the Circle, and women didn't stroke his cheek and gaze lovingly at him. But this one was doing it. His entire adult life he had wanted just one woman not to turn away from him, and it had to be her. Why did it have to be her!

“Oh, I did, I did,” she sighed in contentment. “I could do it again and again and again.” She sighed again then climbed to her feet, barely able to walk, her legs shaky. “Don’t peek, I have to go.” She heard a grunt of affirmation from him.

“Sweet Dibella,” Vilkas whispered, staring numbly at the fire. He tiredly pulled himself up into a sitting position and reached for his pack to get a drink of water. As he sipped from the canteen he heard a hiss then a muffled _ow ow ow_ from the hallway, and he glanced that way in concern when he saw the faint yellow glow of healing magic then a sigh of relief. He grimaced, feeling guilty, though he had been as gentle as he promised until the end, and even then she had been wet and eager the entire time. He stiffened and gasped as a sudden pang of horrified realization hit him and everything came together at once. Her words early on about her adoptive family’s excessive sheltering. Farkas’ platonic protectiveness. Lydia’s angry hovering and non-verbal warnings to him when she realized what he was about. Bryn’s shyness and what was now obviously fear. Her shaky walk and sounds of pain as she relieved herself. _Virgin._

Feeling much better, Bryn returned to the little room to see Vilkas washing his groin vigorously with water and one of the Dunmer’s old shirts, his back to the door, then he threw the shirt across the room with a growl and started pulling on his clothes in jerky, angry movements. Vilkas was angry. And there was only one person here to be angry with. She stood in the doorway watching him dress, feeling dread and sorrow, trying not to burst into tears. That wouldn't help his mood any, and the reason for his mood was obvious: he’d heard her sounds of pain in the hall. She had tried so hard to be quiet, but the halls down here echoed terribly.

Vilkas yanked on a boot, and when he turned to look for the other one he saw her standing in the doorway, her eyes big and shiny, biting her lip like a little girl, her arms folded tightly, the evidence of their lovemaking starting to trickle down the insides of her thighs. And it had been lovemaking. He’d intended to scratch a mutual itch with a grown woman and instead had ended up tenderly making love to a complete innocent. Guilty and furious, he said through gritted teeth, “You didn't tell me. You lied by omission.” She swallowed, not defending herself. Not denying it. “You…damn it, you made me deflower you in a _fucking draugr crypt!_ ” he shouted. She flinched back with each word, her eyes widening.

“But…what difference does it make?”

The trembling, childish sound to her voice almost was enough to temper his rage. Almost. “You know damn well it would have made a difference, or you would have said something!”

“But…”

“No buts! You tricked me into having sex with you and I damn well don’t appreciate it!”

“I don’t understand,” she whined, the tears spilling onto her cheeks. “It’s over now and…and it was so good, I know it was good for you too and…and…”

“It doesn't matter how much I enjoyed it,” he seethed, pulling his other boot on. “I never should have done it in the first place! I don’t touch virgins. I have never touched virgins!”

“How do you know?” That set him back for a moment, then he growled and turned away to start strapping on his armor. She watched him with an aching heart, loving him so much it felt like someone was stabbing her in the chest and closing their hand around her throat at the same time. She couldn't understand how they both experienced the same wondrous event and come out of it on opposite ends. He kept his back to her and she finally sniffed and wiped her eyes and went to sit on the cold stone chair behind the desk, feeling his seed draining coldly onto the seat.

Once he was fully armored he turned to the doorway to look for her, and when she wasn't there he cursed softly, then a sniff caught his attention and he saw her sitting forlornly in the ancient chair, still stark naked, tears running down her face. “What are you doing?” he asked tightly. “Get dressed.”

“You go ahead,” she whispered. “I’ll be fine. Just fine.”

“Like hell I’m leaving you down here!” he exclaimed in shock. “What in Oblivion are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I’ll be fine alone. I mean, I really always have been alone anyway, haven’t I.” Vilkas stared at her in disquiet, as she gazed into the fire with a desolate expression, her eyes unfocused. “Tell Lydia not to worry about me. I’ll be home soon.”

“I’m not leaving without you,” he stated.

“But you see, you aren't with me, so how can you be without me?” She drew up her feet onto the chair and hugged her legs, unable to tolerate looking at him. She had been able to manage not having him before. Before she had known what it was like. What he was like. Now it would haunt her forever… how he smelled, how he felt, his breathing, the sounds he’d made, how he tasted. He didn't move, and she laid her chin on her knees and told him, “If you hurry, you might catch up with them. Lydia and Farkas. I’ll go see Wilhelm and tell him about Wyndelius, in a little bit. I’m…just going to sit here for a while.” Eventually all his seed would drain out of her and it would be like it never even happened. He would ignore her and it would be as if she had dreamed the entire thing.

Vilkas swallowed the lump in his throat as she put her forehead on her knees and started to weep miserably. “Damn it girl, don’t do that,” he demanded guiltily. He had no idea what to do, this entire thing spiraling out of his control. Farkas would know what to do. Farkas had known she was a virgin, he was sure of it, and Farkas would be like a big protective brother when he found out what had happened. He wouldn't blame Vilkas for sleeping with the girl, or at least not too much, but he would blame him for leaving her alone and wretched afterward. Vilkas wasn't honestly sure what she would do if he left. He couldn't trust her state of mind at all right now. Seeing her sitting naked and sobbing in a stone chair in a burial mound with a dead body in the hallway outside was suddenly so horribly morbid he couldn't stand it. Almost as morbid as having sex with her with the body outside in the hallway. She had been so happy afterward, too. Shining with joy, and he had pissed all over it. He had taken something that had caused her pure happiness and turned it into shit. Classic Vilkas.

He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, then he went to her side and knelt there. The smell of sex rose from her and it was all he could do not to grab a handful of her hair and yank her up and start the whole thing over again. His eyes couldn't help traveling over her, so pale and lithe, long-legged, her lanky thinness having become willowy grace under Farkas and Lydia’s care, and he could barely see one tiny nipple, as delicate a pale pink as the part of her that he had spent so much time delving into. Even as she wept he couldn't help wanting her. He wanted her now a thousand times more than he had before. He knew now how she responded to his touch, the way no woman ever had, how the two of them had fit together the way he never had with any woman, and it was going to drive him completely mad now having her around.

Vilkas finally reached up a gauntleted hand and petted her messy hair, his hand shaking slightly. “Come now, you need to get dressed,” he murmured in a strained voice. “Do that and I will get you something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” Not for food, anyway. The feel of his heavy glove on her was oddly moving and more than she could stand.

“A drink of water then, and regardless you’re going to get dressed. I’m not leaving you down here, or in Ivarstead, and I’m not going home without you. You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to do that.”

“What do you care. Just leave me down here to rot with Wyndelius.”

Vilkas shuddered in revulsion. “Absolutely not. Get up now and get dressed, or I’ll pick you up and dress you like a baby.” She ignored him, though her sniffling had stopped. Realizing he was getting sharp-tongued again, he let his hand fall away and said, “You really think I don’t care. You think I can…do what I did, and simply not care.”

“Yes.”

“I overreacted, as I often do, and I apologize,” he stated, his face growing warm. “I should not have yelled, or accused.”

“You can’t take it back.”

“Yes, I know, but—“

“We’ll go back to Whiterun and it’ll be just like before,” she said with fresh grief, raising her head to look at him. Looking at his face caused fresh tears to rise in her eyes. He was so damn handsome, so perfect, and it tore her heart out knowing he didn't love her. Couldn't love her. 

“Like before?”

“Like nothing ever happened.”

He sighed and looked away from her reddened eyes. “I don’t think either one of us will be able to pretend that nothing happened.” Not after that. His memory was too sharp to forget anything, and this entire experience was going to play itself out over and over again in his mind. It was already. Her smell and taste had imprinted itself on him, impossible to let go. The wolf in him wanted nothing more than to roll in the furs with her and rub her scent all over him. She would be more than happy to do so. She knew what he was and loved him anyway.

“I won’t go back to Jorrvaskr and be ignored,” she stated tremulously. “I’ll leave, for good this time.”

“That would break the old man’s heart.”

“But not yours.” Vilkas pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “How can we do what we did and it doesn't mean anything to you?”

“I never said it didn't. I was angry when I realized you were a maiden, that’s all.” _So maidenly..._ He remembered saying that to her when she was trembling shyly in his arms. What a fool he had been. He grumbled and ran his fingers back through his hair, completely at a loss, but at least she had gone quiet. He glanced at her and she was gazing at him with a heartbroken expression, her golden eyes shining in the firelight, so close it would take only the slightest movement to lean over and kiss her, and the sudden overpowering urge to do so was more than he could take. He stood to stop himself from doing it but didn't move away, knowing if he did she would start crying again. He didn't understand at all how she could do what she did and be what she was and be so incredibly delicate. He suddenly felt her hand tentatively take hold of his, and when he looked down at her she was still staring at him with a needy look on her face, as if pleading for him not to go, not to leave her. Pleading for him to love her, because he damn well knew what the look on her face was. He had never seen it directed at him before, but he had seen it when lovers and spouses looked at each other. She loved him. Vilkas the Unlovable. Great Divines, he never should have touched a virgin!

“Please Vilkas…”

“What.” She stood and he nearly yanked his hand away and left the room, her naked nearness and the suddenly strong grasp on his hand making a fresh surge of need go through him.

“Please, can’t we just…try? To be together?” He didn't answer, his eyes dilating as he looked her over, but he didn't say no. She moved close to him, the steel plates of his armor cold against her skin. “I won’t make things difficult, I promise. I won’t embarrass you, I won’t even let anyone know. I…can be your little secret.”

“Stop it,” he whispered, hard all over again, her words and the sight of her pale, soft little breasts pressed against hard steel maddening. Her face was so close, the girl so tall that her head might lie nicely on his shoulder; he was tall even for a Nord, and yet she fit him perfectly. He didn't resist as she slowly leaned in and kissed his neck, and he found his free hand reaching up to wind itself in the back of her hair, and when she leaned up to kiss his lips he growled and returned her kisses eagerly, letting go of her hand to grab her backside. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and when he pulled them away a moment later she started to protest, then he roughly turned her around and bent her over the stone table. She heard the jangle of his armor then his gauntlets hit the floor, and after hearing a strangled curse and fumbling she finally felt hard warmth against her backside, making her heart leap. Vilkas nudged her feet apart then slid quickly into her, making her moan, and there was no nicety to it this time as he grabbed onto her hips and thrust into her hard and quick. She stared at the wall in front of her in shock, the intensity of the pleasure even more than before as he went deeper than she thought possible, leaving her crying out breathlessly, and when he finished with a growl she could feel him pouring into her again, his fingers digging into her hips.

Vilkas leaned over her to place biting kisses on her neck and shoulders as he grabbed her breast. “Damn you woman, you’re like fucking skooma,” he whispered fiercely. The thought of what they looked like, him in full armor and Bryn naked beneath him, was driving him insane. They had to get out of his room, out of his gods-forsaken crypt, or he was going to lose his mind and keep doing her over, and over. He wasn't fit to fight anything more than a mudcrab in this condition. He pulled out of her and stood up, feeling weak and rather concerned about it, then he went to find the shirt he had cleaned off with earlier, his legs trembling. As he wiped himself off he looked at her, and she was still bent over the table, though she had her chin in her hands as she leaned on her elbows and watched him, her ass up in the air. He made a growling sound of frustration and closed his eyes and held out the shirt to her, and felt it taken from his hand. He felt a lingering kiss on his cheek and the soft tickle of her pubic hair on the back of his hand that made him start twitching to life again, the musky scent of sex swirling around him, and he groaned, “Please, just get dressed. I can’t do it again. I don’t have it in me.”

“Oh, all right.” He huffed and opened his eyes, quickly looking away from her as she put her foot up on the chair to let the semen run out. She laughed at his helplessness, feeling an oddly satisfying sense of newly found womanly powers. Lydia had never said anything about that.

“It isn't funny. I’m completely useless for anything now.”

“That’s odd, I feel fine.”

“Because I did most of the work!” Bryn laughed again, and when he looked at her she was smiling impishly at him, and he couldn't help laughing as he shook his head. What a brat she was, but so charming he couldn't hold it against her.

“Maybe next time I will then, if you show me what to do.” His smile faded, and she bunched up the shirt in her hands and pleaded, “I’ll be good, Vilkas, I promise. I won’t make things hard on you. I know you didn't want this, and that’s okay. I’ll be happy with whatever I can get.”

He made a sound of pain and said, “You shouldn't be. Farkas told me what you came to Skyrim for.” And she was the damned Dragonborn. She shouldn't simply take whatever she could get.

“I haven’t wanted that since the moment I laid eyes on you.” Not the blond part, anyway.

Vilkas stared at her in dismay for a moment before asking in a near whine, “Great Divines, why?” She shrugged and shook her head, and he growled in frustration and ran his fingers back through his hair. “You don’t understand. Women don’t like me. They get what they want then they can’t get away fast enough. I don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the beastblood, I don’t know, but they sense something and they leave as quickly as possible and never go near me again. They all love my brother, but not me.” He saw her open her mouth to say it but she didn't, closing her mouth before the words came out.

Bryn said instead, “Lydia told me that. That she had been with you once, and…it was good, but the second it was over her skin started crawling.”

“Ah, isn't that sweet,” he said in pained offense. “So nice to hear that I make women’s skin crawl.”

“It’s their loss. I don’t see how anyone wouldn't want more of you. I just…I want to find some cozy little shack in the woods and do it until we both dry up and blow away.”

“But…why? I don’t understand,” Vilkas groaned, putting his hand over his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at the adoration in her gaze. It was so foreign to him that he couldn't fathom how to handle it.

Bryn turned away to get dressed, tossing the shirt back where it had come from. “I honestly don’t know. Maybe it’s because I have the soul of a dragon. Really, what is a wolf compared to that?”

Vilkas’ hand fell away, and he whispered, dumbfounded, “Well…not much, I suppose.” She shrugged again. Maybe it really was the beastblood in him that women sensed. The Blood ran hotter in him than his brother, hotter than it did in Skjor or Aela, or maybe it was just his own nature that intensified the beastblood. He had always had a forceful personality, even as a child, while Farkas’ had been mild, slow to anger, and where Farkas’ temper blew itself out quickly once roused, Vilkas’ simmered. Where Farkas let things go, Vilkas obsessed. It had always been that way, their entire lives. They had joined the Circle and become werewolves so young, in their mid-twenties, that making love to women with the Blood in his veins was all he really remembered. If it really was that his lovers sensed, something not quite right, something bestial, then there was nothing he could do about it, and it would always be that way. Except with Bryn. The lycanthropy was something that had become part of him, a disease when it came down to it, something he might conceivably be able to cure one day, but Bryn had been born with the soul of a dragon, an intrinsic part of her. It was her.

As she fastened up the buckles on her cuirass she sadly said, “And what man is going to want me when all is said and done? Maybe I wanted a simple life with some stereotypical Nord man, but the second I killed that first dragon my dreams died on the vine before they could ever really even blossom. I can feel my doom driving me, pushing me to some glorious, terrible end. How can I take a husband knowing that?” Vilkas shook his head, and she said in resignation, “The Greybeards know it. I’m here for a purpose, and it’s tied up with death, probably my own. Why shouldn't you and I enjoy each other as much as we can before that happens?”

“Shor’s Bones, woman, don’t talk like that!” he said in horror.

She pulled on her boots and continued, “Why not? I know you won’t marry me, or give me children, and before you turn pale and gasp I made sure I wouldn't conceive from this. I wouldn't trick you into that.” That particular simple potion had been one of the first she had learned from Arcadia, a Women’s Secret forbidden to men, never taught to male alchemists, a particularly foul brew that just about crawled down one’s throat but that hampered conception for a month. He didn't protest that he wasn't against marriage and children, simply gazing at her with a sorrowful expression. Just because he was addicted to having sex with her and had a basic amount of concern for her well-being didn't make him love her, or want to be with her forever. Maybe someday he could love her and want to marry her, but what was the point of that? If something terrible happened to her then he would be left alone and grieving. If she conceived a child, that child could die in her womb from a bad enough injury, and she had taken bad ones; even if the child did somehow make it to birth it could become motherless at any point after that, and how could she do her job waddling around in the meantime? She couldn't take several years off to birth and nurse a child; what she was doing was so much more important than that.

They were both silent as Bryn finished gearing up, and Vilkas had to resist the urge to ask What are you thinking? He wanted to know and didn't dare ask. She had gone from pleading to be together to this terrible resignation, though it wasn't hard to see why. No, he couldn't ever marry her. Neither of them was meant for that, and at this early point it wasn't even a consideration. Companions rarely married, and when they did they left Jorrvaskr, for good; not that there was a rule on that, it was just tradition. Jorrvaskr and his shield-siblings were his entire life. Now that Bryn was healthy and had a fledgling purpose, she most likely would rarely stay in Whiterun for long at a time regardless. She slung her bow onto her shoulder and finally looked him in the eyes, and he took a deep breath then said in as strong a voice as he could muster, “Then we will make the best of what we have, for as long as we have it. I will not have it flaunted in front of the others in Jorrvaskr, but I will not have you kept some shameful secret either.” He’d be a fool to think he could stay away from her after this. Even now it was all he could do not to reach out for her, if only to hold and smell her.

“Oh Vilkas,” Bryn sighed in delighted surprise, her eyes shining. “Of course, whatever you want.” It was more than she had hoped for, and it was enough. It would have to be. She resisted the urge to run to him and cover his cheeks with kisses.

He cleared his throat and motioned with his head towards the door. “Let’s get out of this place. Maybe Wilhelm has some idea where to look for that claw, and perhaps we could get a bite to eat before we set out again.”

“Okay!”

He laughed as she practically bounced out the door, all smiles and sunshine even in this terrible place. He couldn't imagine any other woman being made so happy over such a small thing, but then two hours ago he would have stabbed himself in the head at the very notion of what he had just agreed to, though he wasn't entirely sure at this point what he really had agreed to. He had to do it though. The thought of going back home and never touching her again made him feel sick with imagined loss. Seeing her so happy made some invisible weight lift from him, if only a little. If coming back to Whiterun and spending a little time with him now and then between adventures made her life easier, so be it, and he would see if he really had what it took to have an actual relationship with a woman, if that was what they could call it. He had to at least try or he would never forgive himself.


	10. Chapter 10

Vilkas closed the door to his room then sank into his favorite chair as he blew out a long breath of exhaustion. He was starting to think he was too damn old to keep up with the girl, at eleven years older than her. Her energy was astonishing, both for lovemaking and fighting. The last several days in her company had drained the pent-up tension and anger out of him, and now all he could do was sit there and try to come to grips with the entire experience. The things he had seen her do… It brought to mind Lydia’s furious words with him what seemed like ages ago: _If you only knew the things I've seen her do!_ Well now he had seen them, all except the taking of a dragon soul, and he was so bewildered he was nearly numb. Peacefully numb, but numb. Through most of Shroud Hearth Barrow he had simply trailed in her wake, watching her work in ways entirely different from what most Companions would have done, feeling somewhat useless as she competently dealt with most situations with shadows and a bow and the occasional Shout, rarely pulling out her sword.

But oh, what an experience it had been, watching her in action, seeing her grin as she dropped a firepot onto a group of skeletons and they all exploded into flames and fragments of bone, watching her pick off another room full of skeletons and draugr one by one as they popped out of their coffins, though he had had to fight the last big one at the end. He still couldn't help wondering if she had deliberately left him that one, sensing his frustration. And then that last room, with the word wall… He had watched in superstitious awe as she nearly ran to the wall and splayed her fingers against the brightly glowing word, squeezing her eyes shut as soft blue tendrils reached out and wrapped around her, hissing softly. Farkas hadn't described it like that. She hadn't a spare dragon soul to activate it and so he hadn't seen what it could do, but he had seen her _thu’um_ plenty of other times, mostly _YOL_ as she shouted fire at draugr who had gotten too close (and nearly Vilkas as well). What had stunned him the most however was when she had seen a pouch of gold and a soul gem in the word wall room, in an alcove on the wall, unreachable, or so he had thought; she had started running for the gap then shouted _“WULD!”_ and moved so quickly his eyes couldn't follow. She had nimbly jumped back, hefting the gold in her hand, smiling as her eyes shone, and he hadn't been able to help grabbing the front of her armor and pulling her against him for a deep kiss, nearly taking her right there, amazed and humbled by her.

The entire way home they had shared a bedroll, though he had tried the first night to stay away from her, and he had quickly realized how stupid it was to even try. He had to admit it was warmer that way. More than that, he had awoken each morning feeling…happy. The first morning she had awakened before him, the smooth slide of her body against his rousing him from sleep in the best possible way, but this morning he had been the first to wake up, and the first thing his eyes set upon after opening was her face. He had held completely still and studied every golden eyelash, the curves of her cheekbones and jaw, the few faint freckles across the bridge of her nose that he hadn't noticed before. As he’d stared at her he had felt an intense, aching something, something he had never felt before in his life, and when he had realized what it was he had whispered brokenly, “Damn you, girl…” Those golden-hazel eyes had fluttered open and she had smiled sleepily at him, and it had been like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, and he had fallen on her like a starving man on a banquet table. He couldn't get enough of her. And now they were home, and she was across town dealing with the seething Lydia who had been sitting at Breezehome’s front door, sharpening her axe, glaring at Vilkas like she wanted to plant it right in his forehead, and he was here alone. He had never felt as alone as he did right now.

Vilkas jumped as Farkas burst through his door without knocking, not that he ever did, and his brother yelled happily, “Hey, you’re back!”

“So it would seem.”

“How did it go? Did you find the ghost?” Vilkas looked at him with a blank expression then grimaced and looked away, his cheeks turning red, and Farkas grunted and closed the door then put his back to it. He quietly said, “So you did do it. I didn't think you really would.”

“Yes. I did.”

“I hope you didn't hurt her,” he said in warning, his eyes narrowed.

“Of course not.”

“I didn't know what you were up to until Lydia and I were coming back around the mountain. She was pissed off the whole time and wouldn't say why, then she broke and told me. I wasn't very happy about it, but I never thought you would actually follow through.” Vilkas didn't say anything, avoiding his eyes as he started undoing his armor. Farkas frowned as he watched him, moving tiredly, seeming sad if anything. Farkas didn't know if it was guilt, or what. He said in frustration, “Damn it Vilkas, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking she’s a twenty-seven year old woman. I had no idea she was a virgin, and if you had told me so I never would have gone anywhere near her.”

“Well shit, that isn't the kind of thing you go around telling people. I never thought you would go anywhere near a Shield-Sister.”

“Neither did I.”

“I hope she isn't sitting in Breezehome crying her eyes out. Lydia was still on fire when we got back. I think maybe she hates you.”

“That’s Lydia’s problem, not mine,” Vilkas said in irritation, throwing his armor on his bed. “Bryn is not a child and Lydia is not her mother. It is not her place to guard Bryn’s chastity like an old mother hen watching over a chick. Bryn is not sitting at home crying her eyes out, I assure you.”

“How so?” Vilkas didn't answer. He seemed anxious, in a way Farkas hadn't seen before, but moving like he was exhausted. “Did you guys run into trouble? You look tired.” Vilkas’ laugh was confusing to say the least. “Everything’s okay, right?”

“Yes, yes, fine,” he sighed. “No trouble. A lack of trouble, if anything. We moved through the crypt without a single problem. There was a word wall at the end, something neither of us expected.” He sank down on his bed and looked down at his hands, desperately needing a bath and dreading washing the last of her off his body. “My presence there was redundant, actually. She seems very competent in that environment. I did little fighting, and even then I think she spared a few of them just for me.”

“Aww, isn't that sweet.” Vilkas rolled his eyes and leaned back on the bed, putting his hands behind his head, then he reached down and plucked a pale golden hair from the front of his shirt. He moved to throw it away then started to play with it, wrapping it around his fingers then unwinding it again. Farkas watched this with bemusement, and when his brother glanced at him then grumbled and got up to pace it hit him. It didn't seem possible. He said in shock, “Holy hells, you’re in love with her!”

“Yes, so?”

When he finally got his voice back he asked in amazement, “From just one time?”

“No, it was not just one time, it was many times, and frankly none of your business,” Vilkas said shortly.

Farkas stared at him then stated, “Huh. No wonder you took so long coming back. Lydia was about ready to head back and look for you guys.”

“Lydia had best watch herself. I won’t tolerate her interfering in our relationship, and neither will Bryn.”

“Relationship!” he choked. He wasn't the sharpest sword on the rack, but he knew he had never been as completely floored as he was at this moment. “What the hell happened between you? And none of your crap about it not being my business. Of course it’s my business. You’re my brother and she might as well be my sister.”

Vilkas folded his arms and stared at his bookshelf, unable to look his twin in the eye, his face warming again. “I only intended it to be the one time,” he said quietly. “That was all it was supposed to be. This wasn't supposed to happen, but...gods help me, I couldn't keep my hands off her afterward, and she didn't turn away. You know they always do, but she kept me there and wouldn't let go, and the way she looked at me and smiled at me, the things she said to me...”

“Yeah, she has a way about her. Sweet as pie.”

“Yes, well.” He ran the strand of hair through his fingers, watching the candlelight glint off it. “I realized right after that she was a virgin, and I was furious, and I told her so, and she began crying and pleading for us to be together, and...and we did it again, it was like I couldn't help myself, and afterward I couldn't bear the thought of being without her. We both know it can’t ever be exactly what she wants, but—“

“Why not?” Vilkas turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. “Why not marry her, someday? I’m not saying right now, but give it some time and who knows. You shouldn't write it off from the very start.”

“Companions do not marry, and when they do they leave Jorrvaskr.”

“Who says? I never saw that rule written anywhere.”

“You’re not helping matters any! I told her we would do what we could to be together, but I will not have it paraded about these halls. And if you must know, she was the one who brought up being unable to marry, not me. You know as well as I do that she is rarely going to be here from now on. What she is won’t allow it. There is a purpose behind it, her being Dragonborn, and it isn't to traipse about the country dispatching bandits and wolves. I don’t doubt one bit that we’re going to start seeing dragons appear more often from here on out, and who do you think is going to deal with that problem? She said that ever since speaking to the Greybeards the other day that she feels a doom upon her. She could die at any point—“

“So could we, and wouldn't that make it just that much more important to marry her?”

Exasperated, Vilkas exclaimed, “How the hell do you figure that! Why, so I could be a damn widower? Ugh, what the hell do you know, and we've only been together a few days. You don’t talk about marriage after a few days.”

“And sometimes you don’t talk about it at all and just do it.” That happened just as often as a proposal after a long courtship; a person was ready to marry and put on an Amulet of Mara and took a look at who was interested, and if the offers looked good they picked one and went with it. It seemed to work just as well as any other way.

“This conversation, if you want to call it that, is over. I’m taking a bath and getting dinner then going to bed. I’m exhausted.”

Farkas wiggled his eyebrows at his twin and said, “So she really got the hang of it, huh? Ran you through the wringer?” Vilkas growled and threw an empty goblet at him, missing him by a mile, but he got the message. “All right, I’m going, I’m going.”

After Farkas left the room, Vilkas heard him whistling as he went across the hall, and a moment later he heard the rare sound of his brother playing the lute, something he did only when he was drunk or in an extremely good mood. It was good to hear, and he knew his twin meant well. Farkas loved them both dearly and to the simple man it probably seemed like a simple solution.

Vilkas moved to drop the hair on the floor, then he stopped himself and held it up to the light, watching it shimmer. He hesitated a moment then opened his copy of _Racial Phylogeny_ and laid it inside the section that addressed the mixed offspring of mer and men. He carefully closed the book to keep the hair in place, suddenly feeling something he hadn’t since he was trapped in that cage thirty-five years ago: terribly lonely.  
-  
The sound of a sweet, familiar voice down the hall talking to Skjor was the first thing Vilkas heard upon waking, and he quickly rolled out of bed, appalled that he had slept so late. He ran his fingers through his unruly hair and threw on clean clothes as quickly as possible then opened his door and sauntered out of his room, hoping he looked as casual as he was trying to be. Bryn was talking to Skjor out in the main hallway, and he was relieved to see her wearing a dress and not armor. He knew she was setting out again soon. The trip through Shroud Hearth Barrow then home hadn't been taxing, or at least the fighting hadn't been, but he had hoped she would stay in Whiterun a few days.

Skjor stood looking between the two, both suddenly oblivious to him, and he watched in disbelief as Bryn smiled shyly at Vilkas and a slow smile crept over Vilkas’ face, the kind of smile he had never seen on the young man’s face before. He folded his arms and Vilkas blinked and looked at him. Skjor raised an eyebrow in question.

“What?” Vilkas asked shortly.

“Oh, nothing,” he said. “Just waiting for harps to start playing somewhere.” Vilkas rolled his eyes, his cheeks reddening. Skjor turned back to Bryn and continued, “Anyway, it’s a small job but one I think suits your skillset. We've heard of a criminal that’s escaped Riften Jail. That place leaks like one of their fishnets, but that’s what you get when you let thieves run your town. City is rotten to the core.”

“I've never been there.”

“Used to be a nice place once, not all that long ago, before the Black-Briars got hold of it. The Jarl there means well but some say she’s completely oblivious to what’s going on in her own hold, lets that Bosmer steward of hers run everything. I wouldn't trust anyone there as far as I could throw them.”

“So…everyone’s in on it?” she asked with worry. “The whole town?”

Skjor laughed and ruffled Bryn’s hair then looked at Vilkas and said, “Isn't that cute.” Vilkas looked unamused. Bryn cleared her throat and combed her fingers through her hair to straighten it out, and Skjor said to her, “What do you think, whelp? This job up your alley or not?”

Bryn nodded and said, “Yes, I think so. I need to get more experience out in the open country and see more of Skyrim. I've been spending too much time in crypts lately.” It had annoyed Bryn not all that long ago that Skjor kept calling her whelp, but she had decided to take it as a term of endearment.

“Doing what, pray tell?”

“Well, Vilkas and I—“

“All right then,” Vilkas said hastily, coming over to take Bryn’s arm. “If you’re heading out soon, you should eat some breakfast.”

“Okay,” she murmured with a smile. She looked over her shoulder and said to Skjor, “Goodbye!”

“Bye-bye,” he replied in falsetto, waving his fingers at them.

“Smart ass,” Vilkas muttered. Obviously Skjor had heard that Bryn and Vilkas had gone adventuring on their own together and their looks had given them away. He supposed it had to come out sooner or later, but he hadn't bargained for this soon, or to start grinning at her like a fool the second she looked at him. As they went down the hall, he let his hand fall away from her arm and quietly asked, “So you are heading out soon?”

“Oh, maybe later this afternoon. Not right now.”

“Good.”

“I’ll take a carriage to Riften and try to sleep most of the way.”

“I? You’re going alone?”

“I’m a little annoyed with Lydia right now. She can stay home and organize my knick-knacks.” Vilkas laughed at the sour tone of her voice. As they went through the door and paused on the stairs she softly went on for his ears alone, “I think she actually wanted me to stay, well, the way I was. It was the most bizarre thing, but I think in her mind it made me more…mystical or something. More Divine.”

He smiled slyly at her and murmured, “I thought you very divine.” Bryn bit her lip and giggled girlishly, turning pink, and it was all he could do not to push her against the wall of the stairwell and start something that they couldn't possibly finish. He couldn't help wondering if she was wearing anything under that dress. He moved closer to her and purred, “You looked most divine of all when you were riding me like a prize stallion.”

“Oh,” Bryn breathed, her mouth opening as she blinked and her groin tightened uncomfortably. He placed a tender kiss on her cheek and she bunched the front of his shirt in her hands. “Not now!” she whispered. “Someone will see!”

“So?”

“But...you said not to flaunt it here!” The kisses trailed down her neck, wildly distracting, and worrying her to death that someone would open the door or appear at the top of the stairs.

“You cannot flaunt where there’s no one to see it.”

“What in Azura’s name is going on down there?” Athis’ dark face peered over the railing, and his red eyes widened slightly before he grunted and added blandly, “I suppose it was only a matter of time. Carry on.” Any halfway observant being could have seen it coming long ago.

As Vilkas stared hungrily at her she whispered, “You are in so much trouble!” 

He laughed unrepentantly at her and she grabbed her skirts and flounced off up the stairs. She strode across the floor, not really angry, and took the seat next to the one he usually occupied. As Vilkas sank into the seat next to her he saw that the hall was mostly empty, all but the two elders off about their business, Athis on his way out the back doors. Tilma glanced at them as she swept and smiled slightly, winking at them, but Vignar stared at them from the seat near the doorway to his quarters, his eyes narrowed. 

Vilkas ignored the old man and began serving himself, and when Bryn passed him bread and butter he nearly forgot himself and kissed her in thanks. He said to her in a lowered voice, not that Vignar would understand them from this far away, “Are you sure you should go alone? Riften is not the safest of cities.”

“So Skjor said. I’m not sure why that is, exactly.”

“There is a sort of thieves’ guild operating out of there, so I’ve heard. A number of citizens in places both high and low are connected with it, but nothing anyone can prove. Jarl Laila Law-Giver believes it is only a few scum down in the sewers, but it is worse than that. I would not trust a single member of the Black-Briar family, that is for certain, and I would stay out of their meadery. Maven runs the town no matter who the Jarl is. However Skjor exaggerates the problem by saying to trust no one. There are many good, honest people in Riften still.”

“I don’t understand why the problem is allowed to fester,” she stated with concern. “Why don’t the guards…oh. Never mind.”

“Yes, Maven has most of the guards on her payroll. Her steward Anuriel knows this and is on the payroll as well. The Jarl seems innocent in all this, but she is complicit in that she never questions anything Anuriel or Maven tell her. Anyone saying otherwise is thrown in Riften Jail, or worse.” He shook his head at her and said, “I beg you, don’t get involved. It isn't a matter that can be solved quickly or easily, and not while a civil war is going on.”

“I won’t get involved, I promise.” Not yet, anyway.

“Good girl.” She smiled at him, and he leaned in to kiss her when he heard the loud clearing of a throat. He quickly sat back and looked at Vignar in alarm, and as the old man slowly stood he muttered, “Ah damn.” He cursed himself, feeling like an ass for telling Bryn days ago to not make a show of their relationship inside Jorrvaskr’s walls and now for the third time he had done something impulsive and embarrassed them both. Maybe some time apart would be good for him, to let his head clear a little.

Vignar stopped at the side of the table and folded his arms as he gazed at the two lovers, since that was clearly what they were. “Kisses with breakfast,” he said with disapproval. “Is that what this hall has come to?”

“Revered, it…it was, eh…” Vilkas trailed off, unable to defend himself or say anything that didn't sound asinine.

“Save it, boy. You think you’re the first one here to lose his head over a pretty Shield-Sister? Happens all the time, but I expected better of one of the Circle. You’re supposed to set an example for the others.”

“The others are not here,” Bryn stated, not at all happy about her beloved being chastised, and he wasn't even defending himself. “With all due respect, Vignar the Revered, are you concerned he will set a poor example for you or Tilma, at your esteemed ages?”

“If he’s slipping up in front of me of all people, he might in front of the others. That is not what we do in this hall!”

Bryn made a soft sound of interest. “Ah, I see. Well, it’s good that we have that understood. No kisses in the mead hall. Only fist fights, boasting and vomiting. Dignified things. Yes, Revered.” She heard a snort from Vilkas and a soft chuckle from Tilma while the old man scowled, his eyes nearly disappearing into the folds of his face. She moved a seat away to leave hers empty and patted it, saying, “If you’d like, please sit between us as a chaperone, and we’ll tell you about our visit to High Hrothgar. Vilkas and Farkas saw the Greybeards and heard them speak to me.”

“Is that so,” Vignar said in amazement, his scowl evaporating.

Vilkas stated, “Yes Revered, that is so. I was there when they declared her Dragonborn, and Ysmir. I saw all four of them Shout at her in the dragon tongue, and it shook the mountain.”

“By Talos, that is a tale I want to hear!”

Bryn smiled mischievously at Vilkas and he couldn't help grinning back. Clever girl. He didn't particularly like having Vignar between them, but it made the old man happy and deflected attention from their relationship. Maybe Vignar would even forget it had ever come up, sparing Vilkas a call on the carpet with Kodlak, though he intended to visit him after Bryn left and ask his advice on how to proceed with her, what the protocol was for such a thing. He only hoped that he didn't get raked over the coals for it, or told that one of them would have to leave Jorrvaskr. He knew it would be Bryn, even as much as she loved it here; she would volunteer immediately, to spare him the pain of leaving what had been his home since he was a mere babe. He hoped it didn't come to that.  
-  
“Well, this is a day I never thought I would see. I thought it would be your brother in here one day, but never you.”

“Harbinger, I can explain,” Vilkas said quietly, his face warm. He felt like an awkward youth being dressed down by his father over some indiscretion. At least the outer doors were closed.

“Oh, please do. This should prove rather interesting.” He motioned for Vilkas to sit down, and he had to keep his expression tightly controlled to keep from giving himself away. So the not so young man was in love, and with their pretty Dragonborn Shield-Sister at that, the one he had given such a hard time at first. The reason for that hard time was rather apparent now, not that it hadn't always been to some extent.

Vilkas sat down and glanced at his master, the man he had considered a father since Jergen had left. Farkas never really had, still clinging to the missing man’s memory, but Vilkas loved Kodlak dearly, and the thought of disappointing him nearly brought him to tears. But the thought of not having Bryn was just as bad. Kodlak stared back, waiting, and he let out a shaky breath and put his face in his hands, his elbows on his knees. “I can’t explain,” he choked. “Dibella help me, I really can’t.” He kept himself there, unable to look at his master. “I never intended this to happen. I only intended to…to scratch an itch.”

“With the Dragonborn? As if she’s some pub wench?”

“I know it was wrong! Believe me, in hindsight, I must have been out of my mind. It was inappropriate on nearly every level, but now it’s too late and gods help me, what am I going to do? I can’t leave Jorrvaskr, I won’t do that, I can’t, but I don’t want her thrown out either, it wasn't her fault. It was my fault, every step of the way.”

“Why would there be any fault involved?”

“She…” Vilkas swallowed hard, his face burning with shame. “She was a maiden. A virgin.”

“Ysgramor’s balls,” Kodlak grunted. That shocked even him. Now that he knew, he supposed he could see the evidence of that, just from her behavior, and from what she had said about her overly controlling adoptive parents. Altmer were rather uptight about such things.

Vilkas took his face out of his hands and leaned across the small table as he went on quickly, “I had no idea, Harbinger, I swear it! I never would have even looked at her if I had known, let alone…do what I did. I had no idea until…until she healed herself afterward and I was so angry that she’d tricked me that I blew up at her, and she started crying and I felt horrible, I mean, it wasn't as if she’d lied about it, and… and you know women, they’re repelled by me, Bryn think’s it’s the beastblood that does it and it doesn't affect her because she’s a dragon, I mean, she has the soul of a dragon, and it isn't frightened by a mere wolf, why would it be—“

“Slow down, boy, you’re giving me a headache,” Kodlak demanded, though it was all he could do not to start laughing. The mighty, brilliant Vilkas, reduced to stammering and blushing by a girl. Vilkas fell silent, still leaning across the table, a desperate look on his face. “So, you got caught in your own snare, did you? You thought you would take a Shield-Sister for a tumble and ended up falling in love with her. There’s a certain justice there, don’t you think?”

“I suppose,” he said miserably.

“So what are you going to do now?”

“Do? What is there to do? We agreed to spend what time we could together, without rubbing everyone’s nose in it.”

“Is that so. Seems you haven’t done a particularly good job of that so far, considering that three different Companions have come to me today to tell me about it.”

Vilkas groaned and covered his eyes. “It was my fault, not hers. This has all been my fault. All of it. Ah gods, what am I going to do!”

Kodlak finally laughed, “Calm down lad, and quit castigating yourself. It’s as if you think yourself the first of us this has ever happened to.”

“So Vignar said, but he also reminded me that I am a member of the Circle. I should know better than to behave in such a way inside the hall.”

“Well, when the heart rules the head, it doesn't matter what one knows, only what one feels.” It made Kodlak feel terribly old to have this discussion with Vilkas now, at the end of his life, when any other father would have been doing it when the boy was in his teens. It was touching that Vilkas had finally found love, in his late thirties at that, though Kodlak had always imagined Farkas finding it first, or if nothing else throwing on an Amulet of Mara and seeing what stuck. Actually, knowing Farkas it would be the second method that won out. He continued, “If it’s any consolation, I am happy for you, and Bryn. She is happy about all this, I hope?”

“Yes...” Kodlak waited, and he went on with worry, “I have...concerns, about the future. As she does. After...well, the first day we were together, before we decided to try to make it work, she spoke of having a doom upon her, that she had felt it ever since we visited High Hrothgar. She said she sometimes feels as if her only purpose is to eventually die in glory, and I don’t mean in the way we talk about it here, among the Companions. She said she could never marry because of it, and frankly I can’t help agreeing with her. How could we marry when she is gone so often, when she could die at any moment?”

“Yes, but one could say the same about any of us.”

Vilkas shook his head. “No, with respect Harbinger, this is different. We spend most of our time here, in Jorrvaskr, and our deaths when and if they come are something random, an encounter gone badly. Bryn’s fate...it’s difficult not to see her path as predetermined, heading towards some ultimate goal, something terrible.”

“Ah.” He shifted in his seat as a pain hit him deep inside, taking his breath away. Vilkas started to rise from his seat but Kodlak held up his right hand, his left arm going around his middle. “Just…”

“Yes Master,” Vilkas whispered, sinking back down into his seat. It was agonizing watching the older man suffer so and being so completely helpless to even ease it. His eyes squeezed shut, Kodlak motioned for him to keep talking. “The Greybeards declared her Ysmir, Dragon of the North, and spoke of the Stormcrown.”

“Talos.”

“Aye. Lydia told Farkas that after returning from retrieving the Horn, Bryn spoke of unifying Skyrim, driving out the Thalmor, destroying them even.” He hesitated then continued, “She said nothing of such things while we were traveling together, and said nothing more of having a doom upon her. She was… happy. We both were. The beastblood, it was quiet. It still is.” Making love to Bryn over and over had sated the wolf in him for the time being, but now that she was gone it was hard to say how long the peace would last, or how long she would be away. Even she didn't know and hadn't even tried to guess. He missed her desperately already.

“Good, good. Glad…glad you boys went.”

“Aye, we both are. To see such a thing in our lifetimes was an honor beyond compare. And Bryn… Master, the things I saw her do! I saw the word of power in the depths of the barrow glow and reach for her. I saw her breathe fire and shout thunder and move like lightning. She is…she is beyond compare.” Kodlak’s right hand came down on Vilkas’ arm and squeezed, still strong.

“Be worthy.”

“I have done my best to be.” Kodlak kept his hand there and Vilkas laid his own over it, feeling a choking lump in his throat. Sweat was beginning to run down the old man’s brow and he grimaced again, and Vilkas whispered, “Please, let me put you to bed, Harbinger. This one is bad.” Kodlak nodded, squeezing his eyes shut again, and Vilkas took his hand and helped him up from his seat, the first time the Harbinger had ever allowed it. He put his arm across his back and under his other arm and they slowly made their way to Kodlak’s bedroom, the younger man dismayed at how much weight the older one had lost recently. His body was eating itself alive.

He got Kodlak into his sleeping robe and into bed, the older man’s embarrassment at the situation obvious and to Vilkas’ mind unwarranted. The rot had no cure, and everyone grew old eventually, if they lived long enough, and not everyone wanted to die in battle. Vilkas certainly didn't at this point, not now that he had Bryn. He couldn't bring himself to dream of an old age surrounded by children and grandchildren, not yet, but he couldn't rule it out either. Who knew when the next time was that they would even see each other, let alone spend a night together? He could barely think that far ahead, not knowing when it would be. 

He wished she would have taken Lydia with her though, for not the first time since she left. He had asked her to as she was readying herself to leave; Lydia had made herself scarce as the two of them had entered the house, muttering that she had errands to run, avoiding Vilkas’ eyes and seeming chastened, and he hadn't gloated. It had given him and Bryn an hour to make love in a proper bed for once. It had started so movingly, with Bryn still a bit shy but saying with pink cheeks and a smile that it was her turn to do the work if he showed her what to do, and Vilkas had been too stunned and aroused to argue as she slowly removed his clothes, then her own, and pushed him back onto the bed to run her eyes and hands and mouth over every inch of him, something she hadn't had the chance or courage to do before, and then she had ridden him from start to finish, her fingers interlaced with his over his head, holding him down. It had made him feel vulnerable, almost virginal, to lay there and be made love to, softly telling her where and how to kiss and touch him. It was yet another first for him, something he had never imagined allowing any woman to do to him, and when it was over the room had nearly been spinning around him. He had almost told her then that he loved her, and now he wished he had.

Sighing heavily with loneliness, he found himself outside in the courtyard, bypassing Torvar and Njada arguing drunkenly about something he cared not a whit about. He went to one of the bastions overlooking the White River Valley, feeling restless and bored all at once, not entirely sure what to do with himself now. His brother had headed out after lunch with Ria and Athis on a job somewhere in Falkreath, and Skjor and Aela were once again nowhere to be found inside Jorrvaskr. Vignar was having dinner with his brother’s family, the whole lot of them no doubt sitting around the table grousing about the Empire and/or the Battle-Borns. There was no one here to talk to except Tilma, and she was taking the rare opportunity to sit quietly for a while and relax, and honestly there wasn't much in the way of conversation there.

He leaned his arms on the wall and watched the sails on the windmill at Chillfurrow Farm turn in the breeze. He tried to simply let his mind go blank, to get some of the peace of mind his brother enjoyed, but he didn’t have it in him. His mind never stopped turning, never stopped working, and while he was usually glad of that, he wasn't right now.

A distant, reverberating roar sent chills through him, and he saw a faint shadow make a few lazy turns around the mountains across the river then disappear again. “Dragon!” he whispered shakily. Gods help him, he had seen a real dragon! He scanned the line of peaks intently, but the beast didn't reappear, and he kept it to himself, half-afraid he would sound like a frightened little boy if he ran and told someone. The creature was gone now, and telling another Companion or the guards would accomplish little other than panic. Vilkas stayed where he was though, wondering how the hell Bryn had found the courage to face a dragon twice, when seeing one from a distance like this was so terrifying.


	11. Chapter 11

“You can get a room at the Bee and Barb, but mind your coin purse. It’s no secret the Thieves Guild makes its home there. You look like you can handle yourself in a fair fight, but they don’t fight fair.”

The driver’s soft warning worried Bryn a bit, but not unduly; Skjor and Vilkas had both warned her. “Thank you, I’ll be careful.”

“And if you run into Maven Black-Briar…stay on her good side. This is her city, no doubt about it.”

“I’ll be sure to do so.”

“Safe travels.”

“You too.” He turned away to go chat with the other carriage driver, and Bryn rotated her shoulders and neck as she headed for the gates, her backside sore and body stiff from sitting in the wagon for so long. Vilkas had been right about riding in that regard. The driver had been a pleasant and talkative traveling companion, full of useful information about the major cities of Skyrim, and she’d made note of it all in her journal. The trip in general had been pleasant, The Rift a gorgeous land of golden birch forests and lakes. Her mother Heska’s family was from The Rift but Bryn’s aunt had never said where exactly, and she had little information to go on. Maybe one day she would find the time or the courage to look for whatever grandparents or cousins she might have left, if any.

The guard at the gates was just as obnoxious as she’d feared, and worse, he had tried to extort a bribe from her. She was a bit naïve, but not stupid. It had clearly been a shakedown and she told him so, and he’d folded and let her in. It hadn’t been a good omen as to how this city worked. To be fair, he had glanced nervously at the female guard manning the other side of the gate, so perhaps not all of them were dirty.

She paused inside the gates, overhearing a young couple in earnest conversation to her right. Bryn was so paranoid now that she couldn’t tell if the conversation was a true one or for her benefit. She bit her lip and watched the big woman, Mjoll, walk away from the young man, Aerin, and decided that while she couldn’t live with automatically distrusting everyone, she simply didn’t have the time to chase down everything she heard. At the moment she had an escaped criminal to catch.

Bryn made her way across town to Riften Jail, making note of the marketplace and a smithy. She paused to listen to the hum of the market and watch the smith work; he must be Balimund, the expert smith Alvor had told her about so long ago. She couldn’t help admiring the man, blond and well-built, as muscular as Farkas but not as tall, and good-looking in a rugged way. Perhaps if she had seen him before Vilkas he might have piqued her interest. Maybe she would come back this way after finding the escapee and see just what he knew about smithing that Adrianne didn’t. She hadn’t been able to help her friend much lately or do more than stop by and chat, but at least the Imperial order was filled thanks to Bryn and Adrianne wasn’t nearly as harried.

She got moving again and saw a temple to her left. She wasn’t well-versed yet in Nord religion and didn’t recognize the symbol, only familiar at this point with Kynareth and Talos. It never hurt to know the local resources. She went to the nearby beggar and handed him a septim, saying kindly, “Here friend, let me buy you a drink.” She didn’t mind enabling his habit; her actions either way wouldn’t change his behavior, and for a little while he could buy some liquid happiness. Or smoke some. It really wasn’t any of her business what his vice was as long as no one else was getting hurt because of it.

The man smiled at her with a good third of his teeth missing, but his eyes shone as he said in a slurred voice, “Thank you, pretty lady. Divines smile on you for your kindness.”

“Speaking of divines, the temple there...”

“Ah, Mara’s temple. The goddess of love and compassion. People all over Skyrim go there to marry, y’know. Got married there myself once, back when things were good. You lookin’ to get married?”

“Oh. Oh, no,” she said haltingly. “I just wanted to make a donation.” Mara was the same goddess all over Tamriel, but her symbol was different in Cyrodiil.

He winked at her and said, “Well, you change your mind you let me know.”

Bryn laughed and quickly walked away, trying not to let her revulsion show. Vilkas hadn’t mentioned the temple here, and she had to wonder if it simply hadn’t occurred to him, or if he hadn’t wanted the topic brought up. They hadn’t spoken of marriage since the brief mention of it in the barrow, happy simply to spend time together, but Bryn hadn’t been able to help thinking of it every so often. She still did. She had mostly been acting morose when she’d told Vilkas she couldn’t marry because she would just end up dying before too long. If Vilkas loved her enough he would want to marry her regardless, and he was the kind of man that wouldn’t let much stop him if he put his mind to something. Their relationship was so new yet that she couldn’t expect that sort of thing from him. Her aunt had told her that some Elven courtships lasted years. She hoped human ones didn’t. Maybe the Temple of Mara could shed some light on that for her when she was done with the escaped criminal. She wasn’t in much hurry to return home, even for Vilkas; she had adventured too much lately with help, and she needed to learn to stand on her own.

Missing her beloved, Bryn hurried to the jail to attend to business, finding out that the criminal had scaled a wall and set off to the north, that he was a Redguard who had killed someone in a brawl, continuing to beat the other man well past when he had yielded, and that at this point they didn’t want him back dead or alive, simply disposed of in whatever way was expedient. Bryn found the task distasteful but it wasn’t her place to judge; if the man had been a thief or any other sort of minor criminal she doubted they would be paying what they were to have him dealt with. They needed no proof that the job was done, simply her word as a Companion that it would be. They had no idea she was the Dragonborn, and that was fine with her.

She headed back out the main gate, seeing the carriage driver heading north on the road back to Whiterun. She wasn’t sure how he braved the roads alone. She took a deep breath of the warm, sweet air and was about to set off when she heard the gates behind her open. Glancing back, she saw a young man running towards her, looking breathless but not worried.

“Brynhilde?”

“Yes, that’s me,” she answered, then wondered if she had made a mistake when he started reaching into his belt. Then she realized he was going through a belt pouch, of which he had several, some of them long and rectangular with hardened sides, as if to protect something fragile within. He took out a letter and held it out to her. The young man was wiry, as if he spent a great deal of time running. Feeling foolish, she realized he was a courier, and she took the letter. Couriers in Cyrodiil always rode horses, fast ones. She understood Vilkas’ reasoning in not using them, but it seemed a courier would be better off using one.

“Glad I finally caught up with you. Special delivery, a letter.”

“Really! From who?”

“Didn’t say, only that he was a friend of yours.”

“Oh. Do I owe you anything for your trouble?”

“No ma’am, I’ve already been paid for my services. Well, gotta go!” He turned on his heel and sprinted back into town.

“How odd,” Bryn murmured. She had never gotten a letter before, let alone one so mysterious. She opened the folded parchment sealed with red wax and read:

_Brynhilde,_

_You caused a bit of stir in Ivarstead when you demonstrated the power of your Thu'um. Not everyone is anxious for the return of the Dragonborn._

_I for one desire to see you grow and develop your talents. Skyrim needs a true hero these days._

_You should turn your attention to Kilkreath Ruins. I understand it holds a mysterious source of power that can only be unlocked by the Dragonborn._

_Sincerely,_

_A Friend_

“How odd!” she repeated. A friend…she had no clue who such a person could be, or why any friend of hers would be so mysterious. She wished she had asked the courier what the man had looked like, since he had said it was a he. She turned the letter over and over in her hands, trying to find some identifying mark, but there was none; the parchment itself looked old, as if it had been sitting in storage for some time, and had a Nordic design on the border. The ink was fresh though. The red seal had no insignia upon it. She refolded the letter and put it inside her journal for safekeeping and briefly consulted her map, but as she expected the ruins weren’t marked on it, in fact it seemed it was doing her little good at all as far as guidance, having little more than the major cities and towns marked along with the main roads and the borders of the holds. She sniffed in derision and put it away, wondering if she could find a better one somewhere, or a guidebook.

She continued on the road north and came to the three watchtowers guarding the main road, the one she had come in on by carriage. A quick chat with the guards told her he hadn’t come this way; it was impossible to get down the road this way without being spotted. She thanked them and returned to the city gates and consulted the stablemaster Hofgrir, nearly getting into a brawl to see who was stronger, though the bet had sounded good-natured. She wasn’t ready for another one of those, and frankly the bet annoyed her, as the man had obviously been much larger than her. He said he had seen someone sneaking around the stalls a couple days ago and had run him off, but it had been dusk so he hadn’t gotten a good look at the man, who had taken off along the less-traveled road to the west.

Bryn set out that way, taking in another deep breath of the wondrous air, with none of that crisp bite she was used to. It was certainly beautiful country, though she missed Whiterun's hills and open plains. Within a short period of time she came to a small farmstead being worked by a tired-looking Dunmer couple. A couple guards lazily strolled around, looking at the mer with contempt. Bryn grumbled and went to the woman, who was hoeing the field while her husband pushed the grindstone, grumbling to himself. 

“Excuse me,” Bryn started.

“Yes?” she responded, not pausing in her work. The poor woman looked exhausted.

“I’m looking for an escaped criminal, a Redguard. He broke out of Riften Jail several nights ago and was seen heading this way.”

“Can’t say that I have, however we do go to bed quite early.”

The woman rubbed her hands over her eyes, and Bryn said, “Do you need some help, muthsera? You look tired.” The Dunmer woman looked up in shock at the term, and the offer. Bryn motioned with her head toward the fields. “Let me find the man I’m looking for, and I’ll return here and help with whatever needs doing.”

“Well…yes,” she said in astonished gratitude. “We could always use help picking the crops. The work never ends, and my husband, Dravin…some days I swear he’s ready to pack up and return to Morrowind. After we were, well, robbed, Dravin became more bitter than ever. He hates this place.”

“Robbed? I will make certain to hear more about that as well when I return.”

“Who…who are you?”

“I am Brynhilde, of the Companions.” It sounded nobler than just Bryn, more Nord. Someone had to help these poor people, and she wanted it known that a Nord had done it, or at least a mostly Nord. Her aunt had always called her Bryn, sometimes Brynni in affection, but her uncle and cousin had always called her by her full name, rubbing her nose in her Nord heritage. Maybe it was time to take full ownership of it and start going by the name her mother had given her at birth and stop being afraid of it. The name meant ‘ready for battle’, and she certainly always was.

“I thought they only dealt in coin, and we have very little.”

“I’m what you would call…a special division. I do what they haven’t the time or resources for, and I would take nor expect not a single septim from you.”

“Well then, I am grateful.” She smiled briefly. “Or I will be when those crops get picked.”

“I’ll return as quickly as possible.” The woman nodded and went back to work. Her husband had watched the entire exchange with open distrust, scowling as he pushed the grindstone around. She would deal with the robbery as well and see if she couldn’t make things easier for them, at least for a little while.  
-  
Farkas found Lydia where he expected, waiting at Breezehome’s front door on a stool, looking more anxious than ever, worrying at her bottom lip as she whittled a stick, the shavings joining into a pile at her feet, swept away every night only to return the next day. As he approached he called out to her, “Hey lady, the forest is running out of sticks.”

Lydia threw the stick down and shoved the knife into its sheath as she stood, saying to him, “I’m worried sick about her, damn it! Nearly five weeks she’s been gone. Five! And not a word from her. It’s…it’s really damn rude. It’s stupid. It’s foolish! Why did she go alone? Was what I did that terrible? I was just trying to protect her!”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” he soothed. He reached her and rubbed her shoulder, continuing quietly, “She knows what you were trying to do, and why. She wasn’t mad when she left, or so Vilkas said.”

“Is he worried about her?”

“Of course he’s worried about her. He’s really worried about her. When we reached the month mark he started packing up to go look for her and Kodlak told me to stop him. It took me and Skjor to keep him there and calm him down. He’s kind of hot-headed.” His beast had been giving him nothing but trouble since she had been gone, and either Farkas or Skjor had been trying to keep an eye on him at any given time, though Skjor was being an ass and telling him to just change and get it over with. It didn't help matters any. Vilkas could barely go out, his edginess making folk nervous, and if he got anywhere near Anoriath’s meat stall he started losing it.

“You don’t say.” Farkas shrugged and nodded, missing her sarcasm.

“Yeah, he really is. Anyway, we’re all worried, but there was some reason she wanted to do this, besides teaching you a lesson. Maybe she went alone just to see if she could.”

“Sure, but for five weeks? What on earth has she been doing all this time? And in Riften of all places!”

“Maybe she didn't stay in Riften this whole time.”

“Or maybe she saw what a mess that place is and let her honor and charity get the better of her, and got involved in things she shouldn't have. Like crossing the Black-Briars.”

“She isn’t that naive, Lydia,” he said with a touch of disapproval. She put her hands on her hips, scowling, and he motioned for her to go inside Breezehome so they could talk more privately. Once they were inside and the door closed he stated, “Look, she’s a fast learner. Considering how sheltered she was when she came here she’s done really damn well for herself. And as for the business between her and my brother, it’s their business. How long were you planning on keeping her a virgin, anyway?”

Offended, she exclaimed, “What the hell do you mean? That wasn’t my intent at all! I was trying to keep her away from your slimy twin and his—“

“Hey, that’s my brother and best friend you’re talking about,” he warned. “He’s a good man, an honorable man, and he didn't know she was a virgin. He had no idea at all, and he was really upset when he found out.” Lydia’s anger subsided a bit at that. “He got what was coming to him. He went where he shouldn’t have, and only because she was a Shield-Sister, not because she was a virgin, and fell in love with her. He’s been moping around Jorrvaskr like a moony teenager and driving us all nuts. It wasn’t just a fling for him.”

Lydia said painfully, “Okay, fine, but Dibella’s mercy Farkas, he deflowered her in a burial mound!”

“Well, things happen.” She made a sound of disgust. “It’s not like they were doing it right next to a dead body. He did it with kindness and respect. I didn’t get details and I don’t want them, but Bryn said he was sweet and gentle, and she was happy, and that’s all that matters. Whatever you find creepy about my brother, well, she doesn’t. They love each other and you have to leave it alone.” He grinned at her and added, “Besides, where did you get deflowered? In a fancy canopy bed covered in rose petals?”

She laughed and went to punch him in the shoulder but he caught her fist before it could connect. When he kept hold of her hand and started to pull her close she murmured, “You’ll never know.” It had been awkward and painful, some boy in her hometown, two lanky teenagers fumbling around in the hayloft of his father’s barn trying to figure out how the hell it all fit together, and he had gone off to join the Legion not long after that.

“Don’t need to know,” he said just as quietly. He kissed her knuckles and she raised an eyebrow in question, and he asked, “What are you doing for dinner tonight?”

“No plans.”

“Hulda got in a fresh case of Honningbrew mead, said she was going to make a salmon chowder and bake some fresh sourdough bread. She does this thing where she bakes it in a ball then scoops the middle out to make it into a bowl, but you can eat the bowl.”

“Sounds good.” She smiled slyly and added, “I might even be able to manage a dress.”

“That sounds even better. Don’t wear anything under it though. I want to think about it while we’re eating.”

She laughed, “I can manage that.” That was the thing about Farkas, he always said what was on his mind, in the plainest possible way, and never left you guessing. This date though, this was something new. He had never asked her out to eat before. He had been spending a lot of time coming around Breezehome lately though. He hadn’t tried getting her into bed since their return from High Hrothgar, though he had shared a bedroll with her on the way home both nights, which had been a nice novelty. He certainly had been a magnificent bear of a man, with the campfire shining on his handsome face and lighting up those lovely eyes. It had been a bit romantic, surprisingly, though she had worried about Bryn the entire time in the back of her mind, wondering if this thing that came so easily to her was distressing her lady, experiencing it for the first time.

It embarrassed her a bit, now, to think she had underestimated Bryn so much, that she had thought her such a delicate creature that she would be traumatized by losing her virginity, to someone like Vilkas at that. It wasn’t as if Vilkas were cruel, or a rough lover. Bryn had refused to talk to her about the experience once she came home, saying only that it had been wonderful, that they loved each other, and that Lydia had best behave herself from now on, her golden eyes full of angry fire. Lydia had meekly apologized, and Bryn had stayed around just long enough to bathe and change into fresh clothes then she had headed up to Dragonsreach for dinner with the Jarl and his court. Lydia had stayed behind, mending and cleaning Bryn’s gear and restocking her pack, hoping they would set out for Mount Anthor the next day, and instead Bryn had announced the next afternoon that Skjor had given her a job near Riften, and that she had no idea when she would be returning, and that she would be going alone and didn’t want any arguments to the contrary. Vilkas had accompanied Bryn back to Breezehome and stayed quietly out of the way as Lydia helped her prepare; Lydia had to admit that he’d had the good grace not to gloat and had indeed seemed to avoid her gaze, almost as if he were embarrassed, knowing that he had done exactly as Lydia feared. Vilkas had walked Bryn out to the stables, and when he had walked past again half an hour later he hadn’t even noticed Lydia at Breezehome’s door, sweeping the front step for something to do. He had been so lost in thought that his surroundings hadn't even seemed to register with him.

“What are you thinking?” Farkas asked. “You’re not doing that thing I do, are you?”

“No,” she said with sad amusement. “Just thinking about Bryn and Vilkas.”

“Sweet, isn’t it.”

“I guess. As long as he loves her.”

Farkas rolled his eyes and let go of her hand. “Yeah, I’d say he loves her. It’s sickening. He makes things so damn hard on himself, and everyone around him. I told him he should just marry her and he wrung his hands and fussed like an old lady.”

“Marry her! You honestly think he should marry her?”

“Sure, why not? They make each other happy and seem to get along really well once they got all that tension out of the way. He wanted her from the second he saw her and was too stupid to admit it. Brains of Ysgramor my ass. He’s got so much brains they get in the way of common sense. You don’t just fall in love with someone like that unless it means something, or spend weeks on end pining away for someone like you’re missing half of yourself. I think they were made for each other and he might want to try listening to me once in a while.”

Lydia stared at him in astonishment, her mouth hanging open, then an urgent knock on the door stopped whatever she had been about to say. She shook herself and ran to open it, knowing it wasn’t Bryn, who had the key. A courier stood there, young and lean as they always were, barely winded from running.

“Lydia of Whiterun, right? Housecarl of Thane Brynhilde?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Got a letter here for you, your eyes only.” He handed it over then saw the big man behind her. Really tall, hugely built, dark brown hair, light gray eyes, small scar over the left eyebrow. “Farkas of Jorrvaskr?”

“Sure am,” he answered.

“Got a letter here for you too.”

“A letter, for me?”

“Yep.” He handed it over to the big man, who stared at it with worry, as if afraid to open it.

“Is it bad?”

“Huh?”

“Who is this from?”

The courier made a sound of understanding. “Oh, no no no. These letters are from Brynhilde, thane of The Rift. She’s alive and well, I assure you.”

Lydia barked, “Thane of The Rift! What the fuck!”

“Er, gotta go,” the courier said hastily. “Got more letters to deliver.” He sprinted off and quickly removed himself from the situation.

Lydia tore her letter open and started reading, feeling hot all over. Thane of The Rift! How the hell could Bryn be Thane of The Rift? She was already a Thane of Whiterun! You couldn’t be thane in more than one hold! Could you?

_Dear Lydia,_

_I’m so sorry it took this long to let everyone know how I was doing. I’ve been so incredibly busy that the days flew by and before I knew it a month was gone. Don’t worry, everything is going well, though Riften is just as dirty as Skjor warned me it would be. That hag Maven has been watching me like a hawk, especially since a mysterious someone went through the Ratway and disposed of all the rats. I haven’t crossed her but I won’t back down from her either. They say the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood are at her beck and call, but I’ve seen this so-called guild and it’s pathetic, and if that lame assassin I ran into the other day near Shor’s Stone is any indication of the DB’s proficiency, it’s sadly lacking. Really, was that the best they could do? ‘Poor fool’ indeed…I’d make a better assassin than that noisy Argonian they sent after me!_

“Great Divines,” Lydia whispered in terror. Farkas wasn’t reading his letter, instead watching as she read hers. “They sent the Dark Brotherhood after her,” she said in a shaking voice. “I think it was Maven Black-Briar. Bryn killed everyone in The Ratway but hasn't touched the Guild.” Yet.

“She killed the assassin?”

“Well, yes, but…they’ll send others.”

“Yeah, and eventually they’ll run out of assassins.” He tucked his letter in the front of his shirt. “I bet Vilkas got a letter too. I’m going to go see him and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. See you at six?”

“Sure.” She was too upset now to even look forward to it. As he left she continued reading:

_But there are so many good people here, people who hate how things are. You’ll have to meet my friend Mjoll. She was the one who inspired me to stay and try to help the people here. The Jarl appreciates my efforts, and before you get too upset let me say first that I didn’t think she would make me a thane. I wasn’t expecting that at all. I’ve killed three dragons here in The Rift, ones Jarl Laila had put a bounty on. It was really tough on my own, I won’t lie about that. The first one at Autumnwatch Tower nearly finished me, but I learned a lot from the encounter, and the second and third ones at Northwind Summit and Lost Tongue Overlook went a bit easier. I got three new Shouts in the bargain as well as more scales and bones! I still don’t know what to do with them, though I let my friend Balimund take a look at them and he said they might be workable in a forge, having a high metallic content. He said it was beyond his skill, but I bet Eorlund would be able to figure out how to use them._

_The strangest thing was a letter I got from a courier the day I arrived at Riften, from some unknown ‘friend’ who wants to see me develop my thu’um. He gave me a tip about Kilkreath Ruins, but that’s too far away to follow up on right now. I have no idea who this person was, though the courier said he was male, and how could whoever it is have known I used the thu’um in Ivarstead? It’s all quite bizarre._

_I’ll be coming home soon. I was allowed to buy a house here in Riften, a nice place called Honeyside, and while it’s very roomy and right on the lake it just doesn’t feel cozy like Breezehome does, and this housecarl Iona they gave me is so stiff and odd. She does her duty but I just can’t warm to her, or her to me, so I haven’t taken her out with me anywhere. I don’t really want to anyway. It wouldn’t feel right to take anyone but you along. I feel bad that we parted as we did, but I’ll be home a day or so after you get this letter and we’ll put things to rights. I’ll probably have to start splitting my time between Whiterun and Riften from now on, and I hope that won’t cause problems, but I’ve made a lot of good friends here and feel like my work isn’t yet done, especially my studies with Balimund. He jokes that he performs miracles with steel, but it isn’t far from the truth._

_Love,  
Bryn_

Lydia let out a long, slow breath, unsettled but not as afraid as she had been. Bryn seemed to be thriving on her own, though the business with Maven Black-Briar had Lydia extremely worried. The woman was evil to the core, ruthless, and supposedly had friends in high places within the Empire. Even if Bryn managed to completely wipe out the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood, Maven could still conceivably find some way to strike back at her.

She set the letter aside and went upstairs to unlock the small lockbox in her room that held the gold for household expenses; she had been taking most of her meals at the Drunken Huntsman lately and the house wasn’t as well-stocked as it should be. Bryn’s bedding also needed airing out. It would be plenty to keep her busy until dinner.  
-  
“Balimund,” Vilkas growled, nearly crumpling the letter in his hands. Balimund. Mjoll. Honeyside. The Temple of Mara. Thane of The Rift. It was as if Bryn had created an entire parallel life in Riften that had nothing to do with him or the Companions or any of the other people who had loved and supported her from the start.

Farkas watched his brother continue reading, his face flushed and eyes blazing, and when his twin threw the letter on his bed then started pacing he asked, “What’s wrong? Did your letter say something mine didn’t?”

“Of course it did, why wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t mean the mushy stuff. She told me that she became a Thane of the Rift and killed some dragons and made some friends. Sounds nice. I think Lydia was kind of jealous that Bryn has a new housecarl, but it’s not like it’s any kind of threat to her. She seems happy with all the smithing she’s been doing.”

“With Balimund.”

“Yeah? I’ve heard he’s really good. He…ohhh.” Big, blond, fairly good-looking, personable, stable. Even Farkas could see Vilkas’ worry. Both of them knew of the smith, having visited Riften on business many times, and while he was a bit arrogant when it came to his work, it was warranted, and he was a decent man. Bryn loved smithing, and it seemed she liked Riften, and Balimund could provide the very thing Bryn had originally come to Skyrim for.

“I don’t want her spending time around him.”

“She wouldn't be unfaithful to you.”

“No, but enough time around him and he might look good enough to leave me for.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous. Bryn loved you from the moment she saw you.”

“It was simple infatuation.”

“Well it isn’t any more.”

“Then why didn’t she come back sooner!” Vilkas shouted, turning to his brother. “If she loves me so damn much then how was she able to stay away for so long? I've been going crazy here for the last five weeks and it hardly seems like it bothered her at all!”

“Because she’s been busy, and you haven’t. You did it to yourself.” This twin glared furiously at him but didn’t deny it. “You go acting like this when she comes back and you will make her start having second thoughts. That she even mentioned Balimund should tell you nothing’s going on.”

“Maybe she mentioned him just to make it seem that way.”

“All right, now you’re giving me a headache. I’m leaving.”

“Well what did your letter say?” Farkas handed it over to him without hesitation.

_Dear Farkas,_

_I hope I didn’t worry anyone too much. I’m coming home a day or two after this courier reaches you, so I can tell you all the details in person then. I still can’t believe it, but Jarl Laila made me a thane. I really wasn’t looking for that to happen, but I suppose all the helping out I’ve done around here lately made it to her ears. It’s flattering but now I feel obligated to help fix things in Riften, and that will take some time, more than I have right now, and I really miss everyone back home, especially you and Vilkas._

_I hope he isn’t upset that it took so long to write, it’s just that I’ve been so busy lately, one day running off to kill a dragon (or three!), the next helping the Llaniths at Merryfair Farm, and in between studying smithing with Balimund. I’ve learned so much from him! A few weeks ago he showed me how to craft jewelry. I never thought those big hands could do something so beautiful and delicate._

“Big hands,” Vilkas said through gritted teeth, his blood boiling. All he could imagine was the two of them sitting close to each other, those big meaty paws brushing against Brin’s graceful fingers as he showed her something intricate.

“Keep reading,” Farkas demanded. “You’re being an idiot.”

“Whatever!”

_It’s funny but even though he’s exactly what I came to Skyrim looking for, all I can think about is Vilkas. I hope he hasn’t forgotten about me while I’ve been gone. I’ve spent a lot of time talking to the local priest of Mara, Maramal, about the nature of love, and maybe I’m just not meant for a normal life with a husband and children and a trade. Balimund is nice but rather boring. I’m actually a little worried that he’s taken a liking to me, and believe me I’ve done absolutely nothing I can think of to warrant that, so I keep brushing off his offers of dinner and boat rides on the lake._

Vilkas closed his eyes for a moment, so close to tearing up the letter that it took all his willpower not to do so. Dinner and a boat ride on the lake…how very romantic. Certainly more romantic than a smelly burial mound or a bedroll next to a campfire.

“You must’ve just read the part about the boat rides,” Farkas stated, unable to help finding this a little funny, though he knew better than to show it.

“I’m going to kill him,” Vilkas vowed. “Why the hell doesn't she just tell him that she’s spoken for?”

“Because she isn’t.”

“Yes she is. Just because we aren’t married doesn’t mean we aren’t together. All she has to do is tell him she’s seeing someone.”

“Who? You aren’t there to see, or be seen. She’ll tell him that and you think he’ll believe her? It would probably piss him off thinking she’s lying. I would think she was. He’s one of the best smiths in Skyrim. Only Eorlund is better, and maybe Oengul War-Anvil in Windhelm, but he doesn't provide training. He’s too busy equipping Ulfric’s war machine. Bryn needs Balimund’s help if she wants to become a real smith.”

“Then next time she goes to Riften, I go with her.”

“And do what, stand behind her glowering at Balimund the whole time? I bet she’d love that.”

“I’m not going to let some other man win her away from me!”

“Then don’t go acting like a jealous ass when she gets back. I can see you doing that, Vilkas. You’ll end up driving her away yourself, and then Balimund really will look good to her.” He shook his head. “You’re making everything too complicated, as usual. When she gets back, just go do something nice with her.”

“Like what? You think I know what to do? How the hell would I know!”

Farkas rolled his eyes, saying, “I don’t know. Take her out to the meadery. Go for a trip upriver to Lake Ilinalta for a few days. Use your imagination.”

Trying to control himself, Vilkas continued reading the letter. He could feel himself starting to panic, and that wasn’t good. He hadn’t thought himself capable of it, but reading about Balimund had him in a state.

_He’s being awfully persistent, but not in an obnoxious way. I hope he gets the point soon, as I really don’t want to upset him and take the chance of not receiving any more training, and it’s been so long now that if I come out and tell him I’m seeing someone I’m afraid he’ll think I made it up to make him back off. I wish I had said something sooner but I didn’t realize what he was asking for until he already had a few times. And who knows, maybe Vilkas had second thoughts while I was gone and I need to leave that avenue open. I guess we’ll see in a few days._

_I really miss you, and everyone else back in Whiterun. Riften is nice, but it doesn’t feel like home._

_Love and kisses,  
Bryn_

Vilkas refolded the letter and handed it back to his brother, who said, “Don’t make her think you’ve had second thoughts.”

“How could she think that?”

“You were only together a few days, and things between you were awkward at best before that. Just give it some time.” He nodded towards Vilkas’ letter on the bed. “Did she mention second thoughts in yours?”

“No, but she worded things in such a way that…” He paused, not knowing how to put it, feeling wounded. “It was as if she was giving me an out. As if she was letting me know she would understand if I didn’t still feel the same way about her by time she returned. She let me know that she loved me as much as ever and thinks about me all the time, but if things had changed for me she wouldn’t make things hard.”

Farkas grimaced and muttered, “That’s rough.”

“It wasn’t in so many words, but…well, maybe again it was. It’s obvious she has doubts.”

“So remove the doubt.”

“I’ll try, but…” He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I’m going to screw this up, Farkas. I can feel it,” he said with anxiety. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re trying too hard. See, me, I’m just taking Lydia out for a nice dinner at the Bannered Mare, then back to Breezehome for a nice night of lovin’. Nothing complicated. No over-thinking it.”

Vilkas frowned in confusion. “You’re taking Lydia out to dinner? And spending the night with her?”

“Well, she doesn’t know about the spending the night part, but she will soon enough.” Farkas shrugged. “I really like her. We get along well. The sex is great. Everything is easy with her. I’m pretty sure that I’ll ask her to marry me one of these days.” Vilkas stared at him blankly. Seeing his twin’s bewilderment, Farkas added in a guilty tone, “I probably should’ve mentioned that a little sooner, huh.” Vilkas’ expression turned to one of hurt, and he grabbed his brother’s shoulders and said in a soothing tone, “Hey, it’s not a big deal. I’ll still be around all the time, and who knows, maybe she won’t bite when I show up with that amulet on.”

“Great Divines,” Vilkas groaned, sinking down to the edge of this bed.

“It won’t be for a while yet. Gotta give her time to get used to having me around, and I want us to be cured first. Plus she’ll be taking off with Bryn now and then. Maybe one day when Bryn doesn’t need her around all the time. You know we bunked together on the way home from High Hrothgar. Like you and Bryn did.”

“Yes.” Farkas had told him so not long after getting back.

“It just felt right. Waking up to her every morning, seeing her smile at me... She’s really beautiful, even if she’s kind of like one of the guys sometimes. I really like her. Being around her makes me happy.”

His heart aching, Vilkas smiled at his twin and softly said, “That’s all that really matters, isn’t it.”

“Should be all that matters.” He grinned at his brother and said, “Well, gotta go. Have to see if Tilma can mend my good shirt, the blue one. Maybe put a few braids in my hair or something.”

“That would look good.”

Farkas left, closing the door behind him, and Vilkas sat there staring at the floor, feeling an almost painful love for his brother. He knew no finer man than Farkas. It would make him happy to see his brother married, with a litter of little ones around him, maybe working the Skyforge with Eorlund, learning the old man’s trade. It seemed right, seemed inevitable even. Every time he thought about their old age, he saw his brother married with a large family. And as for himself…all he ever saw was himself alone…sitting alone in Jorrvaskr, alone in Kodlak’s chair. Alone. Always alone. That was still all he could see, maybe now more than ever. He would have been content with that before, but now that he had someone, or thought he still did, the fear wouldn't leave him that he would end up alone.

He resisted the urge to go talk to Kodlak about it, the old man having a bad day with the rot, the bad days coming more and more often. Kodlak spent every pain-free moment he had digging through the Companions’ archives, trying to find some clue to a cure in a prior Harbinger’s journal, having little luck. Vilkas wasn’t about to bother the old man with his childish troubles. He had brought all this on himself by fixating on a Shield-Sister, and he would have to see it through on his own, since none of the other men here would be of any use in providing advice. Farkas had already told him to just marry Bryn and be done with it. Vignar disapproved and Vilkas wasn’t about to provide the elder with an easy target. Skjor seemed to find the whole thing amusing and was still ribbing him about it, which was ironic considering everyone thought he was having an affair with Aela, though Vilkas knew otherwise; Aela had always taken female lovers that Vilkas was aware of, seeming to find the idea of making love with a man distasteful. He wasn’t sure what the two were up to most nights, but it wasn’t what everyone thought, he was sure of it. Probably hunting, but much more often than was necessary, and sometimes they were gone for days. Whatever they were up to, he was sure it was something Kodlak and himself would not approve of.


	12. Chapter 12

Lydia threw her napkin down on the table and sighed, “Now that is what I call a meal.” The chowder had been outstanding, perfectly seasoned and salted, with just the right amount of fish and potatoes and cream, everything in balance. The mead had been cold and the bread warm and soft, and her companion very easy on the eyes. Mikael had played quietly and kept his mouth shut, for once. It was perfect. Just perfect.

“No kidding. I’m stuffed.”

“That’s saying something.”

“Mm-hm.”

It was late and the only other people present were Jon Battle-Born and Olfina Gray-Mane, talking softly with their heads together at the table in the way back. The Bannered Mare was a safe haven for them late at night under Hulda’s protection, and Lydia and Farkas were certainly not going to talk, Farkas giving the young couple a wink and a finger across his lips earlier. Lydia leaned close to Farkas and whispered, “They’re going to have to tell their families soon.”

He grimaced in dread. “The Civil War’s going to seem like nothing compared to that.”

“We don’t arrange marriages like those damn Altmer. Here in Skyrim love is all that matters, no matter how you find it.”

“Yeah.”

Lydia’s mouth fell open slightly as Farkas ran his fingers across the top of her hand, lifting his eyes to hers. They were such a perfect light gray, the color of fine steel, almost silver, intense under thick black lashes. He smiled gently at her and she felt her heart do a little leap, equal parts surprise and delight. She smiled back hesitantly and lifted her other hand to run the tip of her finger across his moustache, and he quickly kissed her finger.

“I like you a lot, Lydia.”

She laughed and laid her hand against his cheek, saying, “Farkas, Farkas…I think I like you too.” How could she not? He was simply too fine a specimen of a man not to.

“My brother is an idiot, you know.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No reason to go making things complicated, you know?”

“Yes, I know.”

“When you find someone you really like who makes you happy every time they’re around, that means something.” Lydia nodded, a melting look in her dark blue eyes. She stroked his cheek with her thumb as he took her other hand in his, saying, “That’s all I’ve gotta say about that, for now. I’m not my brother.”

“Thank all the Nine Divines for that.” Something sweet and easy…that was all she had ever wanted, and Farkas had always given her that. Vilkas though, he couldn’t help but overthink everything, over-feel everything. Bryn had that tendency as well, and it would always make their relationship difficult. It hardly seemed worth it, and if Lydia had her way she would push Bryn in Balimund’s direction in a heartbeat, but she had vowed to stay uninvolved in Bryn’s personal matters. Now that it seemed she had them of her own, that would be more than enough to keep her busy.  
-  
The sound of a cart creaking up the road made Vilkas jump up from his seat on the wall around Honningbrew Meadery overlooking the crossroads. He felt his heart sink when it quickly became apparent that the wagon was empty. He jogged up to the driver and asked, “Have you seen anyone on the road lately? A young Nord woman, maybe, blond?”

Bjorlam shook his head. “No, can’t say that I have. Especially if you’re talking about the Dragonborn. I do know what she looks like, you know. I was the one who drove her to Riften a month or so ago. Haven’t seen her since though.”

“Right. Okay. Thanks.”

“Sure thing. Say, it’s getting dark out, Companion. Hop on up and I’ll give you a lift as far as the stables.”

“No, thank you. I appreciate the offer. I’ll wait just a little longer.”

“Suit yourself. Have a good evening.”

“Likewise.”

He sighed heavily and returned to his perch, deeply worried. Bryn had said she would be back within two days of the courier’s letter, and it was evening of the second day. He had to admit that she had never said she was taking a wagon back. He wished that she had.

It was full dark out and the meadery closing up for the night when Vilkas decided to go back to Jorrvaskr and wait. He wasn’t armored, though he did have his sword on his back, and while there were guards everywhere this close to town it never paid to wander around out here late at night unprepared. He hopped down off the wall to go left when he saw a flash of orange and red on the other side of the river, along with the distant rumble of thunder. The road was higher up there, and he saw something on fire fall into the river and heard a faint scream.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, going down to the crossroad to get a better look. The altercation had also caught the attention of the two guards passing on the main road on this side of the river.

“Hey Companion,” one of the guards called. “Can you see what’s going on up there?”

“No, you?”

“Not a thing. Probably just bandits again. Those bastards up at White River Watch, most likely.”

The other guard said in derision, “None of those good-for-nothings can wield fire magic.”

“Then they ran into something that can, dummy. Whatever it is, I’m not getting involved. My wife has dinner on the table and I’m making it home alive to eat it with my kids.”

Both men looked expectantly at Vilkas, who barked, “Do I look like I’m dressed for it!” They shrugged and went back to their rounds, ignoring the distant sounds of battle, barely audible over the rush of the river.

_“FUS RO DAH!”_

Vilkas broke into a run as the sound thundered down the road, sending echoes off the surrounding mountains. He didn’t bother to see if the guards followed, sprinting across the bridge. The yells and clash of metal on metal grew louder as he neared, and he came to his senses at the last moment and rolled to the side then flattened himself on the ground as a searing heat came boiling towards him.

_“YOL!”_

Another bandit screamed and began rolling on the ground, in flames, and Vilkas looked up just in time to see Bryn kick the man in the ribs then impale her sword in his back with a yell. She yanked it out with both hands then spun and decapitated the female bandit coming up behind her with a triumphant, “Ha!”

Vilkas stayed where he was, knowing that in the dark he would look like just another bandit, and as Bryn came toward him with her sword raised, breathing heavily, he called out in a shaking voice, “It’s me, Vilkas!” For the first time in their acquaintance he was afraid of her, afraid of what she could do. He probably could have dispatched a group like this too, but he had been doing it for twenty-some years, and in the dark it might have resulted in him having to change to deal with it.

“Shit!” she cried out in dismay, letting her sword and shield clatter on the ground. “Are you trying to get killed! What are you doing out here!”

“Waiting for you, you damn crazy woman!” he retorted, climbing to his feet. “Why are you on this side of the river? Why didn’t you take a carriage?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” she hissed. “Short cuts are never short cuts!”

Vilkas approached her cautiously, and she knelt down to pick up her sword and wipe it on the fur armor of the decapitated bandit. She shoved it roughly into its sheath then began reaching around her back as if trying to grasp something, still panting, and when she fell forward on her hands with a whimpering cry he ran the rest of the way and fell to his knees at her side. “By Talos, you’re hurt,” he said in a shaking voice.

“Arrow.” She had hardly felt it when it hit her, too high on adrenaline to care. She felt it now though.

He clenched his hands, helpless, unable to see more in the dim light of the moons than the shaft sticking out of her shoulder. He could smell the blood though. So much blood. And meat. Fresh meat. The need to change and hunt hit him suddenly like a punch in the gut, making his vision waver as he fought to maintain control, his bones aching.

Bryn heard a gargling growl near her as Vilkas crawled away from in her an odd, scrambling movement, and she shook off the agony in her left shoulder to haul herself to her feet, barely able to do it. She looked for him and he was hunched over, away from the bodies, his hands over his head as he rocked, groaning.

Hearing Bryn approach, he cried, “Stay away!”

“Is it…is it…your wolf?” He didn’t answer, but she stayed away from him, actually frightened of him. Or for him, rather. The guards weren’t that far away, on the other side of the river, but at least it was dark and they wouldn’t be able to see, and the rush of the river drowned out all but the loudest noises. Bryn could smell the blood, so it was a given Vilkas could, though she wasn’t altogether sure how strong his senses were while in human form. They hadn’t talked at all about his nature while they were together, as he’d seemed embarrassed by it, disgusted by it even. Now she wished that they had. Farkas had made it seem like it didn’t bother him much, but he had said that Vilkas had more trouble controlling his beast than the others. He was going to have to talk about it after this, if she didn’t bleed to death first. She couldn’t heal herself while the arrow was there. She had done that once a few weeks ago and had ended up going to the Temple of Mara to have it cut out of her leg, the wound healing around the arrowhead; she had naively assumed it would just fall out when she healed. But if she didn’t do it she might pass out from blood loss, and she couldn’t trust Vilkas’ control. It was horrifying to think of what he might do if he got close enough to her, or the bodies. Farkas swore that neither he nor his brother had touched human flesh since they were new to the Blood and their control poor, but it had been so long since Vilkas had changed that he might feel driven to it now. Gritting her teeth, Bryn began healing herself.

“What are you doing!” Vilkas choked, staring at her in horror as the golden glow enveloped her body. 

“What I have to do. Go hunt.”

“No no no, I can’t,” he whined. “You don’t understand love, I can’t let it get the better of me, gods I can’t do it, don’t tell me to do it!”

The sound of a soft sob broke her heart, and she held her hand out and gently said, “Give me your sword and clothes. I saw some goats up the road.” _Love._ He had never called her that before. He still loved her. Well of course he did if he was out here waiting for her to come home.

“No…please…”

“I need your help, Vilkas, and you can’t help me the way you are. Change and hunt, then come back. You have to help me, and you can’t right now.” It wasn’t a complete lie. She could make it back to Whiterun on her own, eventually, now that the blood loss had slowed, though each movement of hers grated iron on bone and sent a fresh trickle down her back. But she couldn’t take him back to Whiterun in this state; he would be a danger to himself and everyone around him.

The change pressed hard beneath his skin, impossible to resist, and he began stripping off his clothes and growled, “Don’t look at me.” Bryn turned away and walked slowly to a boulder to sit, nearly radiating pain. Sick with guilt and self-loathing, Vilkas threw his clothes and sword on the ground then let the change come over him. An almost sexual pleasure sang through him as his first transformation in months stretched and warped his body into something monstrous. When it was done he shook himself and looked at Bryn, trying not to see wounded prey, keeping hold of his humanity and his mind as best he could. When he realized she had watched the entire process he snarled furiously and shook his head at her. He had told her not to look!

Bryn forced herself to stare at the creature and keep her expression calm. In the faint moonlight she could see how huge he was, a good seven feet tall, massive, his breathing heavy and wet-sounding. Terrifying, or he would have been terrifying to her five weeks ago. He snarled again at her inspection and she calmly stated, “Are you really so terrible, beloved? Remember, I am a dragon, but you are just a wolf. Even wounded I’m not afraid of you.” She pointed up the road, up the mountainside. “Go, find the goats. Hunt.” Vilkas whined then it lengthened into a howl as he lifted his head to the moons, then he took off at a loping run and was gone.

She sighed and stayed where she was, unable to summon up the strength to take her pack off to get a drink, and realized she wouldn’t be able to anyway with the arrow’s shaft in the way. The pain was dulled but still torture, the head of the arrow scraping against her shoulder blade, which it was caught under, and all she could do was close her eyes and curse the useless guards on the road below, who had gone back to their rounds as if nothing had happened, their torches bobbing along in the dark. She supposed it was flattering that they assumed she and Vilkas had everything under control. Poor Vilkas...he had been out here waiting anxiously for her to come home, wanting only to see her, even after all this time apart, and he ended up having to do this. It made her want to start bawling. She knew exactly what he was going to end up thinking: that he had abandoned his wounded lover because he couldn’t control himself. He was going to suffer horribly over this, and she didn’t know how to make it better for him. She didn’t find what he was frightening or disgusting. She wished it wasn’t there, but it was, for now. She would have to check in with Kodlak tomorrow to see if he was any closer to finding a cure.

The sound of a distant howl broke her out of her reverie, and somehow she knew it was him. When wild wolves answered a few seconds later she could hear the difference, could almost hear the torment in it. Several minutes later she saw a pale body running up the road then it slowed as it neared her, hesitating, then he ran past her and quickly began pulling on his clothes, his back to her. “Feel better?” she asked after a minute.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” he choked.

“We’re going to have to.”

“Why! What is the point?”

“I want to understand it.”

“There is no understanding it,” he said angrily as he turned on her, slinging the sword onto his back. “It is disgusting, a perversion of nature, something abominable. _I_ am abominable.”

“I don’t think I would love someone who was abominable.” She heard his heavy breathing stop short then he groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. She sighed, seeing she had her work with him cut out for her, and sucked in her breath as she pushed herself off the boulder. 

Vilkas made a sound of dismay at her cry of pain and ran to her, taking her right arm in his and putting his left around her back. “Stupid fool of a woman,” he muttered anxiously.

“Yes, I am.”

“Tell me about it when you’re better, just...don’t talk.” He could feel warm wetness seeping into his shirt and the urge to start weeping was almost more than he could resist. What a complete and utter disaster this had been, when all he had wanted was to be the first to see her come home. He had imagined all sorts of greetings but nothing like this. He hadn’t wanted the first time she said she loved him to be an attempt to comfort him over his self-disgust. He went on in worried aggravation, “All your fighting dragons and poking around crypts, and you get shot in the back by a lousy flea-bitten bandit five minutes before you get home!” She didn’t answer, and he kissed her temple roughly then exclaimed, “Shor’s bones, you aren’t even wearing a fucking helmet! Are you insane? Do you actually _want_ to die?”

“Makes my head too hot. Uh, I need my shield though.”

“No you don’t. Someone can get it in the morning.”

“But—“

Vilkas hissed at her and she fell silent. “I’m telling you right now, no more running off alone. You’re not leaving my sight without at least Lydia at your back. This never would have happened if you had someone with you.”

“Not the first time--”

“Gods, don’t tell me or I’m going to kill you for being an idiot. You drive me insane, damn you. Five weeks I’ve been going crazy here without a word from you, and you show up on my doorstep with a goddamn arrow in your back. Never again. I swear I’ll tie you up and stuff you in a barrel before you do this to me again.” He growled furiously as they approached the bridge. “And that business with Balimund. I’ll break every finger on those big hands of his if he so much as touches you. If he even looks at you with lust in his eyes. I won’t stand for it.” He felt Bryn weakly squeeze his hand, and he squeezed back then kissed her temple again, more gently this time. She stumbled slightly as they crossed the bridge and he whispered, “Just a bit farther, love.” The amount of wetness he was feeling on his arm was frightening, and he feared the wound had reopened around the arrowhead. 

They were passing the meadery and Bryn was stumbling again when a guard finally came near, and Vilkas called to him, “You there, get that torch over here. She’s wounded.”

The guardsman came running, saying, “Damn it all, we should’ve gone up and helped, orders or not.” The Jarl would have their heads if the Dragonborn died because they weren’t smart enough to ignore orders when it was warranted. They’d assumed the two warriors could handle whatever was up there though.

“It was already too late. I didn’t get there in time either.” 

“Ugh, wolves too eh? I heard the howling. You smell like a wet dog.”

“Yes, wolves too.” He stopped Bryn and motioned the guard over, and when the torchlight shone on her back he had to bite his lip from moaning with grief. Blood was welling up around the shaft, buried beneath her left shoulder blade. Her leather armor had been no protection at all, and the entire back of it was soaked, as was the arm of his shirt. The only positive was that no air was bubbling out, so it hadn’t gotten as deep as the lung. Not yet anyway. Not taking his eyes off the wound, he whispered fiercely to the guard, “I need Danica. Hurry.” The guard took off at a sprint with the torch, leaving them in dim moonlight again. Vilkas gently lowered Bryn to sit on the ground, demanding, “Heal yourself again. Just a little bit.” Bryn raised her hand limply, and the magic sputtered then flared to life for a moment before dying again. Her hand fell into her lap and she stared straight ahead, and Vilkas bit back an obscenity and pulled out a knife to cut her pack loose. He clenched his jaw as the thing thudded on the ground, weighing a good seventy or eighty pounds. “What the hell do you have in there, rocks?” he exclaimed. He never would have let her carry it at all if he had known how much it weighed.

Bryn mumbled, “Dragon scales. Bones. Some ore I dug up. Some presents.”

“Gods, don’t talk, I’m sorry,” he said tremulously. He sat next to her, holding her hand, unable to believe that she was dying. After everything she had been through he refused to believe that a rusty iron bandit arrow would be the thing that did her in. He petted her hair with his other hand, shaking, and stated, “I’m going to stay with you and take care of you. I’m not leaving your side until you’re better.”

“Just have to get the arrow out, and I’ll be right as rain.”

“You…gods Bryn, you’ve lost a lot of blood. Even after you’re healed you’ll need to rest to replenish it.” There wasn’t a potion or healing spell that could fix that all the way; only time would.

“Should’ve taken the wagon. Shortcuts are never shortcuts, Vilkas honey. Can I call you that?”

“You can call me anything you want, damn it,” he whispered, tears pricking his eyes.

“My house in Riften is called Honeyside. There’s an island in Lake Honrich and a place called Goldenglow Estate where they raise the bees that make the honey for Black-Briar mead. I find beehives sometimes, in the woods. I Shout Kyne’s Peace at them and they let me take their honeycombs. Just a little bit. I like that Shout the best. I petted a bear once after I used it. Gods, he stank though.”

“Shhh.”

“I really missed you,” she whispered. “Every day.”

“I missed you too,” he choked. “Every day.”

“I’m thirsty.”

Vilkas cursed and let go of her to dig a canteen out of her pack, wishing he could see in the dark like the khajit. The canteen was buried under a ridiculous amount of bones and scales, and he had to ignore a spark of curiosity about them for the moment. He held the canteen for her to help her drink, completely flustered. He should have known she would need water with all the blood loss. He was so worried he couldn’t think straight. Bryn stayed blessedly silent after that, Vilkas’ arm around her as they waited an ungodly amount of time for the priestess to appear, the minutes dragging by endlessly.

When Danica finally arrived she had Lydia trailing behind her, and the housecarl sprinted past the healer to fall on her knees in front of Bryn, crying, “Damn you, why did you leave me behind!”

Bryn didn’t answer, leaning against Vilkas, who stated, “It won’t happen again.”

The guard jogged up with a torch and the priestess, and Lydia stared into Vilkas’ pale, unsettling eyes for a few seconds before nodding and looking away. “No, it won’t,” she agreed. His eyes were red, shining with unshed tears. Yes, she supposed he did love Bryn, still. If he hadn’t been out there waiting for her, hadn’t heard her Shout, she might not have made it back to Whiterun. That he had been waiting out here alone in the dark was proof enough of his devotion, and she wouldn’t trouble him about it ever again. Lydia had been waiting too, but on Breezehome’s doorstep, alternately worrying about Bryn and thinking about Farkas. Farkas was the furthest thing from her mind right now.

Vilkas moved away enough to give the healer room, and Danica sank to her knees, waving over the guard to shine his torch on Bryn’s back. She pointed to Vilkas, saying, “Hold her. Don’t let her move while I’m working.” He nodded, looking pale. She pointed at Lydia. “I need water. Refill her canteen.” Lydia ran to do so. While the housecarl was gone to the stream, Danica pushed up her sleeves and pulled out a set of knives, first using a steel one to cut away the thick armor from the wound. The healer’s hands were deft but it was impossible not to cause pain while working.

Vilkas squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in Bryn’s hair, holding her tightly as she whimpered while the armor was cut away, and when Danica switched to a thin obsidian blade to remove the arrowhead he had to give in to tears and weep silently with his beloved as she sobbed in agony, grabbing the front of his shirt tightly, her body stiff. 

“Ah, there we go.”

Vilkas lifted his head, sniffing, and watched as the priestess tossed the arrow aside then rinsed the wound and inspected it. She nodded in satisfaction and laid her hands on Bryn’s bare back, pressing the wound closed, and he felt residual warmth touch him as powerful healing magic spread through Bryn’s body. He felt her go limp in relief as her hands fell away, and he held her to him and whispered to the priestess in a shaking voice, “All better, right?”

“Oh, yes,” Danica said confidently, holding out her hands for Lydia to rinse, the housecarl having acted as her assistant. Better the girl trying to help than the Companion, who was clearly a wreck. “I’ve seen this before, where the wound was magically healed around an arrowhead. If she hadn’t healed as much as she had she would be dying, but then if she had kept on healing herself on the way back here the extreme blood loss wouldn’t have happened, and I still would have had to cut the arrow out regardless. Lesson learned for her, I think.”

“It won’t happen again,” Lydia assured her, and more importantly Vilkas. She glanced at him then away again to avoid embarrassing him. She had never thought she would live long enough to see Vilkas of the Companions crying. Lydia hadn’t shed a tear, confident in Bryn’s constitution, and more importantly her destiny. The gods wouldn’t put her down here only to let her get finished off by bandits. Also, Danica was a Master of the Restoration arts, probably the most talented in Skyrim, and such a wound was well within her capabilities. It had been awful to hear Bryn crying in pain though. That had nearly gotten to her. She stood with the healer and asked, “Anything we should do from here?”

“Her body will need to regenerate the blood it lost. Absolutely no exertion of any kind for the next several days. _Any_ kind,” she repeated, looking flatly at Vilkas, who made a sound of offense. The guard behind Danica snickered then fell silent as the Companion glared coldly at him. “Make sure she gets plenty of red meat and dark greens. No mead or ale or any other kind of alcohol, just a great deal of water. She’ll be fine by Middas.” She looked down at Vilkas, still tenderly holding the unconscious girl, and smiled serenely at the lovers. It was a sweet scene, if messy. “Kynareth’s blessing on you both.”

“And you, healer,” Vilkas replied quietly, not looking up at her. “I will bring a donation by the temple tomorrow.”

“That would be much appreciated, Companion.” She raised her chin and nodded at the guard. “As would an escort back to town.”

“Yes ma’am,” the guard said with a nod. As the priestess walked away, he said to Vilkas, “Hey, you need anything, you let me or the wife know, all right? I still feel bad about all this.”

“There was nothing anyone could have done, and as you said, you have a wife and family to go home to. But thank you.”

“Aye.”

Vilkas held Bryn a moment longer, feeling numb, and when Lydia squatted down behind Bryn to look him in the eyes he narrowed his own at her. She dropped her gaze and started going through Bryn’s pack. He said, “I meant it. I’m staying with her until she recovers.”

“As you wish,” Lydia replied quietly. “You’ll get no grief from me.” He grunted in acknowledgment. “If I hadn’t angered her with my behavior, she might have let me go with her. This is my fault as much as it is anyone’s.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would. Anyway, she doesn’t leave the city walls from now on without backup. Me, you, Farkas, doesn’t matter.”

“Agreed.”

“I was wrong about you, and I admit that.” He was silent, and she left it at that, both of them finding the conversation uncomfortable. “Is she awake?”

“I don’t think so.” He shifted, his knees aching from kneeling on the hard-packed dirt of the road. “She passed out once the pain stopped. I don’t want to wake her, but we can’t stay out here. I’ll carry her as far as I can, but...she isn’t a dainty girl.” She was slender still, but she had put on additional muscle weight during her time in The Rift, and she was tall, the tallest Nord woman he had ever seen due to her Altmeri blood. He wouldn’t be able to carry her far.

“Hold that thought,” Lydia said, standing as she eyed the Pelagia farm nearby. “I’m sure Severio won’t mind us borrowing his vegetable cart for a bit.”

Vilkas laughed shortly. “Doesn’t matter if he minds or not.” Lydia nodded and strode away to fetch the empty cart. Vilkas changed position to get off his knees, easing Bryn into the curve of his left arm. Her face was terribly pale in the moonlight, the limpness in her frightening still no matter the healer’s words. He put his fingers to the side of her neck and felt her pulse there, slow and steady but not as strong as it should be. Brushing her fair hair back from her forehead, he whispered, “I failed you, love. And Kodlak. Damn stupid beast is what I am.” Bryn wasn’t troubled by his nature, but he was. He wondered if Farkas was going to tell Lydia about it and quickly decided that no, he probably would not. Any person in their right mind would be revolted by it. Not that Bryn wasn’t in her right mind, but she wasn’t a normal person either.

Between the two of them they quickly got Bryn loaded into the cart and trundled up to Whiterun’s gates, and luckily not fielding a million questions from the guards they passed; they all had been filled in by the guard who had returned Danica. The citizens inside looked on with concern, also aware, some offering to help in any way they could. They hadn’t seen the Dragonborn in over a month, _their_ Dragonborn, who surely belonged to Whiterun more than any other hold. Amren was there, and Vilkas asked him to return the cart in the morning, which he readily agreed to.

Bryn started to awaken as Vilkas and Lydia were awkwardly hauling her up the stairs, mumbling in confusion, “What…what are you doing to me?”

“Putting you to bed, my thane,” Lydia answered, holding her legs, with Vilkas holding her under her arms. Bryn blinked, trying to clear her vision, then she tried to turn to see who was carrying her. “Please don’t move. Vilkas and I will take care of everything, my lady.”

“Poor Vilkas.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“I left my shield. Up on the road.”

“I’ll send Farkas up there in the morning to get it, I promise.”

“I think my armor is ruined.”

“I think so,” Lydia agreed. “You’ll just have to make a new set.”

“And no leather,” Vilkas said in aggravation. “Scaled armor at the least, or you’re never leaving here again.”

“Scales…where’s my pack?”

“Be quiet,” he scolded as they got her into her room.

Lydia said, “I left it downstairs, my thane. I’ll put them with the others in the chest downstairs. Now please, hush.”

Vilkas held Bryn up under her arms as Lydia eased her out of her boots and pants, and once those were off they set her on the edge of the bed and Vilkas undid the buckles of her cuirass while Lydia went for warm water. Bryn rubbed her eyes, whispering, “I’m so tired, I can’t think straight.”

“That’s all right, love,” Vilkas said quietly. In the light of the lanterns her pallor was apparent, dark circles under her eyes like bruises. She closed her eyes and sat limply, like a little child, as Vilkas got her completely undressed. The sight of crusted blood on her back made him shiver, and there was a slight scar there from the closing and reopening of the wound over and over. He pulled off his own shirt and threw it on the floor, unable to stand her blood all over it; it had started to dry to his arm and he had to peel it off.

“I’m so stupid,” she whispered. “What was I thinking?”

“That you’re the damned Dragonborn and fucking invincible,” he retorted.

“I think I did, a little bit.” She snorted a laugh. “Taken down a notch by common bandits.”

“Better that than something worse, farther from help. If I hadn’t heard you Shout…”

Bryn stayed silent as he kissed her forehead, having enough sense not to tell him that she would have healed herself more completely and gotten home sooner and in better shape if he hadn’t been there, if his beast hadn’t gotten the better of him, if he hadn’t been so horrified by her healing the arrowhead into her. She would have been better off all around if he hadn't been there, and there was no way she would ever tell him that. Maybe with enough time and a calm head he would realize it on his own. She hoped not; he was already going to torment himself enough as it was.

Lydia came back upstairs with warm water and a plate of food, and they soon got Bryn washed, fed and put into nightclothes under the covers. Lydia gathered up the ruined armor and shirt and took it all downstairs as Vilkas petted Bryn’s hair and said, “I have to go to Jorrvaskr, for just a little bit. To let them know what happened and where I’ll be for the next few days.” And to get something to wear. His shirt was ruined and his pants were filthy as well.

“All right,” she said sleepily, unable to keep her eyes open. It felt so good to be in her warm, soft bed, with a full belly and no pain, with her beloved’s hand on her head. She felt herself sliding into sleep before he was down the stairs.  
-  
A whimper and the shaking of the bed woke Vilkas from his own restless sleep, and he sat up on his elbow and rubbed his eyes, seeing it was morning already. He looked down at Bryn and her face was crumpled into an expression of fear or sorrow, her eyes moving back and forth rapidly beneath their lids. She muttered something he didn’t understand, something in Altmeris, and the sound of her speaking it was deeply unsettling. She had never spoken a word of it around him but had told him during their trek through Shroud Hearth Barrow that she had known only the High Elven tongue and script until she was seven, when her aunt had finally insisted she learn human speech and writing, against her uncle’s wishes.

When she whimpered again he shook her shoulder gently, and she thrashed and flailed her arms, hitting him away as she cried, _“FAAS!”_ Vilkas gasped as a wave of pure terror washed over and through him, then was gone as suddenly as it appeared, leaving him sweating. She stared at him in confusion, and she blinked as he patted her cheek and whispered, “It’s me, it’s all right.”

“Vilkas.” He nodded and petted her hair, and she reached up to touch the back of her head then looked at her hand, expecting to see blood there. She closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath. “I thought you were Yancarro.”

“Ugh.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s all right. At least it wasn’t…what is it, yol?” She laughed quietly, her cheeks pink. “What was that?”

“ _Faas._ Fear.”

He shivered then lay down again. “Yes it was. So strange, like a stab of terror, then it was gone.”

“It works well on a large group of bandits, at least the low-ranking ones. It only lasts about half a minute and they always come running back, but it’s given me enough time to take out the tougher ones first.” She closed her eyes, still feeling tired, and soon felt Vilkas’ hand on her hair, petting it. She opened her eyes to gaze at him and smiled as she put her hand on his cheek, feeling the roughness of overnight growth. She whispered, “I’m so sorry about last night. What you had to do.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “Please, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, any more than what I am.”

“What you are was not by your choice, and even if it was, it’s a noble thing. I did this to myself, and Farkas followed my lead, and now we’re trapped in it, always fighting the urges, never getting a decent night’s sleep, always fearing getting caught, and for what? And now he’s seeing Lydia and has to hide what he is from her. If anyone can pull it off it’s him, but he shouldn’t have to.” Bryn stared at him in confusion, and he smiled slightly, glad to talk about something happy. “Ah, I forget you didn’t know that, did you.”

“But…when?”

“Only since…what, two days ago? I think he took a shine to her on the way back from Ivarstead. They shared a bedroll and he decided he ‘really liked her’.” Bryn burst into laughter as he mimicked his brother’s voice, making him laugh as well. He lowered his voice to a whisper and added, “He told me he intends to marry her.”

“Really!” she replied just as softly, amazed. There was no telling where the housecarl was at the moment, the house silent. Bryn couldn’t imagine either of her best friends married, but the idea of them married to each other was absolutely wonderful.

“He took her on a date to the Bannered Mare two nights ago. Said it was very romantic, though who knows what he considers romantic, but Lydia seemed happy the next day, hanging around him, making eyes at him like a young girl. It was sweet, hearing him explain why he ‘likes her’ so much. I always wanted that for him.”

Bryn nodded, feeling a pang of grief. She had to resist the urge to ask Vilkas what he had always wanted for himself. “So, when is this going to happen?”

“Oh, not for a while, I think. He said Lydia will be traveling with you pretty often, and he wanted to wait until you don’t need her quite as much.” He shook his head. “I don’t know when that would be, but it’s what he wants.” Farkas also hoped to be cured first, but it was anyone's guess when that might be.

“That’s….really nice.” So Farkas had decided Lydia was the one for him after sleeping together a whole two nights, wanted to marry her just because he liked her a lot. That sounded like him. And yet here she was nearly dying last night, seeing Vilkas change into a werewolf, having slept with him a good half a dozen times at least, having him call her love last night, and she knew he would never ask her to marry him. The more time she had spent in Mara’s temple, the more she had talked to Maramal about the nature of love and marriage, the more she had come to change her mind about marriage not being what she wanted. She knew being married wasn’t really for her, not right now, not with as much as she traveled, but she wanted someone to want to marry her. She wanted Vilkas to want to marry her. Balimund would, she was sure of it. He had been so persistent in his date requests that by time she left she had feared he would show up at the forge one day with an Amulet of Mara on. Before losing her virginity to Vilkas, she would have jumped at what he offered.

When she said nothing more and her expression turned sorrowful, Vilkas changed the subject. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t figure out what she was thinking. He asked solicitously, “Are you hungry, love? Thirsty?”

“A little of both.”

“I’ll be right back.”

_Love._ At least he was still calling her that. And who knew, maybe he had guessed what she was thinking and was trying to reassure her. Even if marriage wasn’t on his mind, at least he did love her. He was fetching her breakfast, waiting on her, and had spent all night with her to watch over her. He loved her dearly, more than Farkas loved Lydia that was for certain, and yet… She heard him talking to someone downstairs and heard Lydia’s voice in answer then the clink of the cooking pot. It was nice they were getting along. After all, Vilkas knew Lydia would be his sister-in-law someday. Bryn thought she might give the couple Breezehome as a wedding gift. The thought warmed her as she hauled herself upright in bed, weak and tired. Yes, she would definitely give them Breezehome. A married couple should have their own home, a place to bear and raise their babies, and they certainly couldn’t do so in Jorrvaskr.

After breakfast Bryn harassed Vilkas into letting her go downstairs, not about to spend all day in bed. Once they were down there and she was seated by the fire, she smiled at Lydia and after a brief hesitation her housecarl smiled back. Things were right between them again, though she felt they should talk about it now that some distance was there, once they had the privacy to do so. She asked Lydia, “How many bones and scales do you think we have now?”

“I’d say about a dozen scales, and eight or nine bones,” she answered. She looked at Vilkas, who was hovering behind Bryn like a bodyguard. “You haven’t seen them yet, have you?”

“No, but I would like to,” he answered. She went to fetch them from the locked chest. He said to Bryn in a tone of disquiet, “You know, I saw one. The day you left for Riften. Flying around the mountains across the White River, then it headed southeast. No one else saw it and I didn’t say anything to anyone, afraid of being accused of having an overactive imagination.”

“I wonder if it’s one of those that I ended up killing,” she said thoughtfully.

“Perhaps. I think I have killed one of everything in Skyrim, and have even considered traveling to Morrowind for new challenges, but the thought of facing a dragon isn’t an easy one.”

“It isn’t for me yet either. My only consolation is always getting the first hit in. I’ve started using poison on my arrows and it works well. Sometimes frostbite venom, especially from the big mother spiders. I ended up using those three dwarven arrows on the Lost Tongue Overlook dragon. It was huge, the biggest one I’ve seen yet, and a strange white color.” She pulled her feet up onto the chair, tucking the blanket more tightly around her. “I wish I could understand what they’re saying when they speak to me in their language. It seems I should have some instinctual ability to understand their tongue but I don’t. The Greybeards say that each word wall is a memorial, that all those runes are a statement in the dragon tongue, but I can’t read any of it.”

“That is fascinating,” he murmured. “Perhaps one day you can study the language with them.” He came around to sit in the other chair so he could see Bryn’s face. Lydia came out with a scale and a bone and handed them to Vilkas, who turned them over in his hands to inspect them, his eyes wide. “They’re so heavy for their size,” he stated in amazement as he hefted them. The scale wasn’t much larger than the palms of both hands put together, yet it had to weigh a good ten pounds. It was a dull brownish-gray, the bone light tan. “You find these each time one dies? This is all that is left of such a huge creature?”

“One or two bones and two or three scales, usually. The skull too, but that’s so big who wants to lug that around? I wish I had kept the very first one though. It didn’t occur to me to save anything from Mirmulnir. Oh, and...there are usually, um, remains. Of whatever or whoever the dragon recently ate. Usually arms and armor, some gold.”

“Ugh,” he said in disgust.

“The dragon looks like it burst into flames when it first dies, but there’s no heat. It seems to just crumble away, and whatever color there was to the scales strips away as well, which is kind of a shame. They’re beautiful, really, all different colors. I’m able to sneak up on them and watch them for a while, as they sleep. I think they must spend most of their time sleeping, or at least the three that were guarding the word walls were.” She had felt bad about killing each one, but that hadn’t lasted past finding the human remains. She had also come to the conclusion that they were guarding the word walls from her, that perhaps Alduin had ordered them there, in an attempt to keep her from growing more powerful. It was the only explanation that made sense for why they lingered there.

He ran his hand over the scale and asked, “So that smith thinks these are workable then?”

She shook her head at him and said, “’That smith’ tested a piece and it was malleable when heated to a high enough temperature. He thinks it has a high metallic content, but it’s beyond either of us how to work it. I wanted to show them to Eorlund and see what he thinks. If anyone would be able to figure it out, he could.”

“I would like to see a dragon up close one of these days,” he said fervently, handing the bone and scale back to Lydia. He couldn’t believe he had actually gotten to touch a piece of what used to be a living dragon.

“Well, I do still need to go to Mount Anthor, and—Oh, Lydia, could you bring me my pack? The oddest thing happened to me my first day in Riften.” Lydia put the bone and scale back and returned with the pack. Bryn dug through the outer pockets for her journal and took out the letter from her unknown ‘friend’. She handed it to Vilkas to read, who then handed it to Lydia. “Who could it be? A courier gave it to me. How could anyone who would send something like that know that I shouted in Ivarstead, and how would they know I would be in Riften at that time? And why would they hide who they are? It’s the most bizarre thing.”

Vilkas asked warily, “Do you think it’s a trap?”

“I don’t see why it would be. I did some research and Kilkreath Ruins are beneath the shrine to Meridia. Isn’t she a benevolent daedra?”

“She isn’t malevolent, let’s put it that way. Daedra are never to be trusted.”

“There must be a word wall somewhere in or near the ruins. The shrine isn’t far from Solitude. I’d like to visit there one of these days.”

Vilkas wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Not to join the Legion, I hope.” He had no love for Ulfric, and only a faint respect, but he had no wish to see Bryn choose sides and see the skirmishes escalate into true war.

“Absolutely not,” she stated. “I’m not joining either side. I’m not going to help Nords kill each other. Both sides have their points, and I’ll be damned if I let either side use me against the other. It should be the Thalmor they’re fighting against. The more Skyrim fights, the weaker it gets, and that can only benefit them.”

“Aye, that is very true,” he said quietly, not used to seeing this side of her. Her eyes glowed as she stared into the fire, her expression set in stone.

“I grew up having to listen to that Elven superiority crap from my cousin and uncle. If they’re so superior, why was Hammerfell able to drive them out? How were humans able to free themselves from the Ayleids, how were humans able to form the Empire and subjugate the Elven nations? No, they’re cunning, and have the luxury of taking the long view due to their life spans, but they are _not_ superior. I can only pray to Talos that I one day have the chance to prove that to them, and my cousin.”

Vilkas said nothing, looking dumbfounded, and Lydia proudly stated, “You will, my lady. Talos wills it. As he was Dragonborn and Stormcrowned, so are you.”

“I suppose,” she sighed, suddenly deflating. “I can’t even avoid an arrow in the back, and the leg before that.”

Vilkas covered his eyes and muttered, “Ack, don’t tell me. I told you last night not to tell me.”

“It will _not_ happen again,” Lydia vowed. “From now on there will always be someone at your back, my thane. Namely me.” Bryn beamed at her, her golden eyes shining, and she smiled back in relief. The sweetness was still there. “When you’ve recovered and made a new set of armor, we’ll set off for Mount Anthor, then Kilkreath Ruins after that, slaying every dragon we see, and we’ll make your _thu’um_ so mighty that dragons and Thalmor alike will tremble before it.”

“Yes, we shall.”

Lydia glanced at Vilkas, who was watching the two women with narrowed eyes, and she smirked as she said, “I heard you get a taste of it a little bit ago.”

He snorted in disdain and stated, “It rolled off me like water off a horker’s back. I felt it, but it didn’t affect me one bit.”

Bryn said, “You’re probably much too experienced for it to work on you. I’ve really only had success with it on weaker bandits. And good grief, it would have been horrible if it had worked.”

“And funny,” Lydia added, making Bryn giggle.

Vilkas hauled himself out of his seat, saying, “All right, I’m not going to sit here and be a target for mean girls like little Lars Battle-Born.” Both women laughed, and he didn’t mind. It was a good sound. “I’m going to take a donation to the Temple of Kynareth and see if Farkas wants to come back with me for a visit.”

“That sounds nice,” Bryn stated, lifting an eyebrow as she eyed Lydia, who blushed and bit her lip. “Lydia, please give him something to take. He shouldn’t have to pay for my stupidity.” Vilkas didn’t argue; his pockets weren’t as deep as Bryn’s, though now that she had two households to maintain she wasn’t going to have quite the excess coin she used to. Now that she felt like a competent smith she could start crafting items from the extra ore and leather she had stored away and sell it off to Ulfberth War-Bear at Warmaiden’s, or Belethor.

The second the door closed behind Vilkas, Bryn exclaimed, “You naughty thing, did you two go for a romp in my bed? I know he spent the night here, and your bed is too small!” Lydia put her hands over her mouth in shock then broke into peals of laughter. “You did! Merciful Mara, that’s so wonderful! Oh, he’s such a sweet man, Lydia. Good for you.”

“My thane, I swear, we changed the bedding before you came back!” 

Bryn laughed hysterically then said, “You knew I wouldn’t mind.”

“Yes, I knew, but still, it’s…well, I can’t be sorry.”

“I wouldn’t be. So tell me, what happened? What changed?”

Lydia sat in the other seat and leaned towards her, saying excitedly, “It was all so unexpected. I mean, who would think Farkas capable of it? We did bunk together on the way home from Ivarstead. I didn’t intend to, I was just so mad at his brother. All I could think was that he knew what he was doing.”

Bryn’s smile faded. “He didn’t Lydia, I swear. When he found out I was a virgin afterward he was horrified. He was absolutely furious with me for not telling him, and even angrier that my first time ended up being there of all places, but it was so perfect. I can’t even begin to tell you how perfect. He was so sweet and gentle, and he wouldn’t have been any more so if he had known I was a virgin. It was… oh, it was so wonderful, and every time after that too. He’s just…” She sighed happily then pouted. “And now I’m recuperating and my cycle is due in a few days.”

Lydia said in a conspiratorial tone, “You know what, forget what Danica said. You seem okay for what you went through, and the worst that will happen is you’ll get tired or dizzy. Big deal. I’ll go stay up at The Bannered Mare tonight.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “And not alone, I tell you.”

“That sounds nice, but what if Vilkas won’t…you know, do it?”

She rolled her eyes and said in a flat tone, “Right. He’s a man. All honor and logic go out the window when the little warrior is in charge." Bryn turned red but broke into fresh laughter. Lydia laughed as well then reached out and grabbed Bryn’s hand. Her lady gave it a squeeze and she said, “I missed you. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, none of that. I’m sorry too. I let my pride get the better of me. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not. You worried everyone sick. I almost left half a dozen times to go to Riften after you, and Vilkas…” She shook her head. “That man drove everyone up in Jorrvaskr crazy, Farkas says. I shouldn’t have doubted him, and after last night…well, I won’t ever again.” She hesitated then added, “Don’t tell him I told you, don’t ever let him know I told you, but…he wept last night. When the healer was working on your back. I never thought I would see the day that a Companion cried.”

“Oh no,” Bryn whispered. Her poor beloved. She couldn’t imagine how distraught he must have been to give in to tears. She was sure that his distress over having to shapeshift hadn’t helped.

“I knew you wouldn’t die,” she continued, giving the other woman’s hand a squeeze then letting go. “He obviously didn’t, but I did. Still, it erased any lingering doubt I might have had. I would be careful though, my thane, about letting him go on any further adventures with you unless it’s something easy. He could be a liability. Get in your way, thinking he’s protecting you, and end up putting you both in danger.”

“I hadn’t considered that.”

“He’s a seasoned warrior, one of the greatest of his generation, known throughout Skyrim, but a man in love doesn’t think clearly.”

“No, I suppose he doesn’t.” It was disappointing. She had been looking forward to traveling with him now and then. Maybe he could go with her next time she went to Riften. That should be safe, and maybe seeing the Temple of Mara there would get him to thinking about their future. She didn’t really feel right taking Lydia there, and she didn’t want to make Iona feel awkward either. Hopefully he wouldn’t make things difficult for Balimund; it wasn’t the smith’s fault that he thought her available. She still hadn’t learned everything she could from him, though he’d had to really dredge up some obscure knowledge to pass on to her. She was really interested in the notion of glass smithing; though light, the armor was extremely tough. Unfortunately the malachite and moonstone needed to craft it were rather rare in Skyrim, where iron and steel ruled, and Balimund hadn’t worked on it much since he was young and learning the trade from his mother. Bryn hadn’t seen anyone wearing glass armor since leaving Cyrodiil, and even then it hadn’t been common; here it would stick out like a sore thumb, but it was pretty, a light green color. 

She would have to see what Eorlund knew about it once she was recovered and had time to linger in Whiterun. She wasn’t sure when that would be. She still had so much to do, so much to learn, but she wanted to spend some time here, both with her beloved and learning a bit more from Arcadia about alchemy, as well as having Farengar show her how to use an enchanting desk. Her house in Riften had one and she had stared at it in confusion, unsure what to do with it. She did occasionally find magical items but usually sold them, not sure what they did and not about to get stuck with a cursed item. The more she thought about it, the more she was determined to talk to Farengar about enchanting before she left Whiterun. She didn’t want to miss out on something truly useful out of ignorance.  
-  
The sound of Lydia calling “Bye!” and going out the front door startled Vilkas. “Where is she going?” he asked. He and Bryn were getting ready for bed, the girl tired. Vilkas wasn’t, but he wasn’t about to pass up precious time being close to his love.

“I think she has a date with Farkas. She rented a room at the inn.”

He chuckled, “Is that so? Good, now we can talk about her the way I know you two were talking about me while I was out this morning.”

“You flatter yourself.” He laughed more loudly at that. She sat on the edge of the bed to watch him change into his nightclothes, admiring the view. She liked that he wasn’t as heavy as Farkas. She didn’t know how the smaller Lydia didn’t get crushed when they were making love. It had been so good to see him earlier, though after sweeping her up in his arms for a bear hug he had held her out at arms’ length and ripped her up one side then down the other for going out alone and nearly getting killed, and wearing only leather armor at that. He’d actually been angry with her, which had nearly made her start crying. Her eyes wandered over Vilkas’ body, as tall as Farkas but leaner, with a large number of scars on his fair skin, though it didn’t detract at all from his allure.

He glanced over at her and noticed her inspection. Smiling slyly, he said, “Don’t go doing that or you’ll get us both in trouble.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want that.” As she slid under the covers she continued, “I think I might visit with Adrianne tomorrow. I’ve felt much better than expected today.”

“Hm, I don’t know. Danica said for you to rest.”

“Just sitting and talking to her is resting.”

“Right,” he drawled as he slid into bed next to her. “And the moment I turn around you’ll pick up a hammer and start pounding away.” He took her into his arms and grinned. “At least you won’t want to bury it in my head now, eh?”

She laughed and stroked his dark hair back from his forehead. “Oh, I never really wanted to do that.”

He sighed and closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her fingers as they ran through his hair. “How could I ever have been so cruel to you, love.”

“You weren’t in your right mind, obviously.” He snorted a laugh. Her smile faded and she laid her hand on his rough cheek as she murmured, “I wish you wouldn’t torment yourself, or try to hide what you are from me. If you feel the need to change and hunt then do it. Don’t put yourself through all that suffering for nothing.”

“It is not for nothing,” he protested. “I won’t spend eternity chasing rabbits in Hircine’s realm. I want to stand before Tsun and be judged for my actions as a man, for my prowess in battle, not for being a beast.”

“But dearest...you are whether you change or not.” Vilkas looked stricken, as if horrified by her words. She shook her head and continued, “The wolf is there, always there, and you giving into it or not...why would that make a difference? That doesn’t make it gone.”

“Don’t tell me such things!”

“Did you hate what you were before? Before Kodlak began having his doubts?”

“I didn’t hate it, but I didn’t love it either. I’ve always disliked having so little control over the urges, and I know I feel them more strongly than the others do. I’ve never had a taste for that kind of power. I have always wanted to be the greatest warrior I could be and excel in my skill at arms. The beast has always gotten in the way of that.” He took hold of her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth. “I never wanted you to see me like that, even knowing that you had seen Farkas change and weren’t frightened of him.”

“It changes nothing for me. I still love you as much as I ever have.” Vilkas made a sound of pain and held her hand against his mouth, his bright eyes glistening. “I’ll talk to Kodlak before I go anywhere. Maybe he’s made some progress in finding a cure, or I could be of some help to him in finding one. I hate knowing that you’re suffering.”

“As long as I have you with me, I won’t.”

She smiled and said, “You’ll always have me with you, even when I’m not here. I made something for you, while I was in Riften. A present.”

Vilkas was too bewildered to say anything, and when she pulled away he let go of her so she could roll over. She opened the drawer of the night table and took something out, and when she rolled back and took hold of his right arm he didn’t resist. He watched in bemusement as she placed a bracelet of hammered gold on his wrist, bending the ends to close it securely. He stared at it, speechless. It was of braided thick gold wire, an inch wide, pounded flat so it lay easily against his skin, so fitted that he could barely tell it was there, and it most likely wouldn’t be uncomfortable or even noticeable under a gauntlet.

When he said nothing she stated, “I started one in silver first, then I realized that wasn’t a good idea, so I sold that one. Gold isn’t all that durable, but I figured you would be wearing gloves or gauntlets most of the time.” Vilkas said nothing, and she felt a touch of worry. She hesitated then added, “I know you don’t wear jewelry. I hope I didn’t assume too much. Maybe...maybe I shouldn’t have.”

“No no,” he said quickly, realizing he had hurt her feelings. “It’s beautiful, truly. It’s only...I’ve never gotten such a thing before.” In fact he didn’t think he had ever received a true gift in his entire life. Bryn looked relieved, and he kissed her soundly. “I will never take it off, as long as I live. I’ll always have this to look at while you’re away.” He kissed her again, pulling her against him. “Did Balimund’s big hands help you with it?” he teased.

Bryn’s eyes widened in realization; this was the second time he had mentioned it, though she had been in so much pain the previous night that it hadn’t registered at the time. “You read Farkas’ letter!” she gasped, her face reddening. Which meant he had read that she was keeping her options open with Balimund. She was horrified.

“He handed it to me to read. It isn’t as if I stole it.” Vilkas leaned in close to put his nose against hers. “And it isn’t as if my hands are particularly small, love.”

“I didn’t mean it that way!”

Vilkas laughed loudly as her voice peeped. “What way do you think I mean?” His breath caught as he felt her free hand wrap around him through his nightclothes. “Ah, that way,” he said in a tight voice. “What are you trying to do, girl, get me in trouble?”

“Yes.” He made a sound of frustration, and she innocently said, “It seems as if you’re already very prepared for trouble.”

“I’m only a man—Ah gods,” he groaned, closing his eyes as she began stroking him. “I won’t be responsible for what I do if you keep that up.” She didn’t answer other than to increase the pressure, and he abandoned any thought of Danica’s stern warning as he fell on her hungrily. She responded with equal enthusiasm, if anything greater than his, and it eased any cares he could possibly have. She was as eager for his touch as she had been before, if not more so, not as shy as she had been when they were first together. If only he could have this all the time, have someone warm and willing every night before he fell asleep, it would make the beast so much easier to bear. Spending himself in her quieted the Blood, and when he did this time he held her tightly and whispered in her ear, “By the Nine, woman, I love you so!”

“Nowhere near as much as I love you,” she replied in kind, tears pricking her eyes. Yes, he did love her, no matter what else happened, or didn’t happen. If he could tell her this now, things could change later; maybe seeing his brother marry would spur him on. One never knew.

“Bullshit. That is a blatant lie.” He heard and felt her laugh as he covered her face with kisses, then her legs tightened around him as she gasped. He lifted his head and she had her eyes squeezed shut, an ill look on her face. He pulled away from her and she rolled onto her side with a whimper.

“I feel sick!”

“Oh no,” Vilkas groaned. He looked around in a panic for something for her to vomit in, and there was nothing but a decorative vase in the loft by the stairs. He rubbed her back, dreading what was coming and wishing desperately that Lydia was home to help him deal with it, but after a few minutes it became apparent that he was safe. He quietly asked her, “Do you want anything? A drink?”

“Just…just water,” she whispered. “So dizzy…”

“I knew this was a bad idea.” He threw back the covers and went to the small table in the room where a pitcher of water sat.

“It was worth it.”

He snorted a laugh. “I can’t deny that.” He knelt at her side of the bed and offered her a goblet of water, which she drank down greedily. She thanked him and laid down again, snuggling into the covers. He petted her hair and murmured, “Go to sleep, love. I’m going to wash up and find a book to read or something.”

“Sure.” She was already nearly there.

Vilkas waited the short amount of time it took her to fall asleep, her golden eyes fluttering open every so often to gaze at him, a smile touching her mouth. Once she was out he let his hand fall away from her head and carefully stood, trying to avoid making the wooden floorboards creak. He washed and put his nightclothes back on, feeling warm contentment alternating with pangs of grief as he went downstairs to get a bite to eat and a book to read. It would be so easy to get used to this. Used to having a wife, a home of his own. Used to not being alone.

Bryn had a bookshelf by the door, and he went there to pick out something to read. He saw a glint out of the corner of his eye and saw the Axe of Whiterun above the door, the sheen of frost magic crawling over its surface, a gift from Jarl Balgruuf upon naming her thane. Avenicci had kindly sent one of his men earlier today to see if she needed anything, and Bryn had politely declined and said she would call upon the Jarl first thing upon recovering. Others had come and gone during the day but Lydia had turned the rest away; Bryn would have spent all her energy entertaining guests instead of resting.

Vilkas ran his finger along the shelf, seeing a number of interesting books that he had never had the pleasure of laying his own eyes upon, though he had heard of a number of them: _Light Armor Forging, The Gold Ribbon of Merit, Lord Jornibret’s Last Dance._ Some like _Racial Phylogeny_ he owned himself. He saw with disquiet that she also had a copy of _Physicalities of Werewolves_ and had to wonder where she had picked that up, and why she had kept it. Then his eyes lit on a book bound in tattered black leather, set away from the others. When he pulled it out there was no title on the cover, only a silver stylized dragon: the dragon symbol of the Empire, though this one had the tip of a wing broken off, looking terribly worn. He supposed it was fitting.

Intrigued, Vilkas opened the cover and felt a chill run down his spine at the title: _The Book of the Dragonborn_. He had never heard of this book before, and he considered himself somewhat of a scholar, especially for a Companion. Feeling cold, he took the book back upstairs with him and slid under the bedcovers. Bryn didn’t stir, too deeply asleep. He propped himself up against a pillow and opened the book again, seeing it was by a former prior of the Order of Talos, disbanded during the Oblivion crisis. He then realized that he had probably never heard of this book because the Thalmor had most likely destroyed every copy of it they could find.

By time he finished the book an hour later he was nearly sick with dread, staring at Bryn’s ash blond hair sticking out above the covers. He looked at the last lines of the book again:

_When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world_   
_When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped_   
_When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles_   
_When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls_   
_When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding_   
_The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn._

The World-Eater wakes… _Alduin._

Vilkas snapped the cover shut, shivering, and Bryn mumbled and rolled over, reaching for him in her sleep. He set the book on the end table and blew out the lantern then slid down under the covers, taking her into his arms, and she muttered something again then fell back asleep with a sigh. For hours sleep evaded him, his mind repeating the last lines of the book over and over again, wondering what they meant though some were obvious. The Brass Tower was Numidium, and time had been reshaped during the Warp in the West. The last Dragonborn emperor had died two hundred years ago when Martin Septim, the last of Tiber Septim’s line, had sacrificed himself to stop the Oblivion crisis, something the Thalmor still wouldn’t admit was true even with the damn dragon statue right in front of them. The White Tower was clearly White-Gold Tower. Vilkas wasn’t sure what the Snow Tower was, but he could infer that as parts of Skyrim were always covered in snow and the country was currently ripping itself apart with no High King, that Skyrim was the Snow Tower. Skyrim had always been one of the pillars that held up the Empire, and now everything was crumbling.

But the World-Eater! And the dragons. Alduin was the Eater of Worlds, and a dragon. The king of dragons, some said the first-born of Akatosh, who was also often represented as a dragon, the god of time. Time was often referred to as a wheel. Alduin had returned to eat the world and the wheel of time was turning upon the Dragonborn, the last of them it seemed: Bryn. Bryn had been born to stop the dragons, to stop Alduin from destroying the world. He wondered if she knew this, if she had been able to read all that into this book that she had kept for some reason, tattered as it was. He wondered if the Greybeards had told her anything at all about this purpose. Maybe she had figured all this out and that was why she occasionally grew so despondent. Why she had told him she could never marry.

Agonizing over what he had read, Vilkas wondered if maybe he should ask her to marry him, and if by doing so he could somehow change things. Change her fate, or at least lift the gloom that occasionally surrounded her. If Farkas intended to marry Lydia just because they got along well and had great sex and she made him happy when she was around, surely Vilkas should marry Bryn when they both loved each other so desperately. Surely they loved each other like this for a reason. But then what right did he have to try to change her fate, whatever it might be? If Alduin had returned to the world in order to destroy it, and Bryn had been born to stop that from happening, how could he interfere, thereby maybe dooming them all? By asking her to marry him he could end up distracting her from her goal, and if he got her pregnant, which usually came not long after marriage, then it truly could spell the end of everything. What was the point of bringing a child into a world that was doomed?

“Vilkas, what’s wrong?”

The worried whisper caught him by surprise; he was unaware that his fidgeting had awakened her. He lied, “Nothing. I...I’m having trouble sleeping. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“No honey, it’s all right.” She put her arm over him and moved close, and he made a huffing sound of either upset or frustration and rolled over to face her. She stroked his cheek as he kissed her tenderly, and when he began hardening against her still-naked body she was more than happy to have been awakened. He made love to her with exquisite slowness and gentleness, as sweet and wonderful as their very first time together, and after that he quickly fell asleep, nearly snoring with exhaustion.

Bryn fell asleep soon after, but being better rested she was first to awaken in the morning. She eased out of bed to go relieve herself then caught sight of the book on Vilkas’ side of the bed. She sighed silently, saddened, the cause of his inability to sleep suddenly clear. She supposed she should have put the book in a chest somewhere, but it hadn’t occurred to her that anyone but she or Lydia would ever read it. Lydia hadn’t found it unsettling when she had first read it, instead seeing it as more proof of Bryn’s fate to be a hero; Bryn had read it for the first time before ever realizing she was Dragonborn, thinking it only a book about Nord myths, and once she had realized what she was and re-read the book it had chilled her to the bone. She found nothing about her fate glorious at all, whatever that fate was exactly. Lydia wavered between apotheosis and rulership of the Empire, nothing short of what Tiber Septim had accomplished; neither sounded particularly good to Bryn. She didn’t want to rule anything or anyone, though her desire to put the Thalmor in their place had never wavered.

Some days all she could really believe was that it was all going to end with her death, but most of the time she simply couldn’t think more than a few weeks ahead. Whatever she imagined, it was almost never a cozy home life with a husband. With Vilkas. If she couldn’t have it with him, she didn’t want it with anyone. And if after living in her house with her for a few days, after telling her he loved her so, after her nearly dying…if after all that he still couldn’t bring himself to ask her to marry him, what would it take? It had felt so right, this last day, having him always near, sliding into the same bed together at night and cuddling to sleep. It had seemed to make him happy as well. Why wouldn’t he want this all the time? Bryn supposed she could be the one to ask him; Nord women were bold and just as likely to be the one to seek a marriage. Bryn wasn’t that brave. She could face down a dragon more easily than she could contemplate facing Vilkas while wearing an Amulet of Mara. His rejection would utterly destroy her, especially now. He wouldn’t be cruel about it, but that wouldn’t matter. Better to keep things as they were and enjoy each other while they could.


	13. Chapter 13

Aela was first to greet Bryn as she came through the front doors of Jorrvaskr. “Hail, Shield-Sister,” she called as she came over. “You look like you've seen some action, and recently.” The girl was a bit paler than usual and had the usual dirt and blood spatter one got on the job.

“Halted Stream and Silent Moons Camps. Clearing out bandits for Jarl Balgruuf, something quick and easy near home before I head out. Is um, is Vilkas around?” Her beloved had reluctantly returned to Jorrvaskr and his own quarters three days ago, once it became apparent that she was fully recovered. He had stayed a night longer than he probably should have but had found it difficult to leave. She hadn’t liked it either, nearly getting teary-eyed while he gathered up his things. She was completely better though, as good as new, and unless he wanted to actually live with her then he’d had to go back to the mead hall. She felt bad about it but he had been shirking his usual training duties to be with her, and he had to go back at some point. She had also needed to have her own time to craft a new set of armor; he had been right that plain leather simply wasn’t enough protection. She had made a nice set of scaled armor, and it certainly had done the job, though it was a bit heavier than what she was used to wearing.

“He’s out in the yard with the younglings.” She hesitated then quietly said, “It’s none of my business, what’s going on between you two, but I wouldn't interrupt right now. He has a job to do.”

Bryn frowned, saying, “I had no intention of interrupting. I only wanted to tell him that I’m leaving again. Now. As soon as possible. I would never intentionally keep him from his duty, any more than he would keep me from mine.”

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to offend.”

She sighed and said, “No offense. I’m sorry if that came out wrong. I’m just…I’m in a hurry.”

“Really. Why is that?” Bryn didn’t answer, instead fishing out a large faceted round crystal from her pack. “What on Nirn is that?” Aela said in astonishment. The crystal was quite large, the size of a melon, white with tiny striations all through it that caught the light and sent it shooting a thousand different directions. It was gorgeous, but something told Aela it wasn’t just a pretty rock.

“Meridia’s Beacon.”

“Great Divines, what have you gotten yourself into now?” Aela sighed. “Where did you find it?”

“In the big chest in Halted Stream Camp,” she said tiredly, stuffing it back in her bag. “After I killed the boss. Lydia and I started poking around for loot, and I picked up the crystal and it started talking to me. Now I can’t put the damn thing down, and every few hours she, Meridia I guess, demands to know what I’m doing and why I’m not heading for her shrine. So I’m heading for the shrine. I have to get rid of this thing, it’s driving me crazy. I literally cannot put it down.”

“I’ll let Vilkas know you’re leaving. Grab something to eat and I’ll get him for you. I’m sorry if I caused problems.”

“No, not at all, sister,” Bryn assured her.

“When you get back…Skjor and I have been meaning to talk to you about something. Grab one of us when you’ll be in town for a few days, before you take any other jobs.”

“Of course.” Aela headed for the back door and Bryn gratefully sat down to eat some of the cheese and bread laid out. She heard footsteps behind her then a grunt as someone lowered themselves into the chair next to her, and when she saw it was Vignar she smiled at him and leaned in to kiss his weathered cheek. “Hello, Vignar.”

He gave her a brief smile, his eyes troubled. He patted the metal plate covering her shoulder. “I see you learned your lesson about having only animal skin between you and an arrow.”

“Yes, Revered. Farkas hammered that into my head quite well when I came back.” She rotated her shoulders. “I’m still getting used to it, but it’s already proved its worth.”

“It looks like it.” He licked his lips and glanced at the door. They were the only ones in the hall except Tilma, who was doing some mending on the other side of the fire. Nothing in this hall escaped her; she no doubt knew things that even he didn’t about what went on here. “About Aela and Skjor…”

“So they are seeing each other!”

Vignar made a sound of aggravation and waved her off. “I don’t know and I don’t care. By the Nine, what is this place coming to! That isn’t what I’m here to talk to you about, girl. I’ll try to make this quick, but Aela and Skjor…they don’t see eye to eye with the twins and Kodlak about certain things. The Circle isn’t united in their…ah, beliefs.”

“Yes,” she murmured with a nod. “I’ve noticed the tension there.” Aela and Skjor seemed to operate independently of the other three, much more than they should, and rarely sat talking with Kodlak as the others did, though they spoke of him with the deepest respect.

“There’s good reason for that.” He glanced at the door again. “Whatever those two offer you…don’t take it. If you have a whit of sense in that pretty head you won’t do it.” Bryn didn’t ask what ‘it’ was, gazing at him with a neutral expression, but she knew. He said quickly, his tone intent, “It isn’t worth it, lass. What you have pales in comparison to being some….some _dog_.” He nearly spat the word out. “They offered it to me when I returned from the War and rejoined the Companions. Thirty years I was a Commander in the Legion, and fought in the Great War, and all that time I dreamed of returning to the Jorrvaskr of my youth and joining the Circle. This life is all I had ever wanted, you know. I spent my entire childhood playing on the steps of Jorrvaskr or hiding watching the Companions train. They really used to be something, back then. Nowadays they just squabble amongst themselves and drink themselves into a stupor. If I had become Harbinger I never would have allowed us to slide into such a state, but I wasn’t about to sell my soul to a Daedra for it.”

“Well, I’m not particularly happy about the state of affairs either,” Bryn admitted. “Eorlund told me early on that the Companions haven’t had a true leader since Ysgramor, but…these people need a leader. Why they’re allowed to just brawl and drink all day and night is beyond me. They’re good people, for the most part, but…” She shook her head. “It isn’t working. I don’t say anything, because it isn’t my place, but Vilkas and Skjor talk about bringing in gold, how there aren’t enough jobs to go around, but I’m wandering all over heck and gone finding more work than I can do. It’s as if they aren’t even trying.”

“Hard to find work when you sit here drinking and waiting for it to come to you,” he said sourly.

“Yes, exactly!” she said intently, turning to fully face him. “See, I’ve put some thought into this, Revered. About the future of the Companions, about what I would do if I had some say. Kodlak listens to me, but they aren’t all listening to him anymore, because of his illness. His mind is as sharp as ever, and Vilkas and Farkas listen to him—“

“Those boys follow wherever he tells them to go because he’s the only father they’ve ever really known. They were already here when I came back from the War, and Jergen long gone.”

“Was he really their father?”

Vignar shrugged. “Can’t say, never met the man. Does it matter? Farkas would love his memory either way, and Vilkas resent him for leaving either way.”

“And no one knows who their mother was? Where they came from?”

“Not as far as I’m aware. Jergen found them in some cave in Eastmarch, so Arnbjorn told me back then.”

“The one that was expelled from the Circle, and Jorrvaskr?”

“Aye, the same. Filthy beast of a man, that one was. Didn’t start out that way, but that was how he ended up. Anyway, he said Jergen had gone to do a job out that way, nearly into Morrowind, and on his way back a blizzard came up, and while looking for shelter he came upon the cave and heard a child crying, a fairly little one from the sound of it. Child has no business being in a cave, so he crept in for a look and…” Vignar’s shoulders shuddered as he shook his head. “Foul, foul business, that. Necromancers and their thralls, bodies and parts of bodies strewn everywhere, so he said. Seeing a wee child sobbing in a cage in the middle of that would drive any decent man mad, and the boy’s twin near dead lying next to him. Jergen barely made it out alive himself, but he got those boys out and avenged what was done to them. Doesn’t matter if he was their father. Frankly I doubt he was, and so does everyone else, but he saved their lives and did his best to look after them for as long as he could, when by all rights he could have dumped them off in Honorhall Orphanage and washed his hands of them.”

Bryn made a sound of anguish, her hand over her mouth as she fought not to cry. Vilkas hated talking about it, still haunted by it some thirty-five years later, unable to forget. Vilkas had been the little boy crying in the cage, crying because his brother was nearly dead, though Bryn wasn’t sure Vilkas had understood at the time that Farkas was dying, young as they were. And the orphanage…Bryn had stopped in there once, and only once, to see if there was anything the children needed, and the old hag Grelod who ran the place had practically shoved her out the door. Her young helper had seemed helpless to do anything about the situation. Bryn had avoided the orphanage after that; every time she neared the building she heard the old woman screaming at the children, or children crying. She had brought up the apparent conditions at the orphanage to Jarl Laila, and in her usual clueless way she had said that Grelod was providing a home for children that would otherwise be wandering the streets and that the old woman was a saint for doing so, and that if she sometimes got frustrated with the children it was understandable. Bryn had quickly given up, but she hadn’t forgotten Grelod the Kind. She wasn’t sure what to do about it yet, like so many other things in Riften, but one day she would figure something out.

“From what everyone here said at the time, Jergen was a good man, an honorable man. Farkas remembers what matters: that Jergen saved their lives and brought them here where they could have a decent childhood. Vilkas though…he just clings to the loss,” Vignar stated with regret. “Arnbjorn said that Farkas was proud that Jergen was heading off to fight in the War, but Vilkas wept and raged and made a scene.” He shook his head. “Jergen indulged those boys too much, no doubt because he felt so sorry for them. It wasn’t until after Jergen left that Kodlak took the boys in hand and made civilized human beings out of them. I did what I could once I came here, but they were nearly ten by then and frankly I just didn’t have the patience. I taught them what I could, showed them what _real_ honor meant, not just a mercenary’s honor, and they became fine men. Would have been a lot finer if the price for joining the Circle hadn’t been an issue.”

Bryn slowly nodded. “Vilkas told me it’s always gotten in the way of him being the warrior he wanted to be.”

“It’s a damn shame,” Vignar said sadly. “If the boy could get his head on straight and get rid of the curse, he’d have the potential to take over when Kodlak finally goes, but the way he is now…not a chance. And that stays between you and me, missy.”

Stunned, she whispered, “Aye, Revered.” She wasn’t about to ask who Kodlak had in mind for a successor. She had the sinking feeling that she already knew. It all made a terrible, perfect sense now. Kodlak had done everything he could to keep Bryn here, to keep her joined to and involved with the Companions. To keep her invested in them. And she was. They were the only family she had, other than Lydia. But to be Harbinger? Where would she find the time? And frankly she didn’t deserve the position. Vilkas did. Vilkas was the one keeping the books here, the one who took the most care of Kodlak when he was unwell, the one who cared most what happened to the Companions. Bryn would be horrified if Kodlak named her his successor over Vilkas.

Further discussion was interrupted by Vilkas entering through the back doors, and the sweet smile he gave her made her ache with mixed guilt and longing. She glanced at Vignar, who was eyeing her in warning, and she murmured, “I treasure your counsel, Vignar the Revered. I’ll keep it close.”

“You’re a good lass,” he stated, and when she kissed his cheek lingeringly he chuckled and added, “Careful now. I’m not so old that I can’t give Vilkas a run for his money.” Bryn laughed merrily, her cheeks turning pink, and he patted her leg then got up from the table.

She took a last drink of mead as Vilkas approached, saying, “I hope that old codger wasn't trying to edge me out.”

“Not _trying_ , boy,” Vignar retorted over his shoulder. “Until there’s a Bond of Matrimony on that finger, all’s fair.”

Bryn laughed, unable to help finding it funny, though it was a touchy subject. The old man meant well. Vilkas didn’t seem amused at all. She stood and said to him, “I have to go, beloved. Something urgent has come up.”

“What now? I thought you were going to Mount Anthor tomorrow.”

“It looks like I’m going to Kilkreath Ruins first.”

“Why is that?”

“I found Meridia’s Beacon.”

Vilkas stared at her for a moment before saying dryly, “Of course you did. I mean, who else would?”

“I know,” she sighed. “It’s like I attract trouble. I really do have to go, though. The beacon is, well, being persistent. The sooner I get rid of it, the better.”

“All right, but…gods, be careful. Never completely trust any Daedra. You’re taking Lydia, right?”

“Of course. She’s been at my back for the last two days. She won’t leave my side until we get back home.”

He bit his lip and glanced over at Vignar’s quarters, which the old man had disappeared into, then the other way to Tilma, who seemed to be paying no attention, but one never knew. He took Bryn’s hand and led her to the front doors then outside. Once the doors closed behind them he quietly said, “I was hoping for just one more night together.”

Bryn sighed and reached up to hold her hand against his cheek. “Oh beloved, that would have been wonderful. Fruitless in a way, but wonderful. My ah, hm. My, well, you know, it’s, um, here. Since this morning.”

He smiled slyly at her and asked, “Your what? I’m not sure I get your meaning.”

She stomped her foot and said, “You damn well do know what I mean!” He laughed at her and she had to resist the urge to smack his shoulder. It was the one part she detested about being a woman. When she’d been stick thin her cycle had been infrequent, but now that she ate frequently and heartily and had put on a good deal of healthy weight, it showed up with annoying regularity.

“What, is the Dragonborn too great and powerful to get a visit from everyone’s favorite aunt?”

“Oooh, you’re absolutely wicked, Vilkas!” she said angrily, her cheeks burning. He laughed even harder, and she turned on her heel and walked away from him. He ran to stand in front of her, grabbing her hand, a broad grin still on his face, and she balled up her fists, trying to stay mad at him, but it was impossible to when he kissed her knuckles one by one, his gray eyes twinkling, his smile a thing of beauty. It was still so rare to see him laugh and smile so freely. “Absolutely wicked,” she repeated in loving exasperation.

“That I am,” he murmured against her fist. “How long will you be gone?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.” She hesitated, afraid to worry him. “Lydia and I are going to take a wagon to Solitude, but I was going to run to Riverwood first. To meet again with Delphine.”

“The Blade,” he said in derision. “I was wondering when she would come up again.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about the things she said, while I was in The Rift. About the dragons, and the Thalmor. As she said, the civil war was practically over. If that dragon hadn’t shown up--Alduin, I’m sure it was--Ulfric would have gone to the block and the fighting would have been pretty much over. But the dragon shows up, Ulfric escapes, and Skyrim begins tearing itself apart again, while the Thalmor sit back and watch like eager crows, waiting to pick at the remains.”

Stifling a shiver of dread, Vilkas held her hand to his chest and quietly said, “Yes, I can see that. I can definitely see all that. However even the Thalmor aren’t powerful enough to cause the dragons to return.”

“No,” she agreed, “however they’re more than capable of setting up the conditions that guaranteed that Alduin would.” Vilkas frowned, troubled. Well, she was troubled too. “I didn’t tell you when you were at my house, because it just didn’t occur to me at the time, but I saw a small group of Thalmor, when I was first on my way to The Rift, just a few hours northeast of Whiterun. The wagon passed them by, two warriors and a wizard, and they had a prisoner between them, a man. I couldn’t help wondering where they were taking him, and why, but I hadn’t heard before that they were doing that. Taking prisoners.”

“For no good purpose, and I don’t want you getting involved. Gods above woman, they are nothing to trifle with. I’d rather have you tangling with dragons than those people. They’re ruthless. I’ve heard they’re in Skyrim to stamp out the last remains of Talos worship. Rumors have it that they’ve started entering people’s homes, looking for family shrines.” Bryn’s eyes widened as her nostril’s flared, and he suddenly wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

“I understand closing the temples, barely,” she said furiously, “but people’s private beliefs are their own, and the Thalmor have no business interfering in that!”

“Yes, I agree, however—“

“And look there,” she demanded, pointing at the statue of Talos standing nearby. “What do you think they’ll make of that? How long before they come to Whiterun and start poking around? Heimskr doesn’t sound all that crazy anymore, does he? His delivery leaves a lot to be desired, but knowing what the Thalmor are doing only validates what he says. Jarl Balgruuf has left the shrine alone, and I’ve seen people visiting it, late at night. I’ve visited it gods know how many times, very publicly. In fact I was going to again before I left. I noticed that I can Shout more easily for a while afterward, and I was going to have Heimskr bless the amulet I found.”

“Amulet,” Vilkas muttered. “You think you’re going to go around in public with an Amulet of Talos on your chest? Are you out of your damn mind?”

“I was going to tuck it inside my shirt! Of course I’m not out of my mind!” He let go of her hand and folded his arms, jaw clenched and eyes blazing within their black warpaint as he glared at her. She pulled the amulet out of her pocket. “I found this lying on the forge in Silent Moons Camp. All amulets confer a blessing on the wearer. I’m Dragonborn, and so was Talos, and think about that, why don’t you? How long will it be before the Thalmor hear about me and show up on my doorstep to haul me away?”

He stared at her, horrified. “They wouldn’t dare.”

“They would dare anything. My own family, my own flesh and blood, my uncle and cousin, detested me simply because I was half-human. They weren’t Thalmor but they spoke of humans as if they were walking, talking beasts. They honestly believe that they’re meant to be our masters. If they had gotten their way, I would still be in that house, scrubbing the floors.” She slid the amulet back into her pocket, seeing the distress on this face. She took his hand and squeezed it, continuing, “It won’t be long before all of Skyrim has heard about me, and I can’t hide away to avoid that happening. I have to get out there and find as many words of power as possible, build up my skills as much as possible, so that if they do come after me I can defend myself, and whoever is with me. And I have to hear what Delphine has found out in the last two months since Kynesgrove. I want to know if the Thalmor have anything to do with all this.”

“All right,” he said softly. “And what if they do? What if they are responsible for the dragons? How is that any worse than what they’ve already done to us?”

“It means they’ve made the gods angry, because I’m here.” Vilkas said nothing, staring at her sadly. “I was born in 174, the year the Thalmor sacked the Imperial City. I hate to feed Lydia’s hero worship, but the gods are the ones who put me here, for a specific purpose, and even if it was only to kill dragons, or deal with Alduin, that doesn’t mean it has to be my only purpose. The Thalmor hate Talos, because he was once Tiber Septim, a man, the man who broke the first Aldmeri Dominion, and that’s why they’re trying to systematically destroy Talos worship. They’ll hate me because I’m Dragonborn and try to destroy me to keep word of me under wraps, because if it starts to spread it will give Man hope. When they hear that there’s another Dragonborn, now, and in Skyrim of all places, they’ll drive themselves mad trying to find me.”

“I want to go with you,” Vilkas stated. Bryn sighed and let go of his hand, and he took hers back before it could drop away. She looked past him and he looked over his shoulder to see Lydia standing by the Gildergreen, waiting. He turned back to Bryn and repeated, “I want to go with you.”

“Oh Vilkas,” she sighed heavily. “You can’t. You know you can’t. Your work is here, at least for now. I want you to go with me at some point, but right now I have to figure out what my direction is. I’ve been wandering around with almost no guidance, and even if I don’t completely trust Delphine’s motives, I don’t believe she’s lied to me. The Greybeards just tell me ‘work on the Voice’ but won’t tell me why yet. I’ve figured it out on my own, and I guess you did the other night too when you read that book.”

“Yes,” he said miserably.

She kissed his gauntleted hand and stated, “I love you, more than anything.”

“I love you too, and certainly more than you love me.”

“That isn’t true and you know it. The thing is, I know how much you love me, Vilkas. You love me so much that I would go to face something dangerous and you would leap in to save me from it, and we could both end up dying.” He didn’t deny it. “Lydia isn’t as skilled as you. Nowhere near as skilled as you. But she works well with me. She stays at my back and doesn't try to be a hero. You can’t help being a hero.”

He muttered, “Your flattery won’t work on me. I’m not a child.”

“I’m being truthful, dearest. I’ll swear that on any god you’d like.” She tugged on his hand. “Come with me as far as the gates?”

“Of course.”

Vilkas went along, keeping hold of her hand and not caring who saw it. He went with her to the Shrine of Talos and listened to Heimskr’s impassioned blessing of the amulet, the man thrilled to death to be asked to perform such an honor for the Dragonborn, but when he moved to put it on Bryn, Vilkas stepped in and took it from him, causing the priest to sputter in offense. He knew people were watching, far too many people, but he didn’t care. He looped the leather necklace around Bryn’s neck then fastened it, saying, “May Talos watch over your battles, my love.”

“I think he does,” she whispered.

“If the day ever does come that you face the Thalmor on the battlefield, you won’t do it without me.” She nodded, her golden Altmer eyes shining. He couldn’t deny that was what they were. It was fitting that someday the High Elves’ own blood might cause their downfall. He picked up the Amulet of Talos and kissed it lingeringly, knowing people were watching, and once again he didn’t care. Let the Elves come for him, and he would have all of Jorrvaskr at his back. He thought it would be rather amusing if the Companions ended up returning to their original purpose of slaying Elves. Ysgramor would smile indeed on that day.  
-  
“The Thalmor Embassy welcomes you.”

_Not for long,_ Bryn thought, feeling sweat trickle down her back. Though her expression was calm she was a nervous wreck. She wasn’t cut out for subterfuge and lying, and thought longingly of fighting her way through some musty crypt or dank cave. _That_ she knew and could handle. As she made her way into the Embassy with her new friend Razelan in tow, she wondered what Lydia was doing right now. Probably pacing their room at the Winking Skeever and muttering obscenities over being forced to stay behind once again. Bryn felt so terribly alone without her. The last seven weeks in Haafingar and Hjaalmarch holds together--and beyond--had cemented them into the perfect team, their skills and Bryn’s _thu’um_ growing to the point where together they were able to surmount any challenge with little difficulty, though the Dragon Priest in Volskygge had given them some trouble. She had garnered a useful mask out of it and intended to use it tonight in an attempt to keep her face from being seen if she had to fight anyone. Or rather when she had to fight someone. There was no way she was getting out of here without having to do so. She had gotten extremely good at hiding in shadows and walking silently, but there were simply too many Thalmor here to avoid them all. They were going to figure out it was her though, no matter what she did, so she might as well take out as many as she could without bringing the entire lot of them down on her.

Bryn paused in the entryway as Razelan walked in confidently to join the party. Her heart skipped a beat as a thin Altmer woman with hollow cheeks headed her direction, a slight frown on her face. She put on a bright smile, hoping she wasn’t overdoing it, and looked around the Embassy with a wondering expression, her hands clasped before her.

“Welcome. I don’t believe we've met. I am Elenwen, the Thalmor ambassador to Skyrim,” the Elven woman said, in a voice that seemed more suited to screeching at people than making genteel conversation. “And you are?”

“You’re Elenwen?” Bryn breathed. “Oh I’ve heard so much about you! What an honor, madam!”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure,” she replied haughtily. She looked the girl up and down, frowning anew. “You seem familiar,” she murmured. “Are you certain we’ve never met?”

“Oh, well, one Nord looks much like another, you know.”

“Up to a point.” The girl however was very tall, as tall as an Altmer woman, and had Altmer eyes in color though not in shape. Her hair was as fine and fair as a High Elf’s as well, though it didn’t lay back from her face as it would on an elf. A half-breed, here in Skyrim. Interesting. And revolting. She opened her mouth to demand the girl’s name and background when the Bosmer servant called out insistently to her about some triviality regarding the wine, which he knew better than to do.

Bryn put her hand to her mouth and gasped, “Is that truly Jarl Idgrod? Oh, I must meet her!” She hurried off while Elenwen was distracted with berating Malborn. Bryn panicked when she saw that Maven Black-Briar was in attendance. The woman knew who she was, and was indeed staring at her with narrowed eyes, no doubt wondering what the hell she was doing here. Thane Erikur of Solitude was also present, though he was too busy fawning on an Altmer wizard to notice her.

She went to the Jarl and held out her hand, saying, “Jarl Idgrod? What a pleasure to meet you!”

The older lady shook her hand slowly, her dark eyes glittering, and under the cover of the music she murmured, “Well isn’t this interesting.” Bryn had recently become one of her thanes, and it seemed there was more to the girl than met the eye. But then Idgrod had known that from the moment she’d laid eyes on her. It had quickly become apparent just who and what the girl was; rumor had circulated through Skyrim in recent months that the Greybeards had called a Dragonborn to High Hrothgar for the first time in centuries, and in the last several weeks the rumors had solidified into fact, and then the girl shows up in Morthal of all places with a servant in tow and takes down a dragon right in the center of town on her first day. The existence of the Dovahkiin in Skyrim, now, had to really stick in the Thalmor’s craw, and Idgrod wondered if the Elves were actively looking for Bryn, if they even knew her name or what she looked like. Obviously not if she was here at the party, though Elenwen kept watching her with an almost feral intensity.

“It’s about to get that much more interesting, my Jarl.”

Idgrod laughed shortly, a cackle more than anything. “Better I know as little about that as possible.” She had no love for the Thalmor at all, and trusted them just as little. While she was a nominal supporter of the Empire, the Thalmor were not the Empire. They were the opposite of everything the Empire stood for. Idgrod’s concern was for Hjaalmarch first of all, and Skyrim second. All the rest could go hang. She noticed Maven Black-Briar watching Bryn suspiciously, and she said, “You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of talking to my old friend Maven. Why don’t you get yourself a drink, child?”

“Thank you my Jarl, I will.”

“May wisdom light your path.”

Bryn bowed to the elderly Jarl then went to the Bosmer serving girl, who offered her a goblet of Colovian brandy. Bryn thanked her and took a small sip, nearly choking as it burned like sweet fire down her throat. She was so used to mead now that it was unbearable. Seeing Elenwen start towards her again, Bryn casually wandered over to pick up a sweetroll off a nearby table, and the Altmer woman was caught by Erikur as he turned away from the wizard by the fire. Bryn edged around the room and went to Malborn, who was manning the bar. She leaned on it as if making conversation, hoping her expression was more relaxed than his. He was going to give them both away at this rate.

“Good, you made it in,” he murmured. “As soon as you distract the guards, I’ll open the door and we can slip out.” Bryn nodded, and he added with worry, “Let’s hope we both make it through this day alive.”

“I’ll do everything in my power to make certain of that.”

“Yeah, sure, sure.”

Bryn nearly made a jibe about how touching his faith was. He had no idea who or what she was, according to Delphine, so he had cause. Bryn wasn’t altogether sure what she was going to do about the situation either. She turned away, taking another sip of brandy, then her eyes lit on Razelan, who was sitting on a bench near a Justiciar, looking forlorn. She walked over to him and he sighed heavily.

“What’s a fellow have to do to get a drink around here?” he complained.

“Here, have mine,” Bryn offered. “It isn’t agreeing with me.”

“Ah, the one generous soul amongst all these penny-pinchers and lick-spittles,” he stated happily as he took the proffered goblet. He winked at her and said, “If there is ever anything I can do for you pretty lady, you just let me know.”

Bryn sat down on the bench next to him and murmured, “Well, now that you mention it, there is this one thing…”

“Anything! Just name it.”

“I have a, ah, paramour,” she whispered girlishly, biting her lip as she looked around the room. “One of the guards. I was hoping to slip away from the party for, well, you know, but it’s been impossible. If you could create a distraction…”

“Is that all!” he laughed. “My friend, you could say causing a scene is somewhat of a specialty of mine. Stand back and behold my handiwork!” Razelan stood and cracked his knuckles then walked to the center of the room. “Attention! Attention everyone! I have an announcement to make.”

Bryn stood and walked softly over to Malborn, seeing that the Redguard had the entire room riveted to him, though the Altmer stared at him with wrinkled noses that reminded her strongly of her aunt and grandmother. Malborn held the door open for her and whispered, “Go, go! Before anyone notices us!” She slipped out into the connecting hallway and he went on, “So far, so good. Let’s hope no one saw anything. We’ll need to go through the kitchen. Your gear is hidden in the larder. Just stay close and let me do any talking, got it? Follow me.”

“All right.”

He took her through the kitchen, looking appropriately ill when the khajit cook complained about guests in the kitchen, then they were through and in the larder. “Okay, your gear is in that chest over there. I’m going to lock the door behind you. Don’t screw this up!”

“Why would I?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” he countered, feeling sick with nerves. “You don’t know what those people can do. You’ll beg for them to kill you once they’re done with you.”

Bryn rolled her eyes and went to the chest. “Come with me if you’re worried.”

“Hell no!” She started dressing, and he urged, “Hurry it up! I’m dead if they notice I’m missing!”

“Turn around!”

“What? Oh! Sorry.”

He turned away and Bryn quickly stripped off the party clothes and pulled on her armor and gear then stuffed the clothes in her pack. Everything she had given him was there, but it still felt like it wasn’t enough. “Okay, I’m ready,” she murmured as she pulled Volsung down over her face. As ready as she could be, anyway. She was more nervous now than she had been at the party. She didn’t doubt her chances to get out alive, but she worried about Malborn. He was going to end up giving himself away, she knew it, and though it was silly she would feel responsible if anything happened to him. He was the last left of his family after the Thalmor purges.

“Go, go,” he whispered, motioning her out the next door. “Good luck!”

“You too.” She went out the door and heard the click of a lock behind her.

Bryn took a deep breath and rotated her neck and shoulders, then she went over her armor and gear once more as Farkas had taught her what seemed like a lifetime ago, making sure everything was secure and well-placed. She also made sure everything was set to make no noise as she moved. She was able to move in complete silence when she was alone, something Lydia just couldn’t seem to master; Bryn had slipped away from her housecarl at night many times while they were in towns to prowl about and further hone her skills. Her sneakiness would certainly come in handy here.

Bryn was about to move out when she heard two Altmer speaking in Altmeris to each other, complaining about a group of ‘robes’, most likely wizards, that had recently arrived. It seemed there was resentment among the rank and file warriors against the arrogance of the magic users. It was interesting but meant little. She waited until they set off on their rounds again, listening for their footsteps to recede, then she silently moved through the room behind their backs and up the stairs.

She froze at the top of the stairs, seeing a Thalmor wizard in profile as he stared down the hallway. She watched and waited, making sure he wasn’t about to move, then she continued on her way behind him, silent as a ghost. She made her way down the hall to the right then realized it was a dead end and she would have to pass the mer, something she had no chance of successfully doing without risking attack. There was really only one thing she could do, and it made her soul squirm to contemplate it. It was one thing to sneak up behind a bandit or a necromancer, but to cold-bloodedly stab a mer in the back was entirely different. He was Thalmor, so his hands were by no means clean, but still, it wasn’t an easy thing to consider doing.

In the end she had no choice, and it was over in seconds, Dawnbreaker neatly taking off the Altmer’s head, the quickest death she could give him, the only sound the thunk of his head hitting the floor and the soft whisper of black cloth then the solid thud of his body following. Bryn stared for a moment, wondering how she should feel, unable to summon up any strength of emotion over it, then she moved on.

It took some doing to fight her way through the number of guards in the courtyard, used to having Lydia at her back, but at least it was a clean fight. The summoned atronachs stacked the deck against her, and she focused her attention on the wizards, taking them out first, sending the Daedra back to Oblivion. She didn’t use the _thu’um_ , afraid the sound would echo through the embassy and alert further guards inside, and found it more difficult than expected to refrain from using it. It had become second nature to her much sooner than she had imagined it would.

Once the courtyard was cleared she moved into the ambassador’s solar, overhearing a conversation between a Thalmor and a man named Gissur that sent a shiver of dread through her; she would have to go downstairs and see what was going on, see who the Thalmor had down there and if she could help. She sneaked to what looked to be an office area with a desk and found a chest, and she eased it open and felt a thrill of success over the stack of documents inside, along with a key. She squatted down and read the letter to Elenwen with distaste, knowing it referred to torture, but it seemed to verify Bryn’s belief that the Thalmor had nothing to do with the return of the dragons. She opened one of the small files and to her surprise found a short dossier on Delphine; she scanned it and set it aside, finding it of little interest, though it did make the reasons for the older woman’s paranoia clear.

When Bryn opened the next her breath caught in her throat. _Thalmor Dossier: Ulfric Stormcloak_. She stared at the title page then glanced up in alarm at the sound of footsteps and stuffed the three documents in her pack. She waited for the sound to pass then headed for the stairs down to find a way out, still not satisfied that she had found everything she was looking for.

The smell of blood hit her nose as she came through the downstairs door, and she crept to the railing to see what was clearly a torture chamber. Some poor soul was chained to the wall in a cell, a Justiciar warrior entering as he whimpered in terror. Her stomach turning, Bryn didn’t waste time watching or listening and hurried down the stairs, coming up behind the one she assumed was Rulindil and taking his head off as cleanly as she had the first Thalmor she had encountered. The Altmer soldier cried out in fury and came running out of the cell, and she was easily dispatched with _YOL_ and Dawnbreaker. Meridia’s gift worked best on draugr and other undead but was still useful on the living.

Bryn quickly freed and healed the man, one Etienne Rarnis, a thief from Riften, and gave him an Elven dagger to defend himself while she quickly searched the bodies and the nearby chest. Another dossier lay inside on the man the thief had just told her about, Esbern, and Bryn took that as well and was turning to tell the man to start looking for a way out when she heard voices coming through the door. She cursed softly when she saw Malborn between two Justiciars. She motioned for Etienne to stay put and

“We know you’re down there, spy,” one of them called. “We have your accomplice.”

She darted upstairs and dispatched the two Elves, glad that Malborn had the sense to stay out of the way. He wasn’t particularly grateful to be rescued either, something that irritated Bryn greatly.

“I hope it was worth it,” Malborn stated, glaring hotly at Bryn as she cut his bonds. “Now the Thalmor are going to be hunting me the rest of my life.”

“At least you have a life,” she retorted, searching the two guards. “Did you want to spend the rest of it serving them, knowing what they did to your family?” He didn’t answer, and she shoved a weapon into his hand. “I appreciate your help, truly. It won’t be in vain.”

“Really,” he drawled. “How so?”

She snorted and headed down the stairs, hearing him follow. “I found the documents I was looking for, and I have the feeling the Thalmor will find much more enticing prey to hunt after this.”

“Who, you?” he said in derision.

“I’ve killed ten Thalmor tonight, single-handedly. I carry a Daedric artifact. Does that seem like nothing to you?” She pulled her mask back down, seeing the thief over by a trap door. Hopefully one of the keys she had just pocketed unlocked it.

“No, of course not, it’s just…Delphine never told me who you were, just that you were some kind of specialist, and then some girl shows up,” he said in a halting tone, unsettled by the glitter of her eyes behind the metal mask as she turned on him.

“Some girl,” she laughed. “Oh Malborn, I wish I was just some girl. I think I’m going to leave it at that, for now. In days to come you’ll find out exactly what I am and you’ll wish you had spoken with a touch more respect.” She had come to expect a certain measure of it lately. Having Lydia with her most of the time kept her humble, but it was hard not to feel a bit of pride at having accomplished this particular mission on her own. She had hit the Thalmor where it hurt, struck down the serpents in their own lair, where they had felt safest. There was no way the party guests and servants could have been shielded completely from what was going on, especially when Malborn had been taken away, so word would spread that someone had infiltrated the embassy and slaughtered the Altmer within. 

Tonight was going to upset the Thalmor a great deal, and Elenwen in particular, and the emissary was going to waste no effort in trying to find out who Bryn was. It would take her a little while to find out, but once she did the game would be on. She wasn’t particularly bothered by the notion of them coming after her, confident now in her ability to handle nearly any foe, but she did have concerns about those close to her ending up suffering for this once the Thalmor figured out who she was. The guard who had looked at her party invitation had seen her name on it, and she had a rather distinctive look. And then there was that snake Maven. It angered Bryn all over again that Delphine had involved her in this. So now they knew the Thalmor weren’t behind the dragon attacks; big deal. It changed nothing.

Malborn took off at a sprint the moment they were out of the Reeking Cave, and Bryn didn’t try to stop him or call him back. She turned to Etienne, who shivered in the intense cold; he was wearing Elven gear stripped from the soldier who had been torturing him, awkward but better than the thin rags he had been wearing. He noticed her attention and said, “You didn’t have to help me, so…thanks.”

“You are welcome,” she answered. “Will you be all right?” He was Breton by his looks and his name, and so had no resistance at all to the chill.

“If I don’t freeze to death between here and Riften.”

“Here,” Bryn offered, digging in her pack. She gave him a couple minor healing potions and trail rations along with a hundred gold. “Take a wagon from Solitude to Riften, and make sure you sell that armor first. The fewer people who see you running around in it the better.” She had considered taking some for herself but it was just asking for trouble. She wished though that she had been able to snag a set of the glass armor she had seen one of the Justiciars wearing. Now _that_ was definitely some nice armor, though she didn’t yet have the skill to work it to adjust the fit to her. She was as tall as an Altmer but heavier. She had to wonder just how much heavier she was going to continue getting. The more time she spent adventuring the bulkier she got. It was all lean muscle but it was hard sometimes not to hear that little voice in her head whisper _‘Nord cow!’_

“Well then,” he said in astonishment. “I…thank you.”

“You’re a member of the Thieves Guild, aren’t you.” He licked his lips, looking uncomfortable. She hesitated then said, “A day will come when there will be a reckoning for both the Guild and Maven Black-Briar. I would try to be elsewhere on that day if I were you.”

“Noted,” he muttered.

“It’s nothing personal against the Guild, mind you, though your activities offend me. Maven however…that is very personal.” The older woman had made it that way when she’d sent the Dark Brotherhood after Bryn. It hadn’t been necessary and yet Maven had done it anyway.

“Yeah, she has a way of making it like that. Well, I’m off.”

“Sure.”

Etienne took off at a jog and she let him go as she took a few minutes to eat something herself and read the dossier on Ulfric before heading back to Solitude to collect Lydia. It turned her stomach to read the file, and it made things quite suddenly clearer. Most veterans of the Great War despised the Thalmor and detested the treaty that had given so much away that they had fought for, but Ulfric had an especially good reason to hate them. The thing was, Ulfric had played right into their hands all along. He still was doing so. Bryn had seen how his actions weakened Skyrim before ever reading this dossier. Her heart ached for him though. He had been so young then, in his early twenties, and already had men under his command, able to Shout from his studies with the Greybeards. So much promise, gone so very wrong. Her memories of him in Helgen were vivid...that voice that was like velvet over steel, the sea-colored eyes that blazed with utter hatred for the Imperials as they rode in the cart. He had been a striking man, if not handsome. Certainly not anywhere near as handsome as her Vilkas.

She tucked the dossier into her pack, determined to keep hold of it, and keep it with her, from now on. She and Lydia had decided a week ago that Bryn would be best served by becoming thane in all the holds, even if it ended up being a bit awkward. The title was honorary, mainly, and required Bryn to simply have a meal with the Jarl once in a while and offer advice and her services when they were asked for. That would entail a lot of running around to spend time in each hold, but they both felt it would be useful to have all the Jarls of Skyrim beholden to Bryn in some way. And the people as well. If Bryn became well-known in all nine holds, and thane to all the Jarls of those holds, it couldn’t hurt one bit. So far Bryn was thane in only Whiterun, The Rift and Hjaalmarch, and would be in Haafingar once she came up with the money to buy that big lovely Proudspire Manor; she had dabbled in The Pale and Winterhold a bit but hadn’t traveled to their respective capitals. She had touched on only the southern parts of Eastmarch.

Bryn was determined to make Eastmarch her next targeted hold, intrigued by Ulfric, more so now that she had read the dossier. It might even become necessary to show it to him, once she had become his thane and earned his trust. She had to wonder if that was possible without joining the Stormcloaks, which she would never do. She would never join the Legion either, so maybe that would be enough to promise him. She would go to his hold and his city as soon as possible to get started on that, but first she had to return to Delphine to get the rest of her gear back. Then she would stop in Whiterun for a while so she and Lydia could spend some time with their beloveds. She had made sure this time that she had written to Vilkas at least once a week so he wouldn’t get so anxious. She hadn’t received any letters back, but they had agreed before she left that it would be silly for him to send any when she moved around so frequently. Unless there was something she urgently needed to know he wouldn’t be sending any. At this point there was no reason to send one back; once she collected Lydia she was heading home, and if Delphine had anything more for her to do it would have to wait.


	14. Chapter 14

Bryn handed Lars Battle-Born a gold septim and the boy hooted in delight and scampered up the road to Jorrvaskr, to go fetch Farkas and/or Vilkas. It was mid-day so someone was bound to be around, though since it was raining it was unlikely anyone would be out in the training yard. Lydia unlocked Breezehome and let them in, clucking her tongue at the musty smell of the place. “Home sweet home,” Bryn said in a sour tone. “So much for enjoying it.”

“I meant what I said, my thane,” Lydia stated firmly as she threw her heavy pack down and moved to start a fire. “If Vilkas isn’t able to go with you, I’m going.” 

Bryn sighed, “We already went over this. Over, under and around it every which way. One of us should have a life, and it certainly won’t be me. I want you to stay here, with Farkas. I hate the house being empty and cold like this. If I can’t be here and make it a home, you should.”

“All right, enough of that,” Lydia scolded, steering Bryn over to sit in front of the cold fire pit.

“I don’t have time for this,” she said in a worried tone. “The Thalmor are probably already in Riften looking for Esbern.”

“Sit!” Lydia barked as her lady began to rise to her feet, and Bryn sputtered and fell back into the chair. “I promised Vilkas two months ago that you wouldn’t be going anywhere alone. That whole business with the embassy was really pushing it.”

“That whole business with the embassy should reassure you that I can handle myself.”

“That whole business with the embassy stirred up a hornet’s nest,” Lydia said in a tone of aggravation as she struck sparks into the tinder. “Delphine had to have known what the repercussions would be. Did she honestly think that they wouldn’t try to find you? You’ll find yourself with an Elven or glass arrow in your back this time. They’re going to figure out who you are and start hunting you.”

Bryn rolled her eyes and pulled off her gauntlets and let them drop to the floor. “You don’t know Altmer. They’ll come at me face first, yelling some grand pronouncement at me so that I’ll know who’s going to kill me and why. Their pomposity and arrogance won’t allow them to shoot me in the back. In fact I wouldn’t put it past them to try to capture me instead, to try to get information out of me. They do seem to get a kick out of torturing people.” She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the dossier on Ulfric that she had read. Couldn’t help wondering what exactly had been done to him, and how those things that had been done to him had affected his behavior and decisions all these years.

“You say that like it’s a good thing!” she cried. “Great Divines, you’re going to be the death of me from sheer stress. You don’t have nearly a healthy enough sense of self-preservation. You’re starting to get cocky, too, because of ‘that whole business with the embassy’. Vilkas is going to go wild when he hears about it.” Word traveled fast, carried by couriers, khajit traders, and wandering Bards. Bryn and Lydia had fled Solitude right away, avoiding roads and settlements as much as possible, and had made better time than even a fleet-footed courier could, but word wouldn’t be far behind.

“Better that he hears it from me, then.” She pushed herself out of the chair and Lydia grumbled but stayed focused on getting a fire going to warm and dry the house. Bryn hauled her pack off the ground to take her portion of the dragon scales and bones to the chest in the alchemy lab, then she decided to brew up a few potions from the large numbers of flowers and mushrooms she had gathered on the way home, before they mildewed or spoiled. It would give her something to do while she waited for Vilkas.

A few minutes later the front door flew open and she heard a happy “Hey, there’s my girl!” and Lydia’s glad cry in response, then Bryn’s spirits fell when she heard a worried whisper from her housecarl. And didn’t hear Vilkas’ voice. Bryn set down the mortar and pestle and came out from the back room and peeked between the stair treads to see Farkas and Lydia holding each other, but Vilkas was nowhere to be seen. As Farkas closed the door Bryn came out, and when he noticed her he breathed a sigh of relief and let go of Lydia to sweep Bryn off her feet in a bear hug.

“And there’s my next favorite girl in the world,” he stated. He held her out at arm’s length and she smiled hesitantly and patted his bearded cheek. “Hey, I’m sorry, Vilkas just left this morning for Rorikstead, with Athis and Ria. You missed him by just a few hours.”

“Aw hell,” Lydia sighed sadly, coming over to join them. Farkas took them in each arm and held them close, and when Lydia looked at Bryn’s face she seemed about ready to cry. Lydia squeezed her shoulder and said, “I mean it, I’m going with you.”

“And I say you’re not,” Bryn said in a lowered voice, pushing away from Farkas, but he caught her arm before she got far.

He said with disapproval, “You’d better not be thinking of running off on your own again.”

“I have to. Lydia needs to stay here.”

“Why? I mean, that would be nice, but—“

“Because she feels doomed to always be alone and miserable,” Lydia said in a chiding tone, looking at her mistress. “So she wants me here at Breezehome cuddling with you all nice and cozy so it can warm her heart while she’s off being a hero.”

“Vilkas would kill us both if we did that,” he said to Bryn. “He told me when he left to keep an eye out for you while he was gone, and go with you if Lydia couldn’t.”

“I’m not staying here without you!” Lydia protested.

“I know. So we’ll both go with her.” Bryn sighed heavily. Both women looked tired and grimy. He asked, “And just why do you need to run off again anyway? Stay here and wait for Vilkas. He was really upset this morning when he had to go, but I took the last big job, and Skjor before that, so it was his turn, and he’ll be back in a few days. Skjor and Aela can hold down Jorrvaskr while I’m gone.” Bryn didn’t protest, a bad sign. He ruffled her cornsilk hair and headed for the door, calling over his shoulder, “And just how long will we be gone? And where?”

Bryn rubbed her eyes and quietly said, “Riften. There’s someone there in danger, imminent danger. I need to go today, now. The Thalmor are after him. I’m hoping to be gone only long enough to get him out of danger, then come home and rest for a while.”

“You’d better. You girls get cleaned up and have something to eat while I fill in the others and get geared up. Give me half an hour, okay?”

Bryn didn’t answer, turning away to go back into the alchemy room, and Lydia called out to him, “Sounds good.” The door closed and Lydia followed Bryn into the room, smelling a bitter, pungent mixture of nirnroot and nightshade. Deadly. She said to her mistress, “Finish that up while I straighten out our kit, my thane. Then we’ll sell off some of this extra junk to Warmaiden’s and Belethor. Need to start saving up the gold to buy Proudspire Manor.”

“Sure.” She felt Lydia’s eyes on her back as the housecarl didn’t move, and she prompted, “Yes?”

“I’m worried about you.”

“I’m tired, that’s all.”

Lydia was sure that wasn’t all, but could tell by the brittle tone of Bryn’s voice that it would be a bad idea to push it right now. “Yes, my thane. I’m going to heat up some water so we can at least wash before we go.” Bryn nodded. Lydia began stripping off her armor on the way back to the fire pit. She was tired too, but not in the way Bryn was; Lydia was physically fatigued from their flight from Solitude, but Bryn seemed soul-tired. Extended time on the road never sat well with her lady. Bryn probably would have been fine if Vilkas had been able to go along with her, but it had seemed to wound something in her a little that he was gone, and having missed him by only a few hours made it even worse. Farkas would have to do, and Lydia was deeply relieved to have him along. She regretted not being able to stay here with him for a while, but at least they would be together on the road, able to talk and simply be around each other, and Farkas was able to cheer Bryn where Lydia couldn’t. If nothing else they would have another (very) strong arm with them in case the Thalmor attacked, and they would have to make sure to fill Farkas in as soon as they hit the road so he knew exactly what they might encounter. Farkas would also stay calm where Vilkas might not.

An hour later they were on the road east, and Bryn stayed mostly silent as Lydia chatted happily with her lover, who seemed equally happy in his responses. Not much had happened in Whiterun while they were gone; Kodlak was doing a little better, after Arcadia had hit upon a recipe for a potion that numbed his pain for a few hours at a time, though it made him somewhat sleepy; the Jarl’s youngest son Nelkir was giving him trouble again; Fralia Gray-Mane was still mourning the disappearance of her son Thorald and telling everyone who would listen that the Battle-Borns were responsible. Bryn thought she might talk to Eorlund’s wife when she got back, to see if it was something she could help her with. Bryn very much doubted that the other family would do something so heinous, especially when they had once been so close; Thorald and Idolaf had been best friends growing up.

They were crossing over the river and heading up the mountainside when Farkas hit his forehead and exclaimed, “Vilkas!” This spot had reminded him of his brother all of a sudden; this was where his twin had unfortunately been forced to change two months ago. He came to a stop and turned his back to Lydia, saying, “Dig out the letter on top of my pack, punkin. Vilkas left it with me for Bryn, in case you guys came back before he did. I totally forgot about it.”

“Punkin?” Lydia laughed.

“Sorry, that was the best I could come up with.”

“It’s more than good enough,” she assured him. He winked at her and she laughed again, warm all over. Two months they had been apart and things were as sweet and easy between them as if it hadn’t even been a day. She handed the letter to Bryn, her smile fading when she saw her thane’s stony expression. Bryn stared at the letter then took it and stuffed it into the front of her shirt under her armor then started walking again. Lydia sighed and watched her go, realizing that Bryn hadn’t said a word since leaving Whiterun half an hour prior. Lydia and Farkas had been so focused on each other that she had hardly crossed their minds. She glanced at her beloved and he was watching Bryn with a frown, seeing for himself that something was wrong. It seemed something always was, and it alternately pained and exasperated the housecarl. No matter what Lydia did, she couldn’t seem to keep up the other woman’s spirits for any length of time.

The sound of someone heavy running up behind her made Bryn gasp and start to turn, then she was scooped up in two strong arms like a child, making her squeal in surprise. “Farkas!” she cried.

“Yeah, little bird?” He grunted. “Except you’re not so little anymore.”

“Farkas!” Lydia exclaimed in dismay. She knew Bryn was sensitive about her weight.

“It’s all muscle. It’s not like she’s fat.” He motioned with his head towards Lydia. “She’s gotten more muscle on her too. It’s a good thing. Nord women should be strong.” He grinned at Bryn and added, “Besides, you need to be able to kick my brother’s ass when he gets out of line.”

She smiled briefly then said, “If I ever get to spend more than a few days at a time around him, maybe so.”

“You will when we get back. Read the letter.”

“Maybe later. When we camp for the night.”

Farkas rolled his eyes. “You two were made for each other. Always making things more complicated than they need to be. Read the damn letter before it starts raining again or I’m going to walk over and dump you in the river.” Bryn grumbled and pulled out the letter as Farkas set her on her feet again.

“What if the letter makes me cry?”

“Yeah, because Lydia and I have never seen you cry. Right.” He turned away and went to Lydia to give Bryn at least a little bit of privacy.

She turned her back to them anyway, knowing she probably would cry. She didn’t want to see them being sweet to each other while she was reading words Vilkas had written in loneliness, feeling lonely herself. Bryn was happy for them, but it hurt too. She broke the plain beeswax seal on the letter and began to read, realizing this was the first time she had seen Vilkas’ handwriting. Her own script was heavily slanted and flowery, having learned to read and write Altmeris first as a child; Vilkas’ was square, precise, beautiful in its own masculine way. When she saw the opening words it nearly made her lose it immediately.

_My dearest love,_

_I had hoped to see you when you returned, but if you’re reading this letter it is obviously not meant to be. I’ve been called away on a job that I can’t put off. A citizen of The Reach has been kidnapped by Foresworn, and as usual the hold guards are too busy with the war to be spared. It seems the safety of their citizens should be the Jarls’ first priority, but who am I to say._

_I’ve missed you terribly while you’ve been gone. A few times it was so bad that I considered breaking into Breezehome and sleeping in your bed, but there’s no back door and I’m not the sneaky little thief you are, and I’ve managed to avoid the Whiterun jail so far, so… I’ve been as good as my word and have never taken off the bracelet, and never will. I hope you’re keeping that amulet of Talos tucked away. I would hate to have to mount a daring raid to rescue you from some Thalmor prison. I would do it though. I would walk through fire for you, dive off a cliff for you, so going through a few of those pointy-eared bastards should amount to nothing. Still, let’s try to avoid that._

Bryn couldn’t help laughing a bit at that, imagining the dry way he would say it while smirking at her.

_I have to go, but know that I love you, I love you more than anything, more than life. I knew I loved you our second morning together, when I woke and your face was the first thing I saw. I knew then that I was lost, and even if I had never felt it before for anyone, I knew what it was. The rest of my life I will never lose that feeling, even with all the time we’ve spent apart. I’ve missed you every day, and it’s maddening to think that you might come back then leave again while I’m gone. I keep praying to Mara that somehow she will let us be together for more than a few days or hours at a time, but so far she doesn’t seem to be listening too well to me. If you can’t stay, then next time you head out I’m going with you, and I don’t care what you or Lydia have to say about it. I can’t tolerate these weeks apart and I am lost without you._

_Your beloved Vilkas_

Lydia made a sound of sorrow as Bryn started to sob miserably. She hurried to her mistress and put her arms around her, Farkas following, and when Bryn sensed him she threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his neck. Lydia rubbed her back, tears pricking her eyes, then she took the letter from Bryn to keep her from crushing it. She quickly folded it without reading it, tempting as it was to take a peek, and slid it into the pocket of Bryn’s pack that held her journal.

Saddened, Farkas held her tightly and murmured, “Pretty mushy, huh?”

“Yes!” Bryn wailed.

“Well, he’s always been better with words than me.” He kissed Bryn’s temple and held her for as long as she wanted, which was quite a while. That was perfectly fine with him.

Bryn eventually felt her tears start to dry up, but it was so hard to let go of Farkas who was Vilkas’ height, who even smelled a little like him. It was impossible to look at his face and not see Vilkas in it. The words in the brief letter repeated in her mind, sweet yet excruciating. He prayed to Mara for them to be together. Bryn couldn’t help hoping that someday he would truly mean that and ask her to marry him. Their time apart would be so much less painful if they were married, if she had a husband at home waiting for her, someone who loved her so much that he wanted to belong to her in the eyes of Mara, and her to him. She didn’t understand how he could be so jealous of Balimund, how he could weep over the thought of her dying, and not want to marry her. It just didn’t make any sense.

As Lydia wiped her tears Bryn vowed that if he didn’t ask her by mid-winter then she would have to be the one to press the issue. Maramal and his wife Dinya had assured her that long, complicated courtships were simply not how things were done up here. Maybe while she was in Riften this time she would stop in and talk more to the priestess and ask her advice, more specifically this time; Bryn had been rather vague before about her reasons for asking about love and marriage. Maybe if she laid everything out the priestess could tell her what she was doing wrong. Maybe she wasn’t doing anything wrong and it was nothing more than all their time apart, and Bryn didn’t know how to fix that. She had to keep doing what she was doing. But if she knew that at the end of it she would have a home and husband and children, it would all be so much easier to bear.  
-  
Iona gasped and drew back her war axe just in time to keep from splitting Bryn’s head open. “My thane!” she cried in mixed shock and anger. “Begging your pardon, but can you not use the front door?” Bryn had never come in through the back door by the lake before, though to be fair she had only owned the house for two weeks before leaving Riften. If Iona had heard the sound of a key turning that would have been one thing, but she’d had to listen to ten seconds of someone picking the lock and assumed it was one of the many thieves that plagued this town. She had never dreamed her own mistress would do such a thing.

“No, I can’t,” Bryn said quietly. She patted Iona’s shoulder and gave her a brief smile, but the housecarl was too busy staring in dismay at the big man coming through after her, followed by a smaller woman, to notice. Iona stood aside and cleared her throat, closing the door behind them, and Bryn said with regret, “I’m sorry we startled you. I wanted to avoid the front gates.”

“Yes, my thane.”

Bryn stared at her for a moment then asked, “You don’t even want to know why?”

“It isn’t my place to ask, my thane.”

“Huh,” Farkas grunted, giving Lydia a wry look. “You could learn a thing or two.” Lydia rolled her eyes, unimpressed. Farkas wasn’t impressed by the Riften housecarl either. Saying she was stiff was being kind. It was no wonder Bryn had found her hard to warm up to.

Bryn threw her pack down and told her friends, “Go ahead and get comfortable. I’m not going down there after dark.”

“Down there?” Iona asked with worry. “My thane, please tell me you aren’t going into the Ratway again!”

“Yes, I am. Do you know if Maven is back yet?”

“Honestly, I didn’t know she was gone, my thane. I don’t involve myself in Lady Black-Briar’s affairs.”

“Wise move,” Farkas stated, moving through the bedroom to the warmth of the dining area.

Iona made a sound of offense as he sat down at the table and pulled off his boots with a sigh of relief then threw them on the floor, and Bryn said, “Oh Iona, I’m so sorry. My manners are awful. Our guests are Farkas of the Companions, and this is Lydia. My friend and um, housecarl from Whiterun.” She suddenly felt terribly awkward as the two women stared at each other, then before Lydia could offer her hand she nodded curtly and looked away.

The redhead said in a brisk tone, “Well then, my thane, will you need some hot water for washing? Something to eat?”

Lydia offered to Iona, “Please, I would be glad to help. I can see to dinner, if you would help Lady Brynhilde. She’s terribly tired.”

“Yes, of course,” Iona said after a brief hesitation. She recognized a peace offering when she saw one, and she wasn’t about to make things awkward for her thane. She couldn’t seem to help doing that most of the time regardless, but no need to make it worse. She raised her voice and said to Farkas, “I am honored to have a Companion and my lady’s Shield-Brother under this roof.”

Farkas nodded to her and said, “I appreciate your hospitality. I hope we’re not imposing.”

“Not at all.” She looked at Lydia and said, “I’m afraid I have only a small bit of chowder simmering in the pot. If you could add to it and start some hot water for bathing, I will see to Lady Brynhilde.” Lydia gave her a brief smile and went to join Farkas in the dining area. It was fairly obvious from the soft way they murmured to each other that they were a couple. It made Iona feel like an outsider in her own house to have Bryn’s parallel life suddenly intrude like this. Determined to make the best of it, Iona turned to Bryn and said, “Let me help you out of your armor, my thane. And…perhaps I should know why you came in the back door.”

She signed, “Oh Iona, I don’t even know where to start. I’m so tired I can hardly think straight.”

“Yes, my thane.”

As the other woman helped her unbuckle her armor she explained, “The Thalmor might be headed this way. They’re after a man who might be down in the Ratway. I avoided the gates to avoid any snitches that might be wandering around. Hopefully no one was watching the house from the docks, but I didn’t see anyone.”

“A wise decision, my thane. However maybe next time you should take a key, and not pick the lock?” Lydia and Farkas both snorted and Bryn burst into laughter, the first Iona had really heard from her, and she couldn’t help a small smile in return.

“Oh, that’s too funny! Yes, next time I will definitely take a key. I suppose that did look pretty bad, sneaking in the back door like that, especially in this town. Thank Talos for your reflexes or I’d have quite the headache right now.”

Farkas called out from the other room, “You wouldn’t have to worry so much about getting your head split open if you wore a helmet.”

Bryn shook her head and sank down on the edge of the bed to remove her boots, smelling lavender. The house was certainly fresh and tidy, unlike poor empty Breezehome. Bryn had loved Honeyside since the moment she walked through the doors, though it wasn’t as cozy as the Whiterun house. She replied to Farkas, “You’re as bad as Vilkas. I hate helmets. They make my head hot and my hair all sweaty.”

“Yeah, well at least you’d have a head to get hot and sweaty.”

“Maybe I’ll get a circlet.”

“And what the hell good would that do?” he retorted as he headed to the back door to get some fish for Lydia.

“They can be enchanted to provide some protection. Farengar showed me how. In fact while I’m here I think I’ll disenchant some things, practice a little.”

“Ugh, magic.”

“It’s just another tool, big bear.” Farengar frequently suggested she consider applying to the College of Winterhold if she had the aptitude for magic, but she still wasn’t sure that she did. The skill of enchanting that he had shown her actually hadn’t been difficult to grasp, and she had easily learned to strengthen her healing skills from Danica. Maybe she did have the ability to learn and her aunt simply hadn’t been the right teacher for her. Both Danica and Farengar were Nords. Maybe humans had to learn magic differently than Altmer, who had magic running in their blood. Bryn was a half-elf, so surely she must have the ability to learn at least a little useful magic other than healing. She had been raised with the idea that magic was a skill like any other, a tool. Maybe if she did ever find the time she could take a trip up there and check out the College. She had two interesting amulet fragments that she had found, one in a barrow near Ivarstead that Klimmek had told her about, the other in Folgunthur up near Solitude, that she wanted their advice on. The third part was supposedly in Saarthal but rumor had it that the College had an active archaeological dig going there and she wasn’t about to just wander in and get in their way. 

If she handed over the amulet fragments and the associated documents she had found to the College, they could take it from there, but she wouldn’t mind getting some additional training in enchanting and healing while she was in Winterhold. She just hoped it wouldn’t entail becoming a full-blown member. She just didn’t have the time or energy to take on any additional duties. For now all she wanted was to get this Esbern fellow back to Delphine, and the Blade would have to manage on her own after that. For all this 'serving and protecting' of the Dragonborn that the Blades were supposed to be doing, she hadn’t seen much of it. All she had been so far was Delphine’s errand girl, and the embassy fiasco was the last straw. She was taking a break after this and everything else could wait, Alduin be damned.  
-  
“And be careful,” Vekel warned. “You’re not the only one looking for him.”

“Yes, thank you,” Bryn said with a nod. The barkeep went back to polishing the counter and she turned away, heading for the door down to the Ratway, Lydia and Farkas following. Farkas had a look of distaste on his face, and Bryn didn’t blame him. It didn’t smell quite as foul here around the cistern as the rest of the Ratway did, but it was still rank. She had been glad to see that someone had removed the bodies of the lowlifes she had disposed of a few months ago, or else the smell would be a lot worse. She was surprised that Vekel had given her the information so easily, but then she supposed kicking Dirge’s ass in front of everyone in a brawl had driven home that she meant business. She wasn’t in any mood to be diplomatic, and the Thieves’ Guild was living on borrowed time anyway, and from their glares they most likely knew it.

As they closed the door behind them Bryn held up her hand for quiet, and Farkas and Lydia froze; a Thalmor wizard was guarding the archway across from them, and a golden-armored soldier was on the level below. Easy pickings. Bryn silently removed her bow and took aim, hitting the wizard square in the back, killing him instantly. Two soldiers came running up from below and Bryn stood aside to hit them with arrows while Lydia and Farkas did the bulk of the fighting.

Bryn moved surely through the sewers, knowing her way, in fact she was fairly certain that she knew now where Esbern was holed up. There was an odd door in one area, above the room where a retired soldier named Salvianus dwelt; the poor man was half insane from what he had seen and done during the Great War but was essentially harmless. Bryn had taken him food once, and while he had accepted it gratefully he had clearly wanted to be left alone.

They encountered no other opposition or Thalmor, and when they reached the door Bryn whispered to her companions, “Maybe you should stay out of sight. If what Delphine said is true, he’s extremely paranoid.” They nodded and went around the corner into a nook. Bryn grit her teeth at how noisily they moved, but with all the dripping water and creak of stone it probably went unnoticed. Bryn raised her hand and knocked on the door.

The old man was every bit as jittery as Delphine had said, and she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. She wondered just what the poor man had been through to end up living his life like this. Once she told him she was Dragonborn however he changed his tune, and after sitting through nearly half a minute of listening to him undoing the many locks and chains on the door he ushered her inside.

The reverence with which Esbern treated her soothed some of the sting of doing the Blades’ bidding. He at least seemed to respect what she was and didn’t view her as nothing but a tool, as Delphine did. She stood waiting at the door while he gathered up his things, leaving most of his belongings behind. It was sad to watch all the items that had obviously been accumulated over many years simply abandoned, but he clearly didn’t care, his eyes sparkling as he murmured to himself and kept casting his eyes over her.

“Dragonborn, here, in my lifetime!” he whispered in excitement as he hitched his backpack over his shoulders and rejoined her. “Show me the way to Delphine, but careful now. I’ve heard the denizens down here talking about Thalmor agents sniffing around.”

“Yes, we’ve already encountered a few,” she replied.

“Uh…we?”

“I was going to warn you about that. I have associates with me, a man and a woman, my Shield-Brother and my housecarl.” The old man looked worried, anxious, and she added, “I trust them with my life and all my soul. You can as well, I swear to you.”

“Well then, if the Dragonborn says so, it must be.”

She opened the door and looked around, seeing no one, then whispered, “All right, let’s go.” Farkas and Lydia appeared out of their nook, making Esbern recoil, but Bryn patted him on the arm and said, “It’s all right. Please, stay in the middle. Lydia and I will take the front and Farkas will follow. Once we’re out of the Ratway, we’ll circle around the canal and come up near Honeyside, my home, and stay there for—“

“No, no, I must get to Delphine immediately!” he protested in a panic. “No delays!”

“Fine,” she sighed. She looked at her friends and they nodded in agreement. She’d warned Iona that this might happen, so at least the housecarl wouldn’t worry unduly.

They made their way out of the Ratway with only a small amount of trouble, encountering two more groups of Thalmor, one group accompanied by the man she had seen talking to Rulindil in the embassy: Gissur. A note on his body confirmed it. Bryn was surprised when Esbern conjured a hulking frost atronach to aid in the fights, something that seemed to shock and dismay Farkas and Lydia. The old man certainly seemed capable, an asset even. While the magic unsettled her Nord companions Bryn was unfazed by it, and glad that she wouldn’t have to baby the old fellow on the way to Riverwood.

After they left the Ratway a commotion at street level drew Bryn’s attention, and she saw a female khajit being attacked by Balimund of all people, assisted by Marise Aravel. Between Balimund’s brawn and the Dunmer’s destruction magic it was quickly over, before Bryn could join in. Balimund noticed her with her small group and held out his hand for her to stay where she was, and after looking around he came down to join them.

“The cat was asking around about you,” he stated gravely. “Started getting pushy, saying the Thalmor wouldn’t tolerate anyone hiding heretics and traitors.” He snorted. “Yeah, well Riften doesn’t tolerate Thalmor agents, or anyone hunting our own.”

Bryn smiled gratefully at him and squeezed his shoulder, saying, “You’re a good man, my friend.”

“Any time.” He looked at her friends and said, “I see a Companion among you, and a member of the Circle at that. I’m honored.”

Farkas held out his hand and Balimund shook it. Farkas said, “Name is Farkas, and the pleasure is mine. Little sister here has had a lot of good things to say about you.”

“Well, as long as they’re good,” he said with amusement. He didn’t bother asking about the other two; it wasn’t his business, and the less he knew the better. He chucked Bryn under the chin and said, “Looks like you’re on the run, but when things settle back down… You know you’re always welcome here. The people here need you.”

“I’ll come back soon, I promise,” she stated, looking away from the warmth in his eyes. She glanced at Farkas and he had a carefully neutral expression on his face, though he met her eyes. She licked her lips and sighed, and when she looked back at Balimund he was watching Farkas with an odd look. Esbern cleared his throat and she murmured, “Yes, we’ll get going.”

Balimund tore his eyes away from the big warrior, feeling a keen disappointment along with something akin to relief. So it wasn’t something about him personally that was holding Bryn back. The blond beauty was either Farkas’ lover or had feelings for him. He couldn’t blame her for it; a settled, quiet life with a blacksmith couldn’t compare to a life of excitement and adventure with a Shield-Brother. He smiled at Bryn and saw the understanding in her eyes, along with sorrow, and it made him feel better. He’d just come along too late, that was all. She was still a friend, and things could always change. He nodded upstairs and said, “Gotta get back to the forge. You take care, all right?”

“I will, Balimund. Thank you for your help.”

“You’re quite welcome. Now skiddaddle.”

Bryn snorted a laugh and motioned for the others to follow, and they were quickly around the canal, up the stairs and out of Riften with no further trouble. She said to Esbern, “We can take a wagon to Whiterun if—“

“No, absolutely not,” the old man said with a shake of his head. “Cross country, and no major roads or towns.”

“All right then, let’s go.”

“Yes, Dragonborn.”

They made good time, going cross-country and avoiding main roads as Esbern had demanded. They camped for the evening just past Sarethi Farm, far enough away to not trouble the Dunmer sisters who ran it in case Thalmor came along. Farkas started a fire and Lydia began preparing a dinner stew while Bryn laid out the bedrolls and Esbern tried to stay out of the way, watching their surroundings anxiously. The old man had said almost nothing as they traveled, though the pace they had set was so brisk that he probably hadn’t had the breath to. Bryn knew from his dossier that he was in his late seventies, but he seemed quite spry.

Esbern noticed her attention and gave her a brief smile. “I must say, Dragonborn, you aren’t what I expected,” he said in a hesitant tone.

“Really,” she said dryly. “What were you expecting, a big brawny Nord man cast in the mold of Tiber Septim himself?”

“Well, yes.”

“Sorry, you’ve got a big brawny half-breed Nord girl instead.”

“Half-breed,” he said in confusion.

“I’m half Altmer.”

“What!” he gasped in horror. “You’re…merciful Akatosh, you…you are a half-Elf?”

Hearing the conversation and deeply offended by it, Lydia said to him, “Do you have a problem with that, elder?” The old man’s mouth worked wordlessly as he stared at Bryn in dismay. She went on angrily, “What does it matter what her heritage is? She’s as Dragonborn as Talos himself, if not more so. Talos never devoured the souls of dragons the way my lady has. By time she’s done she’ll be a greater hero than Tiber Septim ever was!”

He stammered, “Well, I…I meant no offense. I just…well, I’m completely and utterly astonished, that is all.”

“Really, that’s all.”

Bryn murmured, “It’s all right, Lydia.”

“No, it is not all right! I will have you treated with the respect you deserve, and so far the Blades have shown you almost none. I hope to hell we run into a couple dragons on the way to Riverwood so he understands exactly who and what you are.” She turned back to the old man and added, “Maybe you should consider that there’s a reason why the gods made the Dragonborn half Altmer. Even once the dragons are gone the land will keep tearing itself apart, at the Thalmors’ urging, and what then?”

“Lydia please, that’s enough,” Bryn said more firmly, and her housecarl grumbled and turned back to cutting up vegetables for the stew. Esbern seemed chastened but was still staring at Bryn as if she had two heads. The look set her off all of a sudden. She snorted a bitter laugh and said, “You haven’t even asked my name. I’m not a person to you people, am I? I’m a thing, an idea, a weapon. I came to Skyrim to learn about my mother’s people and heritage, to find a husband and a home and have children, and before I even get into the country I’m bashed in the head and dragged into something I never asked for, and it hasn’t stopped since. Maybe it should occur to you and Delphine that I am rather pissed about all this and give me a god damned break!”

Esbern whispered tremulously, “Yes Dragonborn! Uh, that is, Miss…oh…”

“Brynhilde. My damn name is Brynhilde,” she snapped as she stood. He flinched back as she whipped out her bow, saying, “I’m going hunting.”

Farkas said, “Not alone, you’re not.” Bryn growled, seething, her golden eyes glowing in the firelight, as angry as he had ever seen her. Lydia had seen it plenty, and it was as unsettling as she had said it was, though Farkas wasn’t particularly intimidated by it. The old man looked terrified, staring at Bryn with wide eyes, as if afraid Bryn was going to start breathing fire. “We have enough meat for dinner,” he stated. “If you’re just looking to bash something’s head in, you can spar with me, but no running off doing something dumb because you’re mad.”

“Yes I’m mad!” she hissed, her teeth bared. “My blood is boiling right now!”

“Yeah, I know. You and Vilkas are two of a kind, that’s for sure.”

Bryn nearly retorted that she didn’t have beastblood to contend with but had enough sense not to go there in front of Lydia and Esbern. She huffed in aggravation and rubbed her hands over her face, trying to calm down, then she felt Farkas’ hands on her shoulders as he moved behind her. He began kneading them and she blew out a long breath and closed her eyes as the anger instantly drained out of her.

“The dragon blood,” Esbern whispered reverently. Bryn’s eyes lazily opened, glittering, and he felt a shiver of mixed fear and delight. “Ancient lore says that those who are Dragonborn have not only the soul of a dragon, but the blood of dragons in their veins, that it burns as hot as the sun’s fire in their anger.”

“Plenty of people who aren’t Dragonborn have bad tempers,” she muttered. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Regardless, I regret angering you, Dragonborn. Brynhilde,” he added. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes again, and Esbern took that as acceptance of his apology and sat down on his bedroll, determined to keep his mouth shut the rest of the night unless spoken to. It wouldn’t do to alienate the Dragonborn, who it seemed wasn’t happy at all about the honor that had been bestowed upon her at birth. In the morning he would try with more tact to get information about her background, which was intriguing now that he was over the shock. A half-Altmer Dragonborn! It was rather amusing, really. It was unfortunate though that Delphine seemed to have angered the girl already. He hadn’t seen his fellow Blade in decades but he remembered her being known for her lack of diplomacy. He would have to caution her to tread more carefully in the future, or their only hope might turn on them, thereby dooming them all.


	15. Chapter 15

“Hail, Companions! Welcome home!”

Athis and Ria greeted the guard then continued on to Jorrvaskr, tired and footsore. Vilkas said to him, “Hail, Hjalki. How goes it? Little one feeling better?”

“Aye, much better, thanks for asking. Kids, you know? Always with the puking or the snotty noses.”

“So I’ve heard.” He hesitated then asked, “Is ah…well, has Bryn come back yet?”

“Who?”

Vilkas stared at him for a moment as if he were brain-damaged, then he saw the guard smirk. Relieved, he snorted and turned away only to get the breath knocked out of him as Bryn jumped on him. He held her tightly as she squealed with happiness and wrapped her legs around him, just about squeezing the life out of him. He laughed and spun her around then gave her a deep kiss, earning whistles from the guards nearby.

“Hey you two, get a room,” a different guard chided good-naturedly. “There’s kids running around, you know.”

Vilkas rolled his eyes and put his arm around Bryn’s shoulders and led her back to the forge, where she had obviously just been working from the smudges of soot on her cheeks and the leather apron over her tunic and pants. Adrianne was nowhere to be seen, most likely resting inside as she often did this time of day; everyone had found out months ago that she was expecting, and she was about six months along at this point. He kissed Bryn’s temple roughly and whispered, “Gods, I’ve missed you! You’re not leaving town again without me, damn you. Two months is too long.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied, her arm going around his waist.

“How long have you been back?”

“Since last night. I…oh boy, where to start.”

Worried, he turned her around to look her in the eyes. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, much dirtier than her from traveling. “What’s wrong? Something happen I don’t know about?”

“So you don’t know. About the embassy.”

“No, I’ve been on the road all this time.” Bryn bit her lip and looked away, and he quietly said, “Put away whatever you’re working on and come up to Jorrvaskr with me. I could use a bath, and some help washing.”

“Of course,” she said, his warm grin making her nearly breathless.

“You can tell me the bad news on the way.” Bryn took off her apron and set it aside, and Vilkas’ eyes widened at the sight of the sword at her waist. “Is that it?” he asked in amazement. “The sword you received from Meridia?”

“Dawnbreaker,” she said with a nod. She drew it from the sheath that she had crafted specially for it, one that covered its bright glow; she had been detected more than a few times while trying to sneak around due to that. She held it out to Vilkas pommel first, and he hesitated then took it.

“It’s lighter than I expected,” he stated. “But beautiful, my god. Amazing.” It was a gorgeous weapon, with what looked to be a miniature sun burning inside the cross piece, though it gave off no heat, and he had to resist the urge to poke at it with his finger. He couldn’t tell what kind of metal it was made from, either. He was so used to heavy two-handed swords that it felt like a dagger in his hand. He wasn’t particularly comfortable with the fact that it was a Daedric artifact, but at least it was from a benevolent Daedra, if there was such a thing.

“It cuts through draugr and vampires like a hot knife through butter. Frostbite spiders and ice wraiths too.”

“I can imagine.”

“I’ve been able to temper it with ebony, but I’m going to have to train more with Eorlund before I can do anything further to it.” Vilkas handed it back and she put it away. When she looked up he was staring at her with a hungry look, and she blushed. “What?”

“There’s something rather sexy about a woman sliding a sword into its sheath like that.” He licked his lips and softly added, “I can think of something else I would love to sheath.”

“Stop it!” she whispered, feeling her insides twist with need.

“Is Lydia home?” he asked, moving close to her.

“Yes, with Farkas! I told her I’d stay out for a while.”

“Well, that’s rather inconvenient.”

“Besides, you’re filthy.”

He nuzzled by her ear and murmured, “No sense washing first if I’m going to get filthy all over again.” She giggled, and the sound combined with the smell of lavender in her hair drove him to distraction. He sighed in frustration and put his arm around her shoulders, leading her up the road. “So, tell me about the embassy. I remember you saying Delphine wanted you to sneak inside?”

“Well, I didn’t actually do that,” she said in a tone of dread. “Delphine was able to get me an invitation. I’m still not sure how. I went to one of Elenwen’s parties. It was horrible, she stared at me the whole time I was there, as if I looked familiar to her. Maybe she remembered me from Helgen, I don’t know. Jarl Idgrod was there, which was good, but so was Maven. I wasn’t there long though, maybe twenty minutes at the most. I was able to sneak away during a distraction. I had to, well, I had to fight my way through the embassy. I had to kill ten of them.”

“Ten Thalmor,” he whispered. “You killed ten of them?”

“Not all at once. Well five at once.” She shuddered. “Evil. The things I saw and heard there…they were torturing a man, down in the basement. I was able to get him out, and the Bosmer who helped me, Malborn. I found the documents I came for, and the Thalmor don’t know why the dragons are returning either, but…I found a file on Ulfric.”

Disquieted by all this, Vilkas said, “Maybe we should wait until we get up to Jorrvaskr before saying anything more about that.” There were too many folk around, folk who took a great deal of interest in their relationship, though that interest seemed to be benign. Still, Whiterun was the center of Skyrim, and even with the war going on it got its fair share of travelers, and one never knew the real reason any of them were here. If Bryn had fought her way through the Thalmor Embassy and killed that many of their number, they weren’t going to take that lying down. As they went up the stairs to the Wind District he asked, “So, how long ago was this?”

“A week? I picked up Lydia in Solitude and came right back here, after stopping in Riverwood. I was hoping to have you go with me so she could stay here, but you had just left that morning.” He nodded, looking regretful. “Farkas went with us, to Riften. I had to get an old man out of the sewers there, a former Blade that the Thalmor were after. The Ratway was crawling with them. We got him out and back to Delphine in Riverwood, and I told them they would have to go on without me for a while. I’m sick of doing her bidding. ‘Serve and protect the Dragonborn’ my ass.”

Vilkas’ eyebrows rose at the unusually curt words. He ended up saying, “I’m glad my brother was able to go with you.”

“So am I.” She looked up at the dry, dead tree and murmured, “I’m going to have to do something about that soon.”

“The tree?”

“I found the knife Danica wanted, but she won’t touch it. There’s a sanctuary in Eastmarch she wants me to go to, to get some sap from the mother tree. She thinks it will heal the Gildergreen.”

“Please tell me you aren’t heading out again right away!” he protested.

“No no. Maybe next week. I was going to head to Eastmarch next anyway. I want to try to become thane in all the holds—“

“What the hell for!”

“So that all the Jarls will listen to me.” He paused on the steps up to Jorrvaskr and turned to look at her, his expression tense. She held up her hands and pleaded, “Please honey, just hear me out.” He nodded slowly, his pale eyes burning against the smudged war paint. “This civil war is going to bleed us dry. The Thalmor are counting on it. In the embassy I found a dossier on the old man I rescued, Esbern. In it the Thalmor refer to the Great War as ‘the First War with the Empire’. First war, Vilkas! As if they’re planning a second one! They’ll wait for Skryim to fall apart then swoop in while we and the Empire are weak and finish us all off. I can’t let that happen. This thing with Alduin is important, yes, the most important thing of all, but once I get that out of the way the Thalmor will still need to be dealt with.”

“By you.”

_Who else?_ she nearly retorted, but the grief in his voice and eyes stopped her. She reached up and combed his dirty hair back from his face and softly urged him, “Come with me, the next time I go out--”

“I said I would.”

Bryn shook her head and said, “I know, but what I was going to say was, come with me and see what I can do now. Fight a dragon or two with me. See how people light up when I do good things for them. You haven’t seen me in action since those first days we were together, when I was still so new to all this. I can do so much more now, I’m so much stronger and faster and more confident. If you see all that, maybe you’ll believe in me.”

Hurt and offended, he said, “How can you say that? You think I don’t believe in you?”

She sighed, “Maybe that didn’t come out right.”

“Damn straight it didn’t!”

“All I meant was that if you saw what I can do, you would realize that I really am the only one who can put a stop to all this. Alduin, the civil war, the Thalmor, all of it.” Vilkas didn’t answer, his jaw clenched as he looked out over her head. She let her hand fall away, trying to be patient with him, wondering what in Oblivion he wanted from her, what he wanted her to do. She nearly asked him, and knew that would be a bad idea, especially now that he was upset. It never took much. She loved that about him, how passionate he was, but it could also be exhausting.

When Bryn said nothing more he looked down at her, and when he saw her concern he muttered, “I do tend to overreact, don’t I.”

“Only because you care, and I love you for it.”

He made a sound of pain and put his arm around her neck, pulling her close for a kiss on the forehead. “Ah love, I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t be silly, of course you do.” She wondered if that was part of his worry, that if she kept growing and changing that eventually she would outgrow him. She didn’t bring it up, knowing it would be a patronizing thing to say. It was also completely impossible. She took his hand and tugged on it, saying, “Come on, I’ll help you out of your armor, then I’ll wash you head to toe.”

“You might get wet if you do that,” he warned with a smile.

“Well then, I probably should get naked too.”

Vilkas laughed and lifted her hand to kiss it, enjoying the feel of her fingers intertwined with his. He had sworn early on that he would never have relations with Bryn under Jorrvaskr’s roof, but that clearly wasn’t feasible. They had been apart so long that he wasn’t about to wait for some perfect opportunity that might never come. It would also help quiet the beast that had been pressing against the underside of his skin so insistently. He hoped Kodlak found the cure soon, and indeed the Harbinger seemed hopeful, having stumbled upon the records of a past Harbinger named Terrfyg, where it seemed the curse had started. Everything would be easier to deal with once the beastblood no longer tormented him. Also, once Farkas was cured he would no longer have anything to hide from Lydia and they could marry, once Bryn no longer needed her at her back. He supposed his trip with her to Eastmarch in a few days would tell if she did.  
-  
Vilkas shuddered with excitement mixed with a wondrous terror as the dragon’s scream reverberated off the rock beneath him. He and Bryn were creeping around the outcropping that hid Eldergleam Sanctuary, where they had just left the pilgrim Maurice Jondrelle to watch over the little sapling the sacred tree had gifted him with. Bryn had been relieved to not have to use violence on the tree, and there was no telling how it would have reacted. They had noticed a dragon flying nearby as they’d approached the cave, and Bryn had grinned and said this was his chance to fight the one thing in Skyrim he hadn’t killed yet. Bryn hardly seemed fazed at all by the prospect of fighting the thing.

As they came over the top of the rocks he saw the beast flying around another outcropping across the volcanic tundra, one with ruins atop it, and when he looked at Bryn he saw her staring at the dragon with the intensity of a sabre cat stalking a deer. He whispered to her, “How many has it been now?”

“Hm, eleven, twelve? I’m not really sure anymore.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“Well, it’s flying around, so it’s going to see us. No sneaking up on this one. Better that we face it head on. Bows first, until it’s grounded. Watch out for its breath. This one is whitish, so expect frost. Better than fire, for us anyway.” Vilkas nodded, and they continued creeping around the outcropping. When they were directly across from the dragon she pulled out her bow, as did Vilkas, and she pointed at the hollowed-out circle to their left. “That’s where it came from. Gods know when Alduin raised it, but it looks fresh.”

The dragon screamed again and Vilkas shivered, whispering with a grin, “I won’t lie love, I’m fucking terrified right now!” Bryn laughed and when he looked at her, her eyes were gleaming gold in the sunlight.

“Isn’t it marvelous?” she replied happily, then she leapt up and started running down the hill.

“Yes it is!” he cried as he followed. The dragon instantly noticed them and shrieked, wheeling about to pass over them as if sizing them up, the air thundering around them with the pass of the monstrous wings. As he readied an arrow he yelled in delight, “Look at the size of that son of a bitch!” He was an excellent archer but knew he didn’t have quite the skill Aela or Bryn did. He wanted the beast on the ground where he could go head to head with it.

He landed his first hit as it began to hover, and it roared in fury and shouted a cone of ice at him. He bore it stoically, hearing the crystals tinkle against his helmet and feeling them prick at the exposed skin of his face. He heard a deafening _“FUS RO DAH!”_ next to him along with the crack of thunder, and the dragon cried out and wheeled away.

“Ah, Dovahkiin!" it roared. "So the legend is true!”

“By Akatosh, they can talk,” Vilkas whispered. The voice sounded like the voice of a mountain, making his ears shudder inside with the force of it.

“Yes, though they rarely do,” she replied, her eyes never leaving the dragon as it rose up into the air then arced back down again. She nocked an arrow and followed her target, landing a strike in its neck as it dove down, making it dip in flight and shriek in pain.

It took half a dozen more shots to bring the creature down, and when it skidded across the earth Bryn slung her bow onto her back and drew out Dawnbreaker along with a shield that was emblazoned with the wolf of Solitude. She hung back as Vilkas charged in, giving him first chance at the dragon, the wild grin on his face all the thanks she needed. She wished she had given him more pointers on where to hit it, the weaknesses to look for that she had picked up by instinct, an instinct that he just didn’t have. That no one but her had. 

Vilkas was doing incredibly well for himself, better than any other warrior she knew could have possibly done, and he nearly had the beast finished when it spun around, lashing out with its tail, knocking him off his feet. When her beloved cried out, on his side clutching his thigh, Bryn ran in and slashed at the dragon’s hindquarter, making it snarl and turn on her. She cut across its snout and dodged the snap of its jaws, and when it eyed Vilkas with cunning then opened its mouth to grab him up she shouted _“YOL!”_ at its side, distracting it, then dared something she never would have dreamed of doing before. She ducked under its wing and jumped onto the creature’s neck, making it thrash, and she sat down hard and locked her legs around its neck then plunged Dawnbreaker into the top of its skull, killing it instantly.

Vilkas stared in reverent awe as he watched her deliver the killing blow, and the dragon shuddered into stillness without a sound. Bryn stood on the dragon’s head then pulled out the sword and threw her arms wide, screaming at the sky, _“ZU'U LOS DOVAHKRIID!”_ His eyes wide, he shivered as the sound thundered around him, the pain of his broken leg forgotten as the carcass began to glow in orange fire, and when a whispering, rushing essence rose and wrapped around her she let her hands fall to her sides, her eyes burning gold. She squeezed her eyes shut and slid the sword into its sheath, and when the skull began to roll she nimbly stepped off and walked away from the remains, the glow around her quickly fading.

When she saw that Vilkas truly was hurt, Bryn ran to him, falling to her knees beside him. “Your leg?” she said with worry, seeing him clutching it. He stared at her with huge eyes, his mouth moving as if he wanted to say something and nothing could come out. Well, Lydia had the first time too, and this was the first time Bryn had felt such a primal urge to shout afterward. She had no idea where it had come from. She wasn't even sure what she had just said.

Vilkas finally stammered, “I ah, I think it’s broken. I…” Bryn gazed at him with shiny eyes then looked away as if embarrassed, and he let go of his leg to grab her by the back of the neck, whispering fiercely, “You damn magnificent woman!” Her eyes went back to him, tears welling up in them, and he gave her a shake and demanded, “Never, _never_ be embarrassed by what you are. You are the most perfect, most beautiful thing I have ever seen, now more than ever. Believe that.”

“As long as you do, will.”

“Good, because I’ll always think so.” He pulled off his helmet then shifted to sit, gritting his teeth against the agony shooting through his thigh, careful not to aggravate the break. He stripped off the dented steel plate, the only thing that had kept it from becoming a compound fracture. He cursed softly as he felt along the bone, hearing a whimpering sound of worry from Bryn. He told her, “I think it’s a clean break, love. Work your healing and I should be no worse for the wear in a few minutes.”

“Are you sure? If it isn’t…” Danica would have to re-break it, set it, then heal it again.

“Aye, I’m sure. It doesn’t hurt as bad as it could. I’ve broken bones before, badly. This isn’t so bad.”

“All right.” Bryn slid her hand down inside his pant leg, barely touching his skin, and began healing, seeing Vilkas instantly relax as the pain retreated. She still didn’t have the magical capacity she would have liked, and drank down a blue magicka potion then set to healing again, just to make certain. She withdrew and he held his hand out to her, and she helped him to his feet where he took a few tentative steps then grinned at her.

“Good girl. It’s as good as new.”

“Still, you should be careful of it. Maybe let me do a little more healing later.”

“Ah, I’ll be fine.” He shoved the dented plate into his pack then nodded with his head towards the skeleton and Bryn accompanied him to it. It had deteriorated to nothing but the framework, and even that was starting to crumble, with only the skull and a few bones and scales holding together, along with a puddle of gold septims and a few tattered pieces of horse tack in the middle where the gut must have been. Vilkas squatted down and grabbed the skull by the horns to set it upright, breathing, “What a splendid creature. This was…an honor. Truly.”

Bryn knelt by him and quietly said, “I actually feel bad sometimes, killing them. Something so big and ancient and beautiful. Then I look at the remnants of their last dinner and remember how evil they are. This is the first one I’ve killed that didn’t have human or mer remains in it. They do seem to prefer eating people for some reason, I think for the perverse pleasure of toying with their dinner first.”

“Ugh.” They rose to their feet and Bryn kicked aside the crumbling bones to scoop up the rather impressive amount of gold left over, then she gathered the sturdy bones and scales that remained. Vilkas hefted the skull, surprised to find that it weighed no more than ten pounds. He laughed to Bryn, “Hey, I think I’m going to take this back to Jorrvaskr. I guarantee none of the others have a trophy like this!”

She laughed in return and wrinkled her nose, saying, “And I guarantee you’ll get tired of carrying it very quickly.”

“I don’t care. I’m hanging this on my wall. I bet mine is bigger than Jarl Balgruuf’s.” Bryn burst into fresh laughter, and he added, “Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Oh, I won’t. Irileth would have your head for it.”

“Still, I am serious. I want to take this back with me. Kodlak would love to see it, and who knows if I’ll ever get the chance to fight another?”

Bryn said tiredly, “Stick with me for any length of time and you will. I’ve never seen a town that’s been razed by a dragon before I get there, but if it does try it’s just when I’m showing up. It’s the oddest thing. I’ve been meaning to talk to the Greybeards about that, if they can sense me somehow. The first dragon I killed, the one outside Whiterun, knew what I was, before I knew how to Shout.”

“That is quite odd,” he agreed. He left the skull where it was and pointed to the hill the dragon had been circling. Ancient stone columns rose from the crest. “What do you want to bet there’s a word wall up there?” Bryn brightened and he took her hand and they hurried across the steaming, sulfurous landscape. Vilkas felt so perfectly happy, finding traveling with Bryn so far to be a pleasure, though it would be much more of one now that they had ditched the pilgrim. He knew Bryn wanted to explore more of Eastmarch, but they had the little sapling to return to Danica. Once that was done they would be free to do some adventuring together. It was the only way with her responsibility to grow her Voice and her reputation that they could spend time together. It was hard to find it burdensome when the rewards were as rich as this. The other Companions would be green with envy, Aela and Farkas especially.

When they reached the summit Bryn clapped her hands in delight like a little girl, something Vilkas found terribly charming, then she ran to the wall and pressed her hands to it. The word hissed softly and wound around her, glowing light blue, and he heard her whisper _"Krah!"_ as she pulled her hands away. He petted her hair back as her eyes opened, glowing gold then fading again, and he quietly asked, “Do you know what it means?”

“I think it’s the second word in Frost Breath. It feels like it. I have extra dragon souls floating about with no word to attach to, so this one settled right away.” She stepped away from him, holding her hand out to warn him to stay away, then she turned away and shouted at the ground, _“FO KRAH!”_

Vilkas made a choked sound of shock as he felt residual cold swirl around them, and when the blast faded he carefully went over to inspect the lingering circles of ice crystals. He flicked one with his finger and it shattered. He stood, seeing that in the moist warmth from the nearby steam vents that the frost was already melting. “Astounding,” he stated. He gazed at her for a moment before asking, “What does it feel like? Shouting?”

Her eyebrows rose; it was the first time anyone had asked her that. She considered for a few seconds then said, “I can’t really explain it. When I’m getting ready to Shout, thinking about the words, it’s almost like a pressure, something bubbling or boiling inside me that I have to let out. Or push out.”

“The fire and frost breath…can you feel it? The heat or cold?”

“Oh, no. No, it doesn’t seem to take form until it leaves my mouth. Thank goodness.”

“The…beast, it is somewhat like that, the feeling of something pressing from the inside, needing to get out, except it’s always there. Some days worse than others, but always there.” She made a sound of sympathy and moved close to him, kissing his cheek. He put one arm around her and murmured, “I wish I had my brother’s calm. The Blood doesn’t seem to bother him. He says he simply ignores it, doesn’t think about it. I can’t do that. I can never stop…thinking.”

“Well, you do have the brains of Ysgramor,” she teased.

He snorted, appreciating that she was trying to lighten things. “Ysgramor would have had the brains to not take the Blood.”

“Like Vignar.”

Vilkas stood back a step to hold her at arms’ length, shocked. “He told you?”

“Well, Farkas mentioned it to me a long time ago, that you two thought he had rejected it, but yes, he told me a couple months ago, when I found the Beacon and had to leave. While I was waiting for you to come in from the yard. He said they had offered him a place in the Circle not long after he came back from the war.”

“That damn, wily old bastard! I pestered him endlessly about it as a boy, asking him why he wasn’t part of the Circle, and got a few cuffs for my trouble when I was too persistent. And he just comes out and tells you?”

“Well, I am the Dragonborn.” Vilkas laughed at that, though not as loudly as she’d hoped he would. “He’s worried that I’ll be invited to join the Circle one of these days. He wanted to warn me, since he knew that I was already aware of your natures.”

“Huh. Well, I won’t lie, Kodlak has mentioned it, but he’s made it clear to me and the others that he would not tolerate you being changed. There is no reason for it when he’s trying so hard to find a cure and end this vicious cycle.”

“I keep meaning to talk to him about it when I get back, but I haven’t had the chance yet. He’s been so tired lately that I hate to bother him.”

“It’s Arcadia’s potion. It eases the pain in his gut, but at the cost of his wits. The days that he searches the archives he goes without, to keep his mind sharp, but the pain is getting worse. He’s been able to eat more lately, which I’m glad for, but we worry he has less than a year to live. He won’t let Danica see him any more to find out. He says it’s pointless and his time will come when it’s due.”

The grief in her beloved’s voice was hard to bear, and she put her arms around his neck to kiss him tenderly. While Farkas still clung to Jergen’s memory, he did love Kodlak dearly, but not the way Vilkas did. She knew Vilkas was the one out of the Circle who spent the most time with the old man, who helped care for him most, who loved him best. Bryn wasn’t entirely sure how Vilkas would react when Kodlak passed away; he wasn’t exactly reasonable when he was upset, and she couldn’t imagine a greater upset than that.

She finally said to him, “When we get back I’ll find time to sit and talk to him, see if I can help him in any way.”

“He hasn’t even let me help him look. The archives he’s looking in are for the Harbinger’s eyes alone.”

“Oh. Well, we’ll just have to wait and hope for the best then.”

“Yes, but…gods, I can’t live the rest of my life like this!” he said intently, his voice breaking.

She stroked his rough cheek and sighed, “Dearest, if you have to, you won’t do it alone. I love you no matter what you are.”

“Yes, I know, but this is for me! I don’t want to live like this. Even if I gave in and changed, it no longer brings the pleasure it used to. I feel filthy afterwards, as if I have a taint on my soul. I want to go to Sovngarde. I want to sit among the heroes and tell my tales. I want to meet Ysgramor, tell him that I fought a dragon and loved the Dragonborn. I want to be a hero, not a beast!” Bryn gazed at him sadly, silent. He was glad she didn’t give him any more platitudes. He made a sound of frustration and said to her, “There’s no way for you to understand, and I wouldn’t want you to. Farkas bumbles along in life as if nothing troubles him, and Aela and Skjor spend so much time as beasts that I sometimes worry they’ll lose their humanity. None of them understand how it torments me, not even Kodlak. He hasn’t changed in a year and a half!”

“No doubt the sickness is the greater distraction,” she said quietly. Maybe he was finally ready to tell her more about it.

“Aye, no doubt, but it leaves me with no one of the Blood who understands. If it isn’t the need to change, it’s the smells, the sounds. Everything is too sharp, too intense, always.”

“So your sense of smell and hearing are greater then? You’ve never said.”

“Yes,” he said in a miserable tone. “Not as much as when I’m changed, but still stronger than a normal man’s. There are times when it’s good, like when we’re making love, when I feel like your scent and heartbeat are wrapped all around me, and at times like that I don’t know how I could ever give up the Blood, then you leave and it all starts again, the endless… _need_.” He finally looked Bryn in the eyes, and as he knew he would he saw nothing but sympathy and love there. “Being with you, making love, it quiets the beast afterward, and I’m content. Not a day after you leave and it rears its ugly head again. The anger, the hunger. I don’t want to live like this. I don’t want to die like this, knowing I’m cursed to an endless animal existence in the Hunting Grounds. I want Sovngarde. I want…I want you and me to be together there.”

Bryn bit her lip and stared sadly at him, glad he had finally gotten this out. She hesitated then asked, “But how can you be sure that’s where I will end up, dearest? Where do mongrels like me go after they die?” Vilkas’ eyes widened as his expression turned to one of near horror. “I look like a Nord, for the most part, but does that make me a Nord in Shor’s eyes?”

“Being Dragonborn does,” he stated firmly. “You’re Nord, as your mother was. Children of two races take most strongly after their mother, because it is her womb that they form in. You of all people are guaranteed a place in Shor’s Hall, never doubt it. Being Dragonborn, having the power of the _thu’um_ , it is a Nord thing. Your father’s blood should never be a shameful thing to you, but it is your mother’s blood that has made you Dragonborn and a Nord.” Bryn looked relieved, as if the matter had been worrying her. He kissed her, glad they had both gotten their concerns aired. When he broke away he said, “Come, let’s get that spindly little twig back to Whiterun and hope Danica doesn’t throw a fit over it. Then we can think about where we’ll go next, and see if we can’t get you thaned all over Skyrim.”

Bryn laughed merrily. “Thaned? Is that a word?”

“It is now.”


	16. Chapter 16

“Ah, there you are.”

Bryn looked up from the glass greave that Eorlund had set her to practicing on, with the stern warning that if she screwed it up she was going to have to pay for the entire set of armor, the only one he had. He had gone home for lunch a few minutes ago, glancing back several times as if he were reluctant to leave her alone with his precious Skyforge, and even then she’d had to prove her skill to him by spending the morning tempering an enchanted steel plate cuirass she had found a few days prior in a chest atop Bonestrewn Crest, with Vilkas. She had been a nervous wreck, working under his critical gaze, hearing him grunt a few times, and in the end he had nodded curtly and said, “Passable.” She had taken it for the compliment it was, and he had set to teaching her about glass armor and the properties of malachite ore. It had been immediately obvious that his knowledge far outstripped Balimund’s, though Balimund was a much more pleasant teacher.

Aela put her hand on her hip and continued, “You’ve been a hard one to pin down lately.”

Not sure how to respond, Bryn smiled and said, “I’m here now. For a few days, anyway.”

“I don’t mean anything by it. What you do is far more important than chasing down family heirlooms and driving bears out of people’s houses.”

“Still, that is plenty important.”

“Of course.”

When Aela didn’t go on, seeming conflicted about something, Bryn asked, “Is everything all right, Sister?”

Aela relaxed and gave her a brief smile. “Sister. That’s good to hear.”

“I still consider myself a Companion. I make sure when doing good works that I let the folk know that, everywhere I go.”

“Yes, and it’s appreciated. Business is on an uptick, thanks to your reputation I’m sure.” She shook her head, her auburn hair swirling around her painted face. “I hope I didn’t imply that we have any worries in that regard. If anything we worry that you’ll leave us behind.”

Frowning, Bryn asked, “How could I? I love it here. Whiterun and Jorrvaskr.”

“And Vilkas is here.”

“Yes...”

“Again, not implying anything. Only stating a fact.” Bryn nodded. “If your relationship is a comfort to him, who are any of us to say it’s wrong? It isn’t as if it’s forbidden anyway. Personally, I think Vilkas makes things harder on himself than they need to be, but that’s my own opinion.”

“Which you are certainly entitled to. If it helps, I did tell him that if things are growing hard to bear to just do it, that I would love him either way. But it isn’t what he wants. He isn’t as old as Kodlak, but he isn’t terribly young either, and I’d rather he didn’t spend the second half of his life agonizing over it.”

“Ah,” Aela said in relief. “I’m glad you understand.”

“As best I can, being what I am. But what you all are doesn’t frighten me, I assure you of that.”

“And how could it, Dragon Sister?” Bryn laughed at that, her cheeks pink. “I won’t keep you from your work. Wouldn’t want the old forgemaster to start barking at you when he gets back. When you get the chance though, Skjor wants to talk to you. He’s been meaning to for some time now and hasn’t found the right opportunity. I hope it will be today.”

“I’ll see him right after I finish this.”

“Good. I’ll see you later.”

 _And so it begins,_ Bryn thought with a touch of dread, watching Aela walk away. She didn’t know how the older woman tolerated wearing next to nothing in this climate, though she supposed it made it easy to take off and put on during shapeshifting. It was fairly obvious what the two werewolves wanted: to make Bryn part of the Circle, on their terms. The timing was interesting, considering she had spent the last few days thinking about it, after her talk with Vilkas. She had been dead set against taking on the Blood before that day, and then their talk had changed everything. If Vilkas felt there was no way she could understand what he was going through, then she would make the choice to understand it, in the only way she really could. If Vilkas wanted to spend an eternity in the afterlife with her, then she would make sure that they both ended up in the same afterlife. And lastly, taking on the beastblood would show Kodlak that she was invested in finding a cure. She sure as hell didn’t want to be a werewolf, let alone remain one.  
-  
“To join the Circle, your blood must be as ours.” Bryn made a sound of quiet interest then looked at Aela again. Skjor went on, “This is your choice, of course.”

“Yes, I realize that,” she stated calmly. “But understand that I’m not doing this for the reasons you stated. Next to the power I have, this is…hm.” There really wasn’t any way to put it without being insulting, and from the narrowing of Skjor’s eyes and Aela's growl they were still offended.

“Really,” Skjor drawled. “While I’m sure that’s true, still, you’re here.”

“I’m here for Vilkas’ sake.”

“Aww, isn’t that sweet.”

“I want to understand what he’s going through, and I want Kodlak to understand my…level of investment.”

“Those reasons are as good as any, Sister.”

“Has it occurred to you two that the wolf blood may not mix so well with dragon blood?”

“Yes, it has, and that’s the risk we’re prepared to take, if you are. We’ll both be watching over you this first time.”

“As you said, I’m here. Let’s do this.” It was now or never, and Vilkas would wonder where she was before long. She hoped this little ceremony went quickly.

“Good,” Skjor said with pleasure. “Are you ready to join your spirit with the beast world, friend?”

“I am.” _For now,_ she silently added.

“Excellent.” He went around to stand near Aela, drawing a dagger. “Remove your clothes. The change isn’t kind to them.” Bryn hesitated, and he smirked and added, “I have eyes only for Aela, whelp. Don’t flatter yourself.” Aela snarled in annoyance at him, and he stroked her muzzle, calming her, and she turned her nose into his palm with a huffing sound.

Bryn’s eyebrows rose but she did as she was told. So Skjor and Aela really were lovers. The admission was shocking yet anticlimactic at the same time. Vilkas had told him that Aela was a lover of women, that she never touched men. Maybe the constant companionship of the last half a year had changed something. Bryn couldn’t help wondering if this would change things between her and Vilkas, other than him completely losing it when he found out what she had done. He was going to go crazy, and she was prepared for that. It would still be upsetting, but she was prepared.  
-  
Still dizzy, Bryn started strapping back on her armor. “You could have warned me,” she seethed. “Vilkas is going to tear the place apart looking for me!”

“Skjor left him a note, with Farkas,” Aela stated, trying to keep her voice steady. In the dark Bryn’s eyes were flashing gold fire, her entire body nearly vibrating with fury. Skjor and Aela both hadn’t been able to control Bryn after she changed, even with Skjor shifting as well to try to keep her inside the Underforge, which she had quickly escaped. She had gotten loose and it had taken everything they had to herd her towards the city walls, which she had promptly gone over, then towards their destination. She had refused to feed on the bandit they found for her and had resumed human form within minutes, going into a seizure then falling unconscious. The two had feared she would die, as occasionally happened during the first transformation, though they had never seen it happen themselves.

“A note!” she shouted, making Aela recoil then hold up her hands for quiet, her eyes fearful. They weren’t far from Gallows Rock, and the Silver Hand within. She hissed, “I should kill you two for this!”

“But you agreed to it!” Aela protested.

“I never agreed to come out there! Neither of you told me you planned on using me to carry out your own personal vendetta.”

“The vendetta is all of ours. Do you think they would let your precious twins live, if they ever got to them? They won’t care that Vilkas and Farkas want to be cured, or that they try not to shift. They’ll butcher and skin them all the same. You can’t imagine what these devils do to our kind!”

“I’m about to find out, aren’t I,” she retorted, strapping Dawnbreaker around her waist. “I’m telling you right now…you two stay away from me when we get back. I’m beyond furious, and it isn’t any little fucking pissant werewolf talking, do you hear me? I feel the wolf in there, cowering before the dragon, and the dragon is angry, Aela. Very, very angry.”

“Understood,” the huntress whispered, suddenly regretting this. She and Skjor honestly had debated between the two of them what would happen if the Dragonborn took on beastblood, and this had been one of the scenarios they had envisioned: the dragon staying dominant over the wolf. They hadn’t envisioned Bryn being angry though, but then she was angry over getting dragged out here without warning. That had been a serious oversight on their part.

“I will never change again,” Bryn vowed. “I refuse to act like a lowly animal, or feed on human beings!”

Aela protested in confusion, “But then why did you—“

 _“Never!”_ she shouted.

“All right!” Aela shuddered in fear as thunder cracked around them. She hoped the Silver Hand thought it was only the weather, which was threatening to turn. She hadn't realized Bryn could shout without Shouting. It was terrifying.

“Let’s go before it gets any later, and where the hell are we going anyway?”

“A fort nearby.”

“Fine. I’m about angry enough to Shout the whole damn place down.”

Bryn’s anger cooled significantly by time they made their way inside and reached the rows of prison cells on the fort’s first level. She honestly couldn’t see the difference between the Silver Hand and common bandits, except the Silver Hand’s depravity was so much worse. Several of the werewolf corpses showed clear signs of torture, and it was beyond Bryn what the point of it all was.

“There’s nothing that can be done for these poor bastards,” Aela said, her voice shaking. “I can’t even imagine what horrors those cretins perpetrated on them before they died.”

“Oh no,” Bryn breathed when she reached the end. The werewolf within was still alive, and it snarled and threw itself against the bars.

Aela cautioned, “Don’t let him out. If he’s still in this form then he’s too far gone to save.”

She had no idea how Aela could tell it was male, as Bryn saw no obvious signs. “Why?”

“He’s been forced to transform so often that he’s…stuck in that state.” She shook her head. “Even Skjor and I never do it more often than once every three or four days. You start to lose your sense of self, if done too often, and eventually the wolf is all that is left.”

Bryn bit her tongue against an acidic comment about what a wondrous ‘gift’ this was, and asked instead, “So what do we do?”

“Put him out of his misery.” To her credit the girl didn’t protest, and Aela moved to face the beast, her bow drawn. “I’m sorry brother,” she whispered. “I’ll see you again in our master’s hunting grounds.” The werewolf snarled at her then suddenly went silent, letting its hands fall to its sides; he had enough presence left to know what she intended, and prefer it to living like this. It closed its eyes and Aela let the arrow fly surely through the bars, hitting the beast squarely between the eyes. She heard a choked sob from Bryn, and it was hard not to give in to tears herself. “Now you know why we do this.”

“I would have helped without becoming one of you, if you’d told me.”

“This is pack business. You were not pack. Now you are.”

“Only until Kodlak finds a cure.” Aela growled in frustration, and she told her in an intense voice, “I don’t need this, Aela. I didn’t want this. I did this only to understand what Vilkas was going through, to share in his pain, and now I’m afraid it’s all for nothing, because I can’t, because I’m not like him. The dragon isn’t going to let the wolf out of its corner.”

“It could if you let it.”

“I can’t, because I _am_ the dragon. My soul won’t allow the lycanthropy to completely take root. I can feel it.”

Aela didn’t argue any further, hopeless, knowing it was true. Bryn wasn’t showing any of the behavioral signs a newborn werewolf showed, and though her scent had changed it wasn’t as much as it should have. She said in a sullen voice, “I wanted a sister in the Blood. A woman to share in the hunt with me.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry. I’ll hunt game with you any time you want, even when you’re changed, without batting an eye, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be the same for you.” Bryn couldn’t imagine what the difference was, but it would be there all the same.

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. She hesitated then went on, “I’ve always hoped we could be closer than we have been, and now…”

“It isn’t easy for me. I spent most of my life alone, in the woods with my father, hunting everything there was to hunt. Good practice, but not for being around people,” she admitted with difficulty, unable to meet Bryn’s eyes. “I barely knew my mother, and when I came to Jorrvaskr to take her place it was too late. I’ve never really been comfortable with the others, except Skjor, and for so long it was only because he reminded me of my father. He’s simple. Undemanding.” Bryn made a sound of acknowledgment, fiddling with the string of her bow. “Father…he and Mother both…they were both werewolves. This life is all I’ve ever known. The hunt is all I know, all I care about.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” She waited, and Aela didn’t come out and admit what Bryn hoped: that she and Skjor really were lovers. She finally said, “I don’t judge what you are.”

“If that were true, you would have partaken in the meat when it was offered.”

“I won’t touch human flesh. If you’d offered anything but that, I would have taken it. It disgusts me, yes, but you and your nature do not. I saw Farkas change in front of me. I watched Vilkas change too and wasn’t frightened. I told him to change when he needed to, if it made things easier. But it isn’t for me. I don’t need any more complications.”

“All right. I just…as long as there’s peace between us.”

“Oh Aela,” Bryn sighed, reaching out to grab the other woman’s shoulder. “You are my sister, in the Blood or not it doesn’t matter. We haven’t spent as much time together as we should have, but we’re here now. Let’s hunt and put everything else aside for now. I’m worried about Skjor. Shouldn’t we have seen him by now?”

Aela’s brow furrowed as she answered, “Yes, we should have. He knows better than to go in alone, without a shield-sibling. He’ll have a lot to answer for once we find him.”

Bryn decided to forge ahead and asked, “So you two…you’re together then?”

She snorted a laugh. “I suppose you could call it that. There have been times, recently, that we’ve… come together.” That explanation would suffice, for now.

“But I thought—“

“Yes, I prefer other women. Things, well, they have a way of changing.” She rubbed her nose and added with some difficulty, “I’m the last of my line. I’ve told you this before, but all the women of my family have been Companions, all the way back to Hrotti Black-Blade, of the first Five Hundred Companions of Ysgramor, one of the Jorrvaskr’s crew. However liking women isn’t conducive to continuing the bloodline.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Yes, I needed a daughter. That requires a father, a sire. Skjor offered. I accepted.”

“It seems neat and tidy. But he also seems very fond of you.”

“He’s in love with me, you can say it,” she stated with discomfort. “I think in some way he has been since I was a young girl. When I first came here I was as leggy and skittish as a colt, barely fifteen. When things were hard, he was always there, and never asked anything in return. I never asked anything of him either. I’m not a young girl anymore at thirty-four. A woman’s fertility declines. His offer was a joking one, at first, or so I thought. When I realized he was serious, not quite six months ago, I figured, why not? It was…” She stared down the hall, and after a few seconds she quietly said, “It was so different from what I was used to. It was… pleasant. What started as a necessity became… Well, I didn’t plan on this happening, and I still have no pregnancy to show for it.”

Bryn nodded, leaving it at that, knowing better than to give some platitudes about giving it time, or bringing up Skjor’s age, or asking if Aela loved Skjor back. Bryn wasn’t a healer, and it wasn’t her place to say anything. The situation was odd, but not much odder than the way she and Vilkas had come together. Vilkas. He was going to be furious when she got back. Better to get this over with and get back as soon as possible. He was going to be upset either way, but the last thing she wanted was for him to go out looking for her. She just hoped the note to Farkas had been somewhat diplomatic, carefully worded. No sense in making this entire mistake any worse.  
-  
The sound of footsteps coming toward the back entrance to the Underforge made Vilkas spring to his feet, and Farkas warned, “Careful, brother. Be nice to her.”

“Nice? I’m going to kill them,” Vilkas seethed. “Aela and Skjor for doing this to her, and Bryn for being an idiot!”

“She must’ve had a good reason for it.”

“There are no good reasons!” When Bryn appeared in the tunnel he shouted at her, “What the hell were you thinking!” Bryn blinked and stared at him for a moment, then she slung a potato sack off her back and let it fall to the floor in front of the font, which was still sticky and damp with Aela's blood. The contents of the sack clanked and she stared at them with wet eyes, and when the tears fell on her cheeks he growled, “I can’t believe you did this! Everything I’ve told you, and you do this!” When she put her hands over her face and began softly weeping it made him hesitate, and before he could say anything further he smelled it. Wolf scent. The smell on her made him furious all over again, until he realized she smelled like Skjor. “Where are the others?” he asked in a shaking voice. They were past the point in their relationship where his anger made her dissolve, so something had to be wrong.

“Gallows Rock,” she choked.

“What…what’s in the bag?”

“His armor. Aela told me…told me to take it home, since we…couldn’t take him.”

“Skjor,” he whispered, going pale. He looked at his twin, whose face had turned to stone. “So…he’s dead?” Bryn nodded, her face still in her hands. “How?”

“Silver Hand. He went ahead on his own. They…they butchered him. I didn’t know it was him, but Aela knew. We couldn’t bring back the body, it…they forced him to change. He died that way.” She lifted her head and wiped her nose on her sleeve, staring at the font. “I didn’t know this was going to happen, I swear it. I knew they were going to bring me into the Circle, but I had no idea they were going to take me out there to help them fight the Silver Hand. I was out of my mind I was so angry with them for it. When I changed they tried to get me to…to eat…ugh, I refused to do it, and I’ll never change again. I did this for you and now it’s all pointless.”

“Me? How could you, when you know it’s the last thing I would have wanted!” he cried. “I told you not three days ago how much I hated this!”

“And you told me I could never understand it, either.”

He stared at her for a moment then asked in a snide tone, “I see. So, do you understand now?”

“No, and there’s no way I can. My dragon blood won’t allow it.”

“Well then, aren’t you the lucky one,” he spat. “How nice for you that you get to join the Circle and take on the Blood and not have to eat human flesh and the beast will never get to you. Did you not think about all this, you little fool? Where the fuck were your brains!”

“Hey,” Farkas growled. Bryn’s eyes had shifted over to Vilkas, and she glared at him with mixed hurt and anger. Farkas went to her but before he could touch her shoulder she moved out of his reach, still staring at Vilkas, who stared back, still furious. He said to her, “Come on, little sister. You know how he gets when he’s upset—“

“He lets himself,” she quietly stated. “Like a child.” Vilkas made a sound of offense and she told him, “This was my choice to make, not yours. I took everything you said into consideration and weighed it carefully. I knew you wouldn’t appreciate it. I knew it would anger you. I did it anyway, because I wanted to know what you were going through, and because I wanted Kodlak to know that I was committed to the Companions and finding a cure. I did all this for rational reasons. What were your reasons at the time?”

“Stupid ones, and I told you that!” he replied. “Well congratulations, now you’re tainted like me, and the Dragonborn herself is no longer fit to enter Sovngarde. I’m sure Hircine is laughing even now over the thought of making you his favorite hunting hound, his Dragonborn dog.”

Bryn took a deep breath then turned to Farkas and said with regret, “I wish you and I could have loved each other the way we wanted. It would have made my life simpler.” Vilkas made a choking sound behind her but she ignored it. Farkas shook his head at her, but she was too hurt by his twin’s nastiness to care. She motioned toward the sack and asked, “I hate to ask you this, but could you take care of his things, and tell the others? I have something I promised Aela I would do.”

“Not alone, I hope,” Farkas said in warning as he picked up the bag of armor. “Look what happened to Skjor.” It was impossible to believe the older man was gone, and it made his heart ache. The former sellsword had been the most skilled of them all, and a good man. Jorrvaskr would never be the same.

“Yes, alone. I’m not getting Lydia involved in this.”

“In what?”

“Aela told me about a fragment of Wuuthrad being held by the Silver Hand. I’m going to retrieve it, and dispose of them. Skjor was arrogant and went charging in and paid for it. I will not be doing that.”

“This is a bad idea, little bird.”

“Well, this is certainly the day for bad ideas, isn’t it.”

As she turned away without looking at him and headed for the exit onto the plains, Vilkas said, “Oh no you don’t. Where do you think you’re going?”

“Somewhere you aren’t.” She called over her shoulder to Farkas, “You should stay in the house with Lydia while I’m gone. I’m giving it to you two as a wedding present one of these days anyway, but don’t tell her that.”

His anger quickly evaporating in the face of Bryn’s cool demeanor, Vilkas went after Bryn and said, “Wait, maybe I—“ Before he could reach her she shouted _“WULD NAH KEST!”_ and was gone. He resisted the urge to chase her, having that much sense at least. He would never catch her, and would look like an ass trying. Not that he didn’t manage to look like an ass regardless.

“Good work,” Farkas said in annoyance. Vilkas rubbed his hands over his face and he went on, “Don’t you think one of us should go look after Aela? She’s got to be pretty upset right now.” Vilkas hesitated, and he added, “Never mind, I’ll go. I don’t want you barking at her over what happened.” His brother had the sense not to protest. Farkas was rather aggravated with him for how he’d handled all this, though he was irritated with Bryn as well for deliberately hurting Vilkas’ feelings. The cold way she had gone about it seemed worse somehow than Vilkas’ temper.

“I screwed this up, didn’t I,” Vilkas muttered.

“Yeah, but so did she.”

“We don’t even know where she’s going.”

“Aela does.” He hefted the sack of armor, and the clank of steel made a pang of grief go through him.

Seeing his brother’s sadness, Vilkas murmured, “I can’t believe he’s gone. How could he have made such a stupid move, with his experience? Companions do not operate alone.” Ridiculous as it seemed, Vilkas trusted Bryn’s ability to clear out a fort more than any of the other Companions, with not only her _thu’um_ but most of all her stealth and skill with the bow. During the short time he’d traveled with her recently, she’d picked off most enemies before they even knew she was there, and her skill with the sword was respectable. The quickness with which she had grown in the time he’d known her was eerie, but she was Dragonborn, so it was a given. Still, he was worried to death about her, and Aela. This entire situation had him deeply unsettled, beyond an old friend’s death. He shook his head and went on, “I always thought him invincible. Truly…one of our great fires has gone out.”

“He didn’t get cocky,” Farkas stated. “He’s too old and seasoned for that. Honestly, I can’t say why. Maybe Aela knows.” He lifted the sack onto his shoulder and said, “I’m going to take this to his room then get ready and head out after Aela. I’ll take Torvar with me, if he isn’t useless drunk again.”

“Yes, we’re going to have to do something about him one of these days,” Vilkas sighed. “I don’t think Kodlak would tolerate the situation, if he had the energy to deal with it. I’ll ah, I’ll tell him and the others about Skjor. If we can’t have a funeral, we need to at least have a memorial.”

“Yeah. But…what are we going to do when Kodlak dies?”

“Believe me, I think about it every day. Before Skjor, I thought we would be okay. But with him gone, and Kodlak dying, and who knows what state Aela will be in…”

“And Bryn…”

“And Bryn,” Vilkas sighed. She was a member of the Circle now, but it was in name only. She wasn’t around to provide any guidance or training to the junior members. She couldn’t be.

“None of the others are Circle material,” Farkas said evenly. “They never will be.”

“Yes, I know.” The only real members of the Circle left would be the twins and Aela, once Kodlak passed. That wasn’t a Circle at all. If the cure was found though, Vilkas was going to insist on Vignar being brought in. The old man should have been allowed to join the Circle thirty years ago. And once Kodlak was gone, whoever the new Harbinger was would need the elder’s advice.

“Did Bryn mean what she said? About Breezehome?”

“She always means what she says,” Vilkas muttered. Including her cruel jab about wishing she could have fallen in love with Farkas instead of Vilkas. That had hurt, deeply, as she had no doubt intended it to. He’d never imagined she had that kind of cruelty in her. He had lost his temper, as he often did, but her comments had seemed calculated.

“Did she talk to you about it?”

“No. This was the first I heard of it. I told her some time ago that you were thinking of asking Lydia to marry you some day in the future, but we didn’t talk much about it. Marriage isn’t a comfortable subject between us.”

“Yeah, well you already know what I think about that. If it isn’t comfortable it means you don’t agree. So what aren’t you agreeing on?” Vilkas stared at him in disbelief, and he said in annoyance, “You know, I’d really like it if you didn’t act like it’s a miracle when I say something halfway intelligent.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should just ask her to marry you and see what happens.”

He rolled his eyes and started for the exit to Jorrvaskr. “Oh, that would really work out well, wouldn’t it, considering her parting shot at me was she’s going somewhere I’m not.”

“She’s upset about Skjor and being changed, on top of being mad at you. A bad combination. Let her get done whatever it is she went to do, and when she gets back apologize to each other and go about your business. Go fight some more dragons together or something. You were both really happy when you came back from that trip.”

“I can’t,” Vilkas said painfully. “Not now. With Skjor dead and Aela grieving and Kodlak sick…that leaves just you and me, brother, to hold everything together.”

“Right,” Farkas mumbled. “Hell.” As they left the Underforge he put his arm around his twin’s neck and said, “Don’t worry too much, all right? We’ll get through this.”

“I have to worry. Skjor was the strongest of us, the most experienced of us. If the Silver Hand took him down, we’ll have to be especially careful now when we leave Jorrvaskr. And how will we protect the younglings? That last trip I took to the Reach with Ria and Athis, she was glowing that she killed a bear. A goddamn bear, and it wasn’t even one of those big cave bears. Athis is skilled but doesn’t understand honor the way Ria does. Njada doesn’t seem to truly care about any of us, or anything but bashing things with her shield. Torvar is becoming a full-time drunk, and when he is sober he’s only adequate in a fight.” He sighed heavily and went on, “Kodlak was right that we’re…what did he call it, diminished. Vignar has said it too, that we aren’t what we used to be. I’m not sure yet how to turn it all around.”

“Me neither. Maybe Bryn has some ideas.”

“I’m sure she does, but she’s never around long enough to suggest them, let alone help implement them. How can she be? What she does is more important than babysitting this…rabble. Our purpose is to guide the others and set an example, but she isn’t here to guide, and no one can hope to strive for the example she sets. I understand why Kodlak wanted her in the Circle, so that when she’s out wandering Skyrim that we’re associated with her, but other than that…”

They paused at the back doors and looked at each other, then they sighed as one and went inside to break the loss of Skjor to the others.


	17. Chapter 17

“Oh Maven,” Bryn said with a chuckle. “Truly pathetic.” She searched the khajit assassin who had been sent this time to kill her, and who had failed even more spectacularly than the last; Bryn had been able to take this one out with nothing but the _thu’um_ , as it seemed the cat folk were rather susceptible to frost. It had been over a month since the last killer had come after her (and Lydia) somewhere outside Morthal. The assassin had the standard vague note, a small amount of gold and a few lockpicks. The armor was nice though, enchanted, with a face mask. This one seemed to be a step up from the previous ones. Bryn decided to take the armor as well. One never knew when she might have to impersonate one of the Dark Brotherhood. She would have to modify the armor to fit her, but it would pass inspection in the dark. The hole for the tail would definitely have to be closed up.

After moving the body off into the brush she continued on her way, consulting her map as she went. Treva’s Watch was very close, overlooking the Treva River that drained Lake Honrich into Lake Geir. It was still morning, overcast but dry. Perfect.

When she arrived at the fort she crouched behind the large outcropping of rock on the hill behind the fort and began dipping arrows into frostbite venom, determined to get this done quick, and right. She then crept up to peek around the rock, whispering _“LAAS!”_ to light up the Silver Hand in the area and get a count of those outside. Five. Manageable.

She was able to pick them off one at a time, moving constantly to avoid detection, and once the fort was quiet she went around the perimeter, just to make sure. She was surprised to find a small encampment nearby, where a fellow named Stalleo and two bodyguards were nursing their wounds from their last assault. Bryn readily agreed to help them, her goals aligning with theirs, and took the tunnel they pointed out that led inside.

In the end she took the lives of at least fifteen Silver Hand, suffering a number of injuries that she just as quickly healed, though they took longer due to the silver weapons. She couldn’t get rid of this curse soon enough. Stalleo’s family was nowhere inside, and to Bryn’s surprise there were no werewolves kept captive here either. The fragment of Wuuthrad was at the top of the keep, and Bryn was delighted to find an enchanting desk along with the boss. She quickly dispatched him and disenchanted the dagger of sparks she had found earlier, an enchantment that she had been searching for since first becoming aware of it. Few if any creatures were resistant to shock damage, magic users especially vulnerable to it, and it would be a valuable addition to her Elven bow. And there just happened to be an enchanter’s elixir on the table nearby to boost the enchantment.

Bryn left the keep happy, the fragment safe in her pack and a newly enchanted bow on her back. She informed Stalleo of her findings, to his mixed relief and worry, and he gave her a spell tome for her trouble. It held the enchantment for Detect Life; her Aura Whisper already filled that need quite nicely, so she would sell it instead. 

All in all it was a good day’s work, and as she sat and ate a quick meal with Stalleo and his guards she pondered her next move. Traveling alone had been pleasant, if dull, but she should get back to Jorrvaskr to see how everyone was coping, especially Aela. The huntress had seemed numb upon finding Skjor’s body, incapable of shedding a tear, but people reacted in odd ways to grief, and who knew how she was doing now. She also regretted how she had parted with Vilkas, and hoped it hadn’t damaged their relationship, but he had gotten nasty first. His anger she could handle, but not being snide. It reminded her too much of when she had first joined the Companions, and she didn’t like it.

In the end she decided to return to Whiterun, to avoid worrying anyone and to return the fragment, which seemed to be the main piece in the middle, a rather gruesome depiction of an elf weeping and screaming in horror. A nice trophy, along with all the loot and coin she had collected. She just might have enough funds to finally purchase Proudspire Manor, that magnificent townhouse in Solitude, if she sold some dragon bones, though it would take some time to gather the coin to furnish it. The scales seemed more useful to her than the bones, so no loss, and there were bound to be plenty more dragons in her future.  
-  
The sound of the door squeaking open behind her made Aela growl, “I said I didn’t want any company.”

“It’s me,” Bryn softly said. “I just got back from Treva’s Watch.” It was heartbreaking, seeing Aela kneeling by Skjor’s bed, his armor laid out neatly on the bed as if he were still wearing it and he was lying there sleeping.

“Are they all dead?”

“Yes, every one of them.”

“Good. While you were gone I received a message from one of our—my—informants, about a camp at Orotheim. One of the Silver Hand lieutenants there supposedly has plans showing where their main hideout is. If we find that we can chop the head off the serpent.”

“I’ll head there in a couple days.”

“No, now.” Bryn sighed, and Aela finally looked up at her. The girl was washed and clean, wearing a colorful wool dress and leather boots, with a fine tooled leather belt around her hips and a fur-trimmed cloak. “Have a date?” Aela asked in a biting tone.

“I hope so.” She hadn’t seen Vilkas yet; he was probably out in the yard with his brother, training. Bryn was more than a little anxious about seeing him again after how they had parted.

“Good for you, but we have work to do.”

“We, or me?”

“What difference does it make?” Aela retorted as she stood. “You’re part of the Circle now. You’re in this.”

“Then why aren’t you asking Vilkas or Farkas to help?” Aela knew why, and didn’t answer, looking back down at Skjor’s armor. The twins wouldn’t approve of this at all. When she saw her swallow hard, her eyes shining, Bryn moved closer to her and quietly asked, “Why did he go in alone?”

“I don’t know,” the huntress whispered painfully. “Farkas asked me that too, and I wish I knew. It was stupid. It wasn’t like him to do something so…stupid!”

“Overconfident, maybe.”

“That’s being too charitable.”

“Ria’s fond of telling the story about Skjor and Kodlak and the hundred Orc—“

“Forty,” Aela corrected as she sank down on the edge of the bed. After a brief hesitation she reached out to stroke the wolf’s head that decorated his belt. “And that was a good fifteen years ago. He isn’t…wasn’t, a young man anymore. He kept himself up well, and he was the most skilled and experienced out of all the Circle, but not in a situation like that. He’s an old war horse, meant to fight on an open battlefield, not sneaking around in old forts. Even I’m not, for as well as we did in Gallows Rock. You, you’re in your element there, but none of the rest of us are. You cleaned out Treva’s Watch single-handedly. None of us could have done that.”

Bryn sat down facing her and said, “Well, I don’t know about that. I had to rely on a lot of shouts and healing spells. The silver made it difficult, which I wasn’t expecting.”

Aela murmured with regret, “Skjor and I did a poor job of bringing you into the Circle. I admit that freely. We should have guessed that your nature would conflict with the Blood, and that you would be rightfully angry about being…well, misled about our plans for the night. We took no time to explain anything at all. We were hasty, in wanting to get to you before Kodlak did.”

“Kodlak did long ago. But as I said, I joined the Circle to understand Vilkas better, and to help Kodlak. I failed at the first, but I still intend to succeed at the second. I will help him find a cure, once we’re done with the Silver Hand. I can’t let them keep hunting us, or torturing those poor creatures they’re able to get their hands on.” She took an object wrapped in linen out from where it was tucked in her belt. “Here, the fragment.”

Aela smiled briefly at her as she took it, and after a brief hesitation took her hand. Bryn gave it a squeeze and put her other over it. “Ah, Sister,” the huntress sighed. “It eases my heart to have your help in this. I wish I could go with you, but…my head isn’t clear yet.” She was exhausted but couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t do anything but think of Skjor. His scent, which would fade from his armor and his room much too soon. His murmurs of devotion to her that she would never hear again. It was as if half her soul was missing. Probably because it was. She should have known this would happen. She could have chosen any random stranger to father a child on her, but no, she had to choose the man who had spent nearly twenty years pining for her, another werewolf, thereby dooming them both.

“I understand, as much as I can. If someone cost me Vilkas, I’d hunt them to the ends of the earth.”

“I wish…I should have told him that I… I should have told him.” She couldn’t even say it to herself out loud though. She’d loved Skjor. She really had. She wasn’t even sure when it had happened. She’d loved him for years as a mentor and close friend, and now she grieved the loss of a mate. He had been everything to her…father, teacher, lover. And now she had nothing. Empty. Even her womb still was.

“I’m sure he knew. Maybe that’s why he charged in ahead. Lydia told me a long time ago that men do brave, foolish things when they’re in love. It was why I hesitated to let Vilkas go anywhere with me.” She sighed. “And now I have to hope that I didn’t upset him so much that he’s washed his hands of me.”

“Doubtful. It takes more than a single spat, or so I’ve heard. We never…Skjor and I never…” Her voice broke, and she gave Bryn’s hand a squeeze and whispered, “I should let you go.”

“Only if you want to.” Aela held her hand a moment longer then released it on her own, and Bryn let her go. It seemed Aela wanted to be alone. She petted Aela’s hair and said with sympathy, “You’ll see him again, in the Hunting Grounds. I know it doesn’t help any, not when you’re left behind, but when a cure is found, I would never ask you to take it. Part of the reason I took the Blood was so that if anything happened to Vilkas, we would end up in the same place.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t help, much. But it’s appreciated.” Bryn impulsively kissed Aela’s forehead, and the redhead sighed and gave her a hint of a smile. If only the girl weren’t attached to Vilkas. To have someone else that could take Skjor’s place, someone of her preferred gender, would make the pain easier to bear. As Bryn rose she asked, “Close the door on the way out?”

“Of course.” Bryn gave her Shield-Sister’s shoulder a pat then left, closing the door behind her, then walked away hoping not to hear sudden sobbing. Maybe Aela wouldn’t cry. Maybe she didn’t know how. It didn’t seem healthy.

She was so lost in thought, gazing at the rug on the stone floor, that she nearly ran into the person standing in the open area at the end of the hallway. She stopped short and looked up to see Vilkas there staring at her, a guarded expression on his face, his pale eyes stark against dark war paint. He was wearing his wolf armor, his gauntlets grasped in one hand, the two-handed sword on his back, and a few beads of sweat were drying on his forehead as if he had just been sparring. He was gorgeous.

When Bryn’s expression softened he gave her a hint of a smile, testing, and she made a choking sound and threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He held her close and whispered, “Ah love, I’m sorry. I’m a jackass.”

“No you’re not. You were upset but I was just mean. I could never wish we weren’t together. I can’t believe I said such a horrible thing to you.”

“Forget it. Water under the bridge.” He pushed her out to look at her and said with a smile, “Don’t you look beautiful. Is that all for me?”

“All for you,” she replied, then kissed him. He leaned into the kiss, opening his mouth to her, then she heard the clearing of a throat. They broke apart and saw Kodlak sitting in front of his desk, a book in his hands, and he made a shooing motion at them, though he smiled and chuckled before going back to reading. “Whoops,” Bryn whispered, her face growing hot as Vilkas took her hand and led her away.

“Shame on you for getting me in trouble like that, you harlot.” Bryn made a sound of offense but couldn’t help laughing. He led her to his room, saying, “I need to wash and change. Now that you’re back we need to have Skjor’s memorial.” His beloved’s smile faded, and he closed the door and put his back against it. Bryn went to sit in a chair as he quietly asked, “Did you accomplish what you set out to do?”

“Yes, and then some.”

“How many?”

“Fifteen or so.” He whistled and she said, “It isn’t as if I made it through without a scratch. And they used silver, so now I have a few more scars, which I’m not particularly happy about. I’m getting rid of this curse the first chance I get.”

“I wish you had never taken it on. Kodlak doesn’t know yet, or at least I don’t think he does.” He sighed heavily, “Hell, who am I kidding. Of course he knows. If you get anywhere near him he’ll smell it, if he can't already.”

She shook her head and looked up at him. “But I don’t feel any different,” she said in confusion. “Well, I can sense the wolf, like this separate thing inside me, but it’s cowering, as if it’s trying to hide from me. Smells and sounds are only a little sharper, nothing at all like what you described. I feel no urge to change, and my sleep is only a bit more restless than before.”

“Be glad, love. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.” She was right that the Blood didn’t seem to have fully taken root in her; her smell had changed, but not as much as it should have. Any werewolf would be able to tell what she was, and yet would be puzzled as to why she seemed slightly off. He was relieved though, for her sake. Her life was full of enough hardships without having to constantly fight the beast. “Was the trip uneventful?”

“Are you changing the subject?”

“Yes, I am.”

She snorted a laugh as he moved away from the door and began stripping off his armor. “I ran into another Dark Brotherhood assassin on the way to Treva’s Watch. He seemed more advanced than the last two, but still inadequate, obviously, since I’m here. I hope they aren’t getting paid much.” Vilkas closed his eyes for a few seconds then shook his head and continued undressing. She didn’t tell him that she had kept the assassin’s armor. He’d want to know why. She wasn’t even really sure why, other than that if Maven kept it up she was going to get visited by an unofficial member herself. The thought would have made her squirm a month ago. “I found a little dagger with a shock enchantment on it, in the fort, and the boss had an enchanting desk and an enchanter’s elixir, so I now have a very nice shock enchantment on my bow.”

“That could be useful, especially against mages. I know of no creature that is resistant to it, as we are to cold and the Dunmer to fire. Storm atronachs, certainly, but I have rarely seen those.” She made a sound of assent. “Did you find the fragment?”

“Yes, what looks like the center piece. I think at this point there should only be one or two still missing.”

“By my count, only one.”

“Do you think Eorlund could repair it, if he had all the pieces?”

Vilkas looked shocked by the notion. “Why would anyone want to do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because…well, it…because it’s always been broken, that’s why!” Bryn shrugged and left the matter alone. He changed the subject again as he shrugged out of his doublet, asking, “Do you really intend to give Farkas and Lydia the house?” He heard Bryn get up then the pouring of water out of a ewer.

“Yes. I’ve intended it since you first told me he wanted to marry her. A married couple should have a home of their own, to start a family in, and I wouldn’t be who and what I am now without Lydia. I owe her everything.”

“Where would you sleep when you’re in Whiterun?” He yelped as he felt a cool cloth on his bare back then relaxed, enjoying the feel of Bryn washing him. A bath together would have been nice, but there was no time.

Bryn shrugged. “The free bed in the whelp’s quarters, I suppose. Or the Bannered Mare, or—“

“Or my bed.” The cloth stopped moving for a moment then continued.

“Hm, that would be awfully nice.” She kissed an old scar on his left shoulder blade.

“You’re never here for more than a few days,” he stated carefully. “Why shouldn’t we spend that time together?”

“That makes sense.” She moved in front of him and began tenderly wiping his face. “Are you sure Kodlak wouldn’t mind?”

“As long as your screaming doesn’t wake him up in the middle of the night.” She giggled then bit her lip, trying to stay serious. He undid his belt and threw it on the bed. “I’ve never had any woman in this bed but you. I want you to know that.” Her breath caught as she met his eyes, and he stroked her cheek with his thumb as he murmured, “I…appreciate it, what you did. I don’t like it, not one bit. But I… appreciate why you did.”

“We’re in this together,” she insisted.

He kissed her nose and agreed, “Aye love, that we are.”

“If something happens to you, then I want to go where you go.” He looked at her with a pained expression. “I mean it.”

“I know you do, but… gods, you’re Dragonborn. I can’t tolerate the thought of you as Hircine’s pet.”

“It won’t come to that. Kodlak will find the cure. I believe it.”

Vilkas didn’t but couldn’t bring himself to say so. He smiled haltingly then said, “Well then.” He didn’t know what else to say without making a liar of himself. He wasn’t one for platitudes.

“Do you think Farkas will marry Lydia soon?”

He shook his head and stripped off the rest of his clothes then took the washcloth from Bryn. “He wants the beastblood gone first. He believes in Kodlak as much as you do. And he wants to make sure you won’t need her any longer.”

“I just might be there.” Vilkas sucked his breath through his teeth, shaking his head again. “Treva’s Watch was a cake walk, honey, really.“

“What the hell is a cake walk?”

“Oh, sorry. It’s an Altmer children’s game.” He grunted in understanding. “I feel confident that I can take care of myself now, without Lydia..”

“Maybe you can, but should you? I can’t stand thinking about you running about Skyrim alone, with no one at your back, no one to talk to. If nothing else it seems terribly lonely.”

“I run into people all the time. It isn’t as if I never have anyone to talk to. Besides, I should take Iona out on a few runs. I could tell she was jealous that Lydia got all the fun. And I’m going to buy that big house in Solitude first chance I get, so I’ll have a housecarl up in that area to take out.” She turned away to take off her cloak, too warm. “I think maybe I should head to Eastmarch when I’m done here, after I stop at Solitude to buy the house. I’m sure there must have been a bounty on that dragon we killed.” She looked up at the skull, mounted on the wall over his table. “I have to say that looks awfully nice.”

“Yes, the others were green with envy. I’m surprised no one else has asked you to take them on a dragon hunting trip yet.” He paused then asked in a sober tone, “How was Aela?”

“All right, considering,” she replied sadly. “It was awful, seeing her sitting there staring at his armor. I don’t know how she isn’t crying. She didn’t cry when we found him, either.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen her shed a tear as long as I’ve known her. So, the two of them really were…”

“Yes. I don’t know how much I should say, but she didn’t tell me to keep it to myself. It started with her wanting a daughter.” Vilkas made a sound of understanding. “It was a matter of convenience for her, at first, but Skjor already loved her. She said he had since she was a young girl.”

“Really,” he said in disbelief. “He hid it well. I never guessed. None of us did.”

“He told me, before the change, that he only had eyes for Aela.” Vilkas sighed in grief. “I think that was why he charged in first. I can’t imagine why else he would have. And Aela did, does, love him. She said she never intended to but, well, you can’t go doing that with someone you care about, who’s in love with you, and not have it happen eventually.”

“How terribly sad,” he murmured. “I do remember Skjor taking her under his wing, when she first came here. She was like some wild forest creature that someone had captured then dropped off on our doorstep, all big eyes and jumpy reflexes. Her father was this fire-haired, wiry fox of a man, with the greenest eyes I had ever seen, and they never stopped moving. He came to visit her every few months, but he hated the city. Aela did too, but she was determined to stay and make her mother’s memory proud. After a few years he stopped coming, she never knew why. She went to look for him, with Skjor, and he was simply gone, their house left open and the contents scattered by animals. We all think he died somewhere in the wilds. I hope in the course of a hunt and not at the hand of werewolf hunters.”

“Both parents werewolves,” she said with wonder. “No wonder she can’t comprehend giving it up. And now with Skjor gone, if she gets cured they’ll be separated forever. She’ll never do it, and I would never expect it of her.”

“Ach,” he said with a quick shake of his head as he pulled fresh clothes on. “My heart bleeds that Skjor is gone, but we all are used to the idea that one of us could fall on any given day, and so we go on. But this business between the two of them makes me want to weep. I don’t know how she isn’t. This silent despair of hers, it breaks my heart.”

“Me too,” Bryn whispered. “She let me sit with her for a while and hold her hand. It seemed to comfort her. I’ll try to do what I can, but…”

“Aye.” It went without saying. Bryn would no doubt be gone again in another day or so. And with one member of the Circle dead and another grieving, there was no way Vilkas could go with her now. Farkas either. The two brothers were now responsible for keeping everything going, and it was a heavy burden. He would have to talk to Kodlak after this and ask if Vignar could be allowed to help, if not join the Circle entirely. The old man was ancient but he was spry and his mind still sharp as a dagger, no matter Vilkas’ jokes to the contrary.

As if reading his mind, Bryn stated, “I worry about things here, Vilkas honey. I honestly do. Skjor gone, Kodlak dying by inches, me never here…and then there’s Eorlund, with no successor, and my god what about Tilma? How old is she?”

“Tilma!” he exclaimed. “Great Divines woman, don’t give me anything else to worry about! Tilma washed up on shore with Jorrvaskr itself, and will be here long after it crumbles into dust. Don’t even speak of such things.” Bryn said nothing more, but it wouldn’t stop her thinking about it. He had to be glad she cared enough to do so, but he couldn’t deal with anything more at the moment. Dressed, he offered her his arm, and she beamed at him and took it. It would have been nice to make love first, but there was no time, and he could smell the scent of menstrual blood on her, which meant no loving afterward either. No matter; he would be content for them to simply lie in each other’s arms tonight, and he hoped she would be too. It was somewhat of a relief that she was untouchable for now. He had never had sex with a woman who also carried beastblood. No matter how dominant the dragon in her was, the wolf was still there, lurking.

Bryn kept a smile on her face as they went upstairs to the mead hall, and Vilkas left her there to go help Kodlak prepare for the memorial. She was going to have a good talk with the old man after she got back from her next job for Aela. Vilkas was too high-strung to cope with everything, or even consider what needed coping with, so she would have to take matters into her own hands. She was a member of the Circle now and had every right to do so. She wanted Kodlak to be aware of her concerns and have his blessing to look into alleviating those concerns. She wanted Farkas to follow Eorlund, if the old smith thought he had the aptitude; she wanted Vignar in the Circle; she wanted Tilma to start looking for a protégé. With all that was happening, things were reaching a critical juncture, and it would all fall apart if there was no one person to deal with it. Vilkas was competent to do so, but he was so emotional it sometimes left him unable to properly deal with matters. Maybe that would change after he was cured and the beast wasn’t lurking there in his soul, affecting his thoughts and emotional state, but if it didn’t then it would be up to Bryn to help him out. She had no intentions whatsoever of becoming Harbinger. None at all. She really hoped Kodlak wasn’t going to do that to her.

-  
“My advice? Always be honest, but don’t tell the old man anything he doesn’t need to know.”

“Fine,” Bryn sighed, feeling dread winding itself into a tight ball in the pit of her stomach. How nice that Aela was hanging her out to dry, letting her face Kodlak alone. It seemed rather unfair considering Aela and Skjor were the ones who had gotten her into this. Aela had even had the nerve to say she had been ‘running interference’ for Bryn, as if covering up an indiscretion of hers. It was galling, but Bryn still grieved for Aela’s loss and was wary of being too stern with her. She turned away from the Huntress, who didn’t even have the decency to look guilty, and headed for the downstairs, glad the twins were outside with the rank and file so they wouldn’t hear her getting dressed down. She had left Vilkas out of her business with Aela for the most part, and Farkas entirely.

Kodlak was in his seat by the small table in the corner, and when he looked up at her she relaxed, seeing him smile slightly. “Thank you for coming,” he said.

“You wanted to see me, Harbinger?”

“Yes youngling, have a seat.”

The discussion that followed was an incredible relief; the scolding was mild, though it left her worried, and Kodlak’s triumph over finally finding the cure was obvious. Witch heads seemed unconventional, but then the Circle clearly weren’t conventional werewolves; it had all started with a curse, not the drinking of blood. She couldn’t get rid of it soon enough. She had felt the wolf growing bolder lately, trying to assert itself, and it was an extremely uncomfortable feeling. It was easy to agree to wiping out the coven and bringing back the heads. She just hoped they didn’t rot on the way home. Skyrim’s cool climate would keep them fresh only so long.

“Good, now move quickly. And don’t leave any of them alive.”

“Yes, Harbinger. I will make sure of it.” 

“Talos guide you, lass.” It was clear that he did; she wore the god’s amulet in the open around her neck, with pride. Any Thalmor that ran across that would find it a provocation. What they chose to do about it most likely would end in their death. He couldn’t be sorry about that; he had never stopped worshipping Talos, and never would. As she stood Kodlak caught her hand, and she looked down at him in surprise before giving him a warm smile and grasping his own hand in both hers in return. By the Divines, she was a beautiful girl. Her pale, frosty loveliness was the perfect match for the dark, fiery Vilkas. He said to her, “We haven’t spoken as much as I would have liked.”

“I feel the same, Harbinger. There are some things I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, since I joined the Circle. About our direction, and some things that have me concerned. I have some ideas—“

“Later, lass.” It was good to hear though. Change was in the air, and she had brought it. A true harbinger of the times. “I’ve been thinking as well. The sickness gives me too much time to do that, I’m afraid. As you know all too well, Skjor is gone. The Circle is incomplete. I won’t have Aela turn his room into a shrine to him. She is welcome to his armor and any belongings of his she likes, but his room is yours now.” Bryn grimaced, as he had known she would. “Give it time, think about it. I know you have that house of yours, but Farkas has told me of your intention to gift him and his bride with it. It’s a generous gesture.”

“A married couple should have a home to raise their children in,” she stated, kneeling at his side so she wouldn’t have to keep looking down on him, though she still kept hold of his hand. “Will he have to leave the Companions?”

“No, no,” he said with a shake of his shaggy head. “Though I think he will find his role changing. A married man with children won’t feel comfortable running off into the wilds, risking his life on a regular basis. There have been married Companions, even married members of the Circle. Vilkas and Farkas aren’t the first children to be raised in this hall by far, though it has been a long time, and I wouldn’t recommend it. Children are a distraction. A delightful one at times, but a distraction nonetheless. The twins were a constant trial.”

“I can only imagine.”

“They were entertaining at times though, I’ll admit that. As much as my mind turns to Sovngarde, it also turns to the past. I’ve told Vilkas this, but the years while the boys were growing up here were some of my best. Children give one a sense of purpose that nothing else quite does. It makes me proud to see the fine men they are and know that I had a hand in making them what they are. I can only hope that I live long enough to see Farkas’ first child born.” Bryn gave a quirk of a smile, suddenly saddened. The reason was easy to guess, beyond the discomfort of contemplating his own demise, and he wasn’t going to get involved unless he was asked to. That was between the two of them to sort out in years to come. Kodlak knew why Bryn had come to Skyrim, and while her target had changed, the ultimate goal had not. Seeing the two lovebirds together the other day had warmed his heart, Vilkas vulnerable and Bryn adoring, still in the throes of new love. It would be a shame to see that dashed and broken, either because of Vilkas’ fears or Bryn’s nature, but the girl’s fate wasn’t really hers to fully determine.

“I am glad that being a Companion and member of the Circle doesn’t mean giving up hope of a marriage and children. Farkas will make a good husband and father. I’ve been meaning to talk to Eorlund about Farkas’ future, no matter how much Farkas protests that only Gray-Manes can work the Skyforge.”

“They haven’t always. As I just told you, we’re four thousand years old, this group. Many things can change then back again over such a vast period of time. Ask Vignar and he’ll tell you his family has worked the Skyforge since the time of his grandfather’s father. A couple hundred years at most. I like the idea of Farkas smithing for the Companions. It’s a sensible idea. I look forward to hearing more about it when you return.” It was for this very reason that Kodlak was determined to have the girl take after him, no matter how much he knew Vilkas wanted the position. Vilkas wanted it for the wrong reasons. Kodlak had originally intended Skjor to follow after him, until that dream came along and the girl showed up. She had done nothing but affirm his faith in her and the trueness of the dream. He rarely had them, a gift/curse that ran in his family, but when he did they were true seeings. Bryn had become everything he had hoped: strong, competent, rational, intelligent. Vilkas was most of those things as well, but too volatile to lead effectively. Even when he was cleansed of the beastblood that might still be so. As a child Vilkas’ tantrums had been impressive.

Knowing she was being dismissed, Bryn stood and let go of Kodlak’s hand. She hesitated then leaned over to kiss his forehead lingeringly, murmuring against it, “I will see your spirit safe into Shor’s Hall, I swear it, beloved Harbinger.”

“I’ve never doubted it, lass,” he said in a rough voice. “Not from the moment I laid eyes on you. Now go, and don’t tarry.” She pulled away and smiled at him one last time then walked away, her footsteps nearly silent. Her shoulders were square and straight, her head high and proud, her walk feminine but determined, her arms and legs well-muscled. So different from the flighty, gawky bird of a girl she had been only half a year ago.

As she disappeared out of sight he hauled himself out of his seat with a groan and went to his desk to make another entry in his journal. He had never been a writer but had felt driven to it lately. Some Harbingers had left barely a trace of themselves in the archives while others had been prolific chroniclers. He paused halfway to the desk to let the sudden deep pain pass, resisting the urge to down one of the Imperial apothecary Arcadia’s potions. He had wanted a clear head while dealing with Bryn, and he wanted to retain it while he wrote down his thoughts.

He was extremely pleased that the girl continued to consider her future tied to that of the Companions. He had feared she would outgrow the lot of them and gradually distance herself. He knew her attachment to Vilkas and affection for Farkas helped with that, though he wanted to believe that she would still care without that. Her concerns for their future and the obvious time she had spent pondering the solutions to their many problems were heartening. She was definitely the one the Companions needed to continue forward. Kodlak only hoped that his choice didn’t break Vilkas’ heart. The young man simply felt everything too strongly, and Kodlak had to be somewhat cold-blooded in his choice. It wasn’t even that Vilkas really wanted the responsibility; he would be wounded that Kodlak hadn’t thought him capable of taking it on. The hard truth was that he wasn’t. Not the way he was now. There was no knowing if that would ever change.

When he finished jotting down his latest entry he stood and made his way into his bedroom to stow away the journal in his side table. His eyes lit on the large, ornate chest against one wall. He went to it, unlocking it and opening the lid, and gazed at the two sets of armor within. Until joining the Circle some thirty-five years ago, he had worn the armor on the left: a full set of fine ebony plate. On the right was the steel plate wolf armor that all in the Circle wore except Aela. His lip curled as he stared at the wolf head on the breastplate. He hoped the twins had the sense after all was said and done to abandon the armor for something more appropriate. For himself, he would never touch the armor again, in fact his first order of business after the cure would be to have Eorlund melt the cursed stuff down. He snorted a laugh to himself, wondering who he was kidding. He was unlikely to ever wear armor again.

He picked up an ebony gauntlet and ran his hand over the gold embossing on it, enjoying the soft sheen of the black metal in the lamplight. It was armor he had worn with pride, an object of appreciation and envy everywhere he had gone, rare and precious. He had earned this armor through blood and sweat and hardship; the wolf armor was a reward for being a fool. He suddenly thought that he would like Vilkas to have the ebony. The younger man was half a head taller than Kodlak but had a similar build; it would be an easy matter for Eorlund to tailor the fit of the armor to Vilkas. The boy would look impressive in it, having a certain bearing his twin didn’t. Farkas was just too damn bulky to fit in it regardless, and his fighting days were numbered at this point now that he’d stated his intention to marry someday soon.

Kodlak put the gauntlet away and closed the lid, wondering if he shouldn’t make a brief, preliminary list of his belongings that he wished to pass on. It wouldn’t hurt, and it could be refined later on if needed. Skjor’s untimely death had driven home the lesson that one’s end could come at any time, and he certainly could use something to do until Bryn returned in a few days. 

He went back out to his desk and got out a piece of paper, a quill and an inkpot and took it back to his room. He smiled to himself as he started the list, the ebony armor the first entry. His next most precious possession was the unusual gem that floated in its brass case. It had belonged to his predecessor and mentor, Askar, who had always refused to broach the subject of where it had come from. In any case it was beautiful and unusual, like Bryn herself, and so he willed it to her. He spent the next hour cataloging the accumulated treasures of his sixty-four years on Nirn, the somewhat morbid task bringing him a great deal of satisfaction. Everyone would have a small piece to remember him by, even the younglings. He blew on the ink to dry it then folded it and put it in the top drawer of his side table next to his journal, setting his own personal chunk of Wuuthrad on top to weigh it down. Eorlund knew the piece was here and what to do with it, when the time came, so the list would be seen.

A gut-wrenching agony suddenly twisted through him, bringing him to his knees. He knelt there, gasping, tears rising in his eyes, glad that he was next to the bed so something would catch his fall. He clutched the bedding, whispering breathlessly, “Vilkas!” He knew the younger man was outside training, that everyone but Tilma was outside, and she was so frail at a good twenty years older than him that she could hurt herself trying to help him, so he bit his lip and bore the pain until it passed, the worst it had been yet. It had been so bad this time that he had nearly lost control of his bodily functions, and that wouldn’t do. He would rather deal with the small indignity of being tired and distracted than that. Anything but that. He would drag his sorry ass out onto the plains and let himself get smashed by a giant before he wet or messed himself like an infant.

Once the pain subsided he instantly went to his strongbox and pulled out one of Arcadia’s potions and drank it down, his hands still shaking. It took several minutes for complete relief to come, and while he waited he vowed not to let this happen again. Bryn was on her way at this very moment to deal with the Glenmoril Witches with her usual swift efficiency, so the cure was nearly in his hands, and he had taken care of assigning his belongings, and he knew who the next Harbinger would be. He had hoped he would have a couple years to train the girl more properly, but after today he wasn’t certain he had the time. When Bryn returned he would have to sit the girl down and be honest with her about his intentions, then let the others know that she was his successor. That would give everyone time to absorb the news and Bryn the time to finish her business with the Greybeards and Alduin. The first order of business however would be the cure. He had to make certain his soul was clean, worthy of going before Tsun for judgment, and he had to make certain that the Dragonborn’s soul was as well. He hadn’t spoken to her or the twins or Aela about it, but he had smelled wolf on her, faint but there: female wolf that was not Aela. It was his way to deal with matters head on, but this was something he simply didn’t have the energy to grapple with. They would get her cured, and the twins as well, and put the last few sordid centuries behind them.


	18. Chapter 18

“Go on, boy,” Kodlak growled, waving Vilkas away. “I feel fine. I can sure as hell put on my own pajamas.”

“As you wish,” Vilkas replied, trying not to feel hurt or irritated. It wasn’t easy, with Bryn gone the last two and a half days and no one knowing where, or not telling rather. He hadn’t asked Kodlak, wary of looking like a lovesick child in front of him. Bryn should have told Vilkas she was leaving. She had told Lydia but hadn’t said where she was going, only that she would be gone for a few days somewhere in Falkreath and that it was urgent. There hadn’t been any deception in Lydia’s eyes, in fact if she had known Lydia would have told him so and told him also that she couldn’t say where. Vilkas couldn’t imagine anything that was so very urgent that Bryn couldn’t be bothered to let her own…whatever he was, know. Lover, partner…he didn’t even know what to call himself. He didn’t feel like much of a partner when she just took off without giving him the common courtesy of saying where. Before he turned away, he asked Kodlak, “Are you hungry, Harbinger?”

“No, Tilma already took care of that.” Realizing he was being snappish, Kodlak softened his tone and added, “Thank you, son. I ate well, I’m just a little tired. I’m going to lie down with a book.”

Vilkas gave him a brief smile. “All right. Good night.”

“Good night.”

His duty done, he headed for his own room to strip off his armor and wash, and perhaps take Kodlak’s cue and lie in bed and read. He certainly had time for it. He hoped Bryn’s menses was over when she returned so they could spend a proper night or two together. Maybe he could even ask her to move in with-- He shook his head as he entered his room. His room was quite big enough for him, but not for another person. It was fine for a night here and there, but it wasn’t a home. Maybe once the sting of Skjor’s death wasn’t so great, she could take his quarters. Maybe after Farkas and Lydia married. Farkas spent nearly every night at Breezehome these days when Bryn was gone, and was no doubt going over there in a few minutes. Vilkas could hear him moving around his room, their doors open. It was late, after dinner, and everyone was downstairs readying for bed.

The shrill sound of a woman shrieking startled him out of his thoughts, and he buckled back up his armor and grabbed his sword as he ran out of his room, his twin and Aela on his heels. The junior members were pouring out of the whelps’ quarters and through the open door past Tilma, who had been the source of the scream, her hands over her mouth. The sound of combat upstairs left Vilkas no time to ask what was wrong.

As he ran up the stairs he nearly stopped in shock to see all the pieces of Wuuthrad were gone. Pieces he had seen mounted there since the day he and Farkas had come here. He rushed up the stairs to see the four whelps fighting their attackers valiantly. Attackers with shining silver weapons. His blood boiling, he whipped his sword off his back and shouted, “Silver Hand! It is us you want!” Several of the attackers broke away and headed for the three Circle members, while two others ran out the back doors carrying a sack with what he could only assume were the fragments of Wuuthrad.

A swell of helpless fury went through him as he saw Athis fall, clutching his gut. Vilkas moved through the room, trying to get to his Dunmer Shield-Brother and Ria, who was bravely trying to protect him. He had no time to pay attention to what Aela and Farkas were doing; they were experienced and could fend for themselves.

As he reached Athis he saw a fresh wave of attackers come through the front door at the same time that he heard a roar of rage. He spun about to see with horror that Kodlak had come upstairs. He’d had no time to get armored, in fact had only his underclothes on, his warhammer swinging wildly around him. Vilkas felled the two Silver Hand who had taken down Athis then ran toward Kodlak, who was barely holding off the three who circled him, looking for an opening. Vilkas screamed in horror as he saw one of them run Kodlak through from behind at the same time Farkas did; Kodlak spun and smashed his hammer through the man’s skull, but that left an opening for the other two to attack, and Kodlak quickly crumpled to the ground. The twins converged on the remaining two, finishing them off quickly, but it was already too late.

Vilkas stared numbly at the Harbinger’s body, not hearing the distant sounds of fighting outside; the only sound inside was Athis’ groans of pain, but that meant he was still alive. He thought he might have heard his brother say his name, then Farkas turned away and ran out the front doors. Sinking to his knees, Vilkas took Kodlak’s hand, and it was limp in his. Lifeless. He supposed he should be glad that Kodlak had fallen in battle instead of wasting away as an invalid. That was how Companions were supposed to die, wasn’t it? He vaguely noted Njada falling to her knees next to him.

“They took Wuuthrad,” she stated. Vilkas didn’t answer, seeming in a daze, and she grabbed his shoulder and shook it hard. “Cope, damn it!” she shouted. He snarled at her and hit her hand away, his pale eyes dilated, and she shrank back, staring at him in disquiet. “They took Wuuthrad,” she repeated.

“Fuck Wuuthrad!” he spat, getting to his feet. “Kodlak’s dead!”

“Yes, but the rest of us are still alive.” Though she wasn’t sure how much longer Athis would be.

Someone burst through the doors and they spun around, armed, but it was Farkas. He went to his brother and Njada and said, “The rest are dead. And I saw Bryn coming back, down in the market.” Vilkas rose to his feet, his nostrils flared, giving off waves of violent scent, and before he could leave Farkas grabbed him hard by the front of his armor and stopped him, saying through gritted teeth, “You let her be, damn it. She had no idea.”

“She would have made the difference,” Vilkas hissed. His beast was tearing at him from the inside, begging for release. For vengeance and blood.

Farkas growled at him, “Don’t you dare. This wasn’t her fault.” He could sense Vilkas’ beast close to the surface, his brother’s pupils dilating then shrinking again as he fought for control. Farkas dragged him close by brute force and shouted in his face, “I hope to hell you aren’t our new Harbinger! Tell me Kodlak wasn’t that stupid!” That shocked Vilkas out of his rage like a bucket of ice cold water. Farkas let him go and said furiously, “We don’t have time for your bullshit!” Vilkas stared at him then nodded curtly. “Aela said she knows where their last hideout is. Go talk to her.”

Vilkas pushed past his twin, shoving his sword onto his back. He went out through the doors and saw Torvar and Aela outside, Silver Hand bodies strewn everywhere, the front steps of Jorrvaskr splashed with blood. He went to the huntress and said intently, “You know where they took Wuuthrad?”

“Yes I do,” she stated, still scanning the area for any hidden attackers. “Bryn came back with the information just a few days ago. Driftshade Refuge, southeast of Dawnstar. So the old man is gone now too?”

“Yes.”

“Then I suggest you watch it with Bryn. We’re down too many at this point to lose another because you can’t control yourself and ran her off.”

Vilkas growled at her and she sneered at him then walked away down the steps to check on Torvar. Vilkas stayed at the top of the stairs, waiting for Bryn, trying desperately to stuff down his anger. A crowd had gathered at the bottom of the stairs, whispering amongst themselves, wondering what the hell was going on, and he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know what to say to the junior members about why the Silver Hand had attacked here. How did you explain why known werewolf hunters had targeted Jorrvaskr? It would make too many things start coming together in the others’ minds.

He turned away and went back inside Jorrvaskr to await Bryn, who was most likely doing something very important like selling treasure to Belethor or talking alchemical recipes with Arcadia. His brother and Njada were seated by Kodlak’s body, which had been arranged in a dignified manner and covered with a tablecloth. The only thing Vilkas could be glad for was that Vignar hadn’t been here. Losing three of their most experienced members in the space of a couple weeks would be something they’d never recover from. He might as well burn Jorrvaskr down right now and just walk away.

He heard a groan of pain from Athis and was going to check on him when he heard the front door open. He heard a choked sound of grief and slowly turned around. Bryn stood there in shock, her hand over her mouth, looking grubby and worn, a burlap sack over her shoulder, and the thought of whatever frivolous little quest she had been on this time enraged him. “Where have you been!” he barked at her. She flinched, tearing her eyes away from Kodlak’s body to stare at Vilkas with wide, wet eyes. “I asked you a question!” he shouted.

“I-I was doing Kodlak’s bidding,” she whispered.

“I hope it was important, because it means you weren’t here to defend him!”

Hurt, she cried, “I wasn’t here because he told me to go!” He huffed and rubbed his face, smearing warpaint, and she asked in a shaking voice, “What happened?”

“Silver Hand. They finally found enough courage to attack Jorrvaskr. We fought them off, but…the old man…Kodlak…he’s dead. They made off with all our fragments of Wuuthraad, but you and I are going to reclaim them. We will bring the battle to their chief camp. There will be none left living to tell their stories. Only songs of Jorrvaskr will be sung. We will avenge Kodlak and they will know terror before the end.” There was another groan from Athis’, and Bryn dropped the sack to rush to aid him. Vilkas grabbed her arm and hauled her back, yelling, “Did you hear me, woman?”

“Yes, I heard you! He’s dead! Do you want Athis to be too?” He let go of her arm, and as she rubbed it she hissed at him, “Touch me like that again and I’ll flatten you, Vilkas. I’ll Shout you into the wall.” She stalked away and readied healing hands, kneeling down to pour golden light over the Dunmer. His sounds of pain instantly shut off, replaced with sighs, and she kept it up until he held up his hand, opening his blood-red eyes. She put her hand on his arm and asked, “Are you all right, sera?”

“I am now, muthsera. I thank you.” He reached out and grasped Ria’s shoulder, saying in a barely controlled voice, “You saved my life, little Shield-Sister. I will not forget your bravery.” Ria smiled briefly at him, tears streaking her face.

Bryn left Athis there to recuperate then went to pick up the sack again, reluctant to let it out of her sight. Vilkas stood staring down at Kodlak’s body, his fists clenched, his jaw trembling and eyes wild. She ignored him, knowing any attempts to comfort him would be rebuffed. She wasn’t about to leave herself open to that. She knelt by Farkas and he leaned against her, and she wrapped her arms around him and kissed his temple, taking comfort herself from holding him. She looked across Kodlak to Njada, and when the other woman’s bleak eyes met hers she asked, “Were any others but Athis wounded? Where are Vignar, Brill and Tilma?”

Njada shook her head and answered, “The Revered and Brill are at house Gray-Mane. Tilma’s downstairs, terrified out of her wits. It was her scream that roused us. She opened the downstairs door to see them taking down the fragments and stuffing them in a sack.” She shook her head, her usual hard demeanor gone. “Why? Why did they do all this? Why us? What did we ever do to them?”

Bryn didn’t look up at Vilkas, keeping her expression even. She raised her voice so that Athis and Ria could hear. “Skjor and Aela stumbled upon their operations, several months ago. The Silver Hand, they started as werewolf hunters, but they’ve become corrupted. They’ve been capturing and torturing people just on the suspicion that they might be werewolves. There was a man here some years ago, a member of the Circle named Arnbjorn--”

“I remember him,” Athis stated. “He was thrown out. So he was one then.”

“Yes. That was why he was thrown out. From what I’ve seen, not all werewolves are evil, in fact I would venture to say most aren’t. But he was. After he left here, who knows what he did to get their attention, but they eventually followed his trail back to Jorrvaskr, assuming everyone here must be a werewolf.” Njada nodded slowly and Farkas grunted. Bryn was actually amazed that she had been able to explain everything away without telling a single lie. The words had just flowed out, as of their own accord.

Njada said, “And you’re going to make them pay, right?”

Vilkas stated, “Yes, we will make them pay.” But Njada wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at Bryn. To Bryn. All of them were.

Bryn let go and leaned across Kodlak, offering Njada her hand, and after a brief hesitation the shield-maiden took it. She didn’t smile, she never did, but there was acceptance there. Bryn squeezed it then let go, giving Farkas a kiss on the head before standing. Not looking at Vilkas she said to him, “Get your things and meet me at the gates.” He turned away without a word. This was certainly going to be one hell of a trip. She hoped they were able to sort things out on the way.

Once his brother was gone, Farkas sighed heavily and stood as well, and when she headed for the doors he followed. Once they were outside he gently tapped her shoulder, wary of angering her as his brother had. She paused and looked up at him, and he quietly said, “We need you, little bird.”

“I know,” she said with a nod.

“He can’t lead us. His beast nearly got out again, this time in front of everyone. He’s been a real asshole the last few days, and then this.”

“Because I left without telling him where I went.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“I had to. I had to leave right away, because Kodlak told me to. Do you know what’s in this bag, big bear?” He shook his head. “The cure.”

Farkas’ eyes widened, suddenly bright with hope. “No shit,” he breathed.

“Right now, this bag is the most precious thing in the world to me. This bag holds our future. It’s too late for Kodlak, but not for you, me and Vilkas. Aela will never take the cure, and I wouldn’t ask her to.”

“She wants to see Skjor again.” Bryn nodded. “Hey, on your way out…tell Lydia I won’t be able to make it tonight. I have to stay here and help Aela take care of things.”

“Yes, definitely. I’m leaving the heads with her anyway.”

Farkas’ nose wrinkled as he exclaimed, “Heads!”

“It’s a long story. Will you make sure all this mess gets cleaned up?” Farkas nodded; he could handle that. “And could you send one of the younglings to fetch…ah, never mind, there he is.” Old Vignar was pushing his way through the crowd, and she moved to the stairs to wait for him, Farkas following.

The elder looked up at her with an expression of grief, whispering, “Another one gone, then.”

“Yes, Revered. I’m sorry,” she murmured, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I was going to ask if you could arrange Kodlak’s funeral, and guide Aela and Farkas while Vilkas and I are gone. We’re leaving to go after the ones who did this.”

“Silver Hand. It’s damn obvious who this was, and it damn well better not get out.”

“I’ve given the younglings an explanation that made sense, and was not a lie. I told them Arnbjorn was the root of this, that the Silver Hand traced his activities back here and assumed we were all werewolves.”

“Clever girl.”

“Well, Vilkas is in a state, as you can imagine. And I have the cure here. We’ll get all this sorted out.”

“With you at the helm, I hope, or by all the gods I’m walking away right now.”

“Yes, Revered.”

“Good, good.”

“The next Harbinger, whoever that might be, would appreciate the benefit of your wisdom within the Circle.”

“You get that cure taken care of, and I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you, Revered.” The old man nodded and headed up the steps. Bryn went to Aela nearby and said, “Vilkas and I are leaving. I’m not sure how long this will take, hopefully only a couple days. Would you help Vignar with managing things here? I have Farkas overseeing the cleanup.”

“I’ll keep the whelps in line,” the redhead stated. She put her hand over her nose and pointed at the sack. “And what is that…stench?”

“Witch heads. They actually smelled this bad alive.”

“Good gods! Get it out of here!”

Bryn couldn’t help but laugh a bit at that. She motioned with her head at Farkas and said, “You two will have to keep everything running, but Vignar will be here too—“

“Fine, fine, just get those damn things away from me!” She retched a little, suddenly nauseous. The reek was absolutely overpowering, a combination of rancid meat and mold and dirty bird feathers.

Bryn nodded and turned away, giving Farkas a slap on the shoulder before heading down the stairs. The crowd parted for her, and when she reached the young Gildergreen the commander of the guard, Caius, called for her attention, wanting to know exactly what was going on in his city. She explained the situation in a similar manner to how she had earlier, and he was satisfied by it and headed up to Dragonsreach to inform the Jarl. Now that Caius knew he would tell the guards, who were a talkative bunch and would spread it from there.

Lydia wasn’t happy about the smelly bag being left in her care, looking at Bryn skeptically when she told her that it was the most important thing in the world to her right now, but she took it and stuffed it in an empty barrel under the stairs, then rolled the barrel into the alchemy lab and shut the door. Bryn grabbed a quick bowl of stew, wondering where Vilkas was and what was taking him so long. Lydia had her pack cleaned out and restocked, and after a quick wash of her face, she was ready to go. She saw Vilkas waiting by the gates, as she had told him to, and it sent hot irritation and hurt through her that he hadn’t come to the house, where he surely knew she had been. She ignored him and ran across the street to buy more arrows from Elrindir at The Drunken Huntman.

Bryn walked past Vilkas and out the gates, hearing him follow, and she debated buying a couple horses to hurry things up and put a bit more distance between them. She decided against it; she would have to turn back to get the gold, which would put a significant dent in her Proudspire Manor fund. While she would be stuck in Whiterun for a while, it wouldn’t be forever; dealing with Alduin and the dragons was still a very pressing priority, and to do that she had to grow her Voice, and she couldn’t do that here. As they passed the stables she also debated taking a wagon up to Dawnstar, but it wouldn’t move any faster than she and Vilkas could on foot, and then she would be stuck sitting there with him. Better to just hit the road north and start walking.

Not a word was said between them until they reached the Loreius Farm, when they heard running feet behind them. They stopped, hands on their weapons, and saw a courier coming at full speed. As the young man was catching his breath, Bryn said to him, “Let me guess. A letter for me. You’re not sure who from, only that he said he was a friend of mine.”

The courier’s eyebrows shot up and he squawked, “How did you know that?”

“Lucky guess.” She held out her hand and he stared at her in disbelief then slowly handed it over. “What did he look like? Where did he give this to you?”

“Nord fellow. Older. Somewhere outside Windhelm.” He shrugged. “There wasn’t really anything unusual about him, though he was wearing Stormcloak gear. Can’t quite remember.”

“All right. Thank you.” He took off at a run back towards town. She tucked the letter in her belt and continued walking.

After several minutes Vilkas couldn’t contain himself any longer and muttered, “Aren’t you going to open it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I already know what it says.”

He said in a sarcastic tone, “My, your legend grows. Now you can read letters without even opening them.” Bryn yanked the letter out and shoved it at his chest then kept walking, not once meeting his eyes. He grumbled and broke the seal.

_Brynhilde,_

_You caused a bit of stir in Orotheim when you demonstrated the power of your Thu’um. Not everyone is anxious for the return of the Dragonborn. I for one desire to see you grow and develop your talents. Skyrim needs a true hero these days._

_You should turn your attention to Ironbind Barrow. I understand it holds a mysterious source of power that can only be unlocked by the Dragonborn._

_Sincerely,_   
_A Friend_

He refolded the letter and jogged to catch up with Bryn. “When were you in Orotheim?” He knew the cave, not far from the city of Whiterun. It needed frequent cleaning out, as it was inhabited by an endless succession of bandits and mammoth poachers.

“A few days ago. It was a Silver Hand lair. It was where I found out about Driftshade Refuge.”

“Did anyone get out alive?”

“No, not a single one of them.”

“So how could anyone know you had been there, or used your _thu’um_? Windhelm is on the other side of the country. How could this man, whoever he is, know you had used your voice in some cave that far away?”

“Yes, that’s the question, isn’t it? It has been all along.”

When she said nothing more he nearly left it at that, but at least she was talking to him, though he was getting tired of her not looking at him. “How many of these have you gotten?”

“This is the fourth.”

“Is it always the same? The man, the location?”

“The wording of the letters, yes. I didn’t think to ask the first time about the sender. The second it was a middle-aged Imperial man, wearing Legionnaire armor, on an empty road outside Solitude. The third it was an older Nord man in iron armor somewhere in Winterhold. Now this one. Different every time, but always a middle-aged to older man.”

“And always, there’s no way he could have known that you used the _thu’um_ in that particular place at that particular time.” She made a sound of assent. Vilkas shivered. There was the touch of the supernatural about all this. “Do you have any idea who it is?”

“An idea, but that’s all. Where am I to go this time?”

“Ironbind Barrow. It’s somewhat on the way to where we’re going, but we have no time either on the way there or back. Kodlak’s funeral needs arranging.”

“I already have Vignar taking care of it while we’re gone. Farkas is getting things cleaned up and Aela is overseeing the juniors. Everything is under control.”

He snorted and said with irritation, “Of course it is.” He stopped in his tracks and stepped back as Bryn rounded on him, her eyes blazing with fury.

 _“Enough!”_ she shouted, the sound of thunder cracking around them. “What do you want me to do, let everything fall apart? Who else do you think is going to manage things, _you?_ ” He had the sense not to protest that he could have. If he could, he would have, and he hadn’t. “You nearly let everyone see you change. You left Athis bleeding on the floor. You let everything go to hell in your grief. And worst of all, you laid a hand on me in anger, and in front of everyone at that. I can still feel it on my arm. I hope it leaves a bruise so you can see with your own eyes _what you did to me!”_

Vilkas gasped, feeling a shudder of terror go down his spine as the words roared at him. He’d had no idea her Voice had grown to the point where she could Shout without using words of power. He had never seen her so furious, and there was something more terrible about how controlled her fury was. And it was all directed at him. He remembered now that he had grabbed her, but he hadn’t imagined it was that hard, though in hindsight and with a cool head he saw how unforgivable it was.

“Is that how human men handle their women? I suppose that’s why it’s called manhandling, isn’t it? A mer would never have done such a barbaric thing to someone they claim to love!”

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“I don’t want your sorries after the fact! I want you to stop and think about what you’re about to do before you do it!”

“I can’t.” That set her back a bit, and she put her hand on her hip and glared at him, waiting. “All I can do is say that I’m sorry afterward,” he stated, his voice breaking. Everything she had said was true. Njada’s demand that he cope had been completely justified. They had all watched him not coping, and then Bryn had swept in and put everything in order, always calm and collected in a crisis. “I want to blame it on the beastblood, but I’m not so sure anymore that it isn’t just me.”

Feeling sorry for him against her will, she turned away and said, “Well, before too long we’re going to find out, aren’t we.”

He followed her, asking, “What do you mean?”

She snorted in derision. “The sack. Did you stop to wonder at any point what I had in the sack? What Kodlak sent me out for? No, of course you didn’t.”

He swallowed down the pang of hurt her words caused and asked, “What was in the sack?”

“All five heads of the Glenmoril Witches. The creatures that put the curse on the Companions in the first place.” She heard Vilkas’ sharp intake of breath as he stopped, and she turned to look at him. His eyes glistened, and she stated, “Yes, I was out getting the cure. Kodlak found it and sent me for it. He told me to leave right away, and so I did. That is why I wasn’t there.” Her anger faltered as she saw tears well up in his eyes. He looked away as one slid down his cheek, and he roughly scrubbed it away, smearing his warpaint even worse than before. She resisted the urge to go to him, though it was hard. She had never seen him cry before, and she didn’t know if it was guilt over his treatment of her or relief over the cure or grief over Kodlak. Maybe all of the above. She went on, “It’s too late for Kodlak, but not for us. I’m getting rid of this curse after we get back, once everything is straightened out.” He said nothing, and she didn’t press to ask if he would get rid of it as well. They had time to sort that out.

Bryn was relieved that nothing more was said as they made their way north. They encountered a few wolves and sabre cats that she was able to calm with Kyne’s Peace, but the shout didn’t work on the frost troll they ran across. After a while they came across a shrine to Talos, and Bryn insisted on pausing there for her to pray for the Divine's blessing, even though the weather was quickly turning, snowflakes starting to fall in flurries. He waited near the road, and after a few minutes saw movement on it, heading the same direction as them. There hadn’t been anyone behind them as far as the eye could see, so they must have been coming from the other road that came from Winterhold. As they got closer he saw the glint of bright armor, and he realized with dismay that they were Thalmor, with a human man between them. He watched them for a moment, seeing the usual two warriors and one wizard, and when they noticed him he turned away and hurried to Bryn.

Finished with her prayers and feeling buoyed by Talos’ blessing, Bryn stood and asked a clearly worried Vilkas, “What’s wrong?”

“Thalmor Justiciars, coming this way. We need to get out of here. If they see us here at the shrine…”

“The usual three?” He nodded. “What were the warriors wearing?”

“What?” She smiled at him then rotated her neck and shoulders. He stammered, “I don’t know, glass I think.”

“Was one of them female?”

“Both were, why?”

She grinned and purred, “Perfect.” Vilkas stared at her with sudden, shocked realization. She centered her amulet of Talos so it couldn’t be missed. “You might want to stay here for a bit.”

“Like hell I will!”

“I’d rather their captive didn’t see one of the Companions with me.”

“But everyone already knows you’re a Companion!” he protested. “If you Shout he’ll know who you are!”

“Yes, but this way we can say I was operating alone.” She looked at him earnestly and pleaded more seriously, “Please, I’m asking you to stay here. This shouldn’t take very long.” 

Vilkas said nothing but didn’t move to follow her, and she turned away and walked to the road to wait. He did move into the shadow of the stone arch that led to the shrine, just in case she needed help, though he knew damn well she wouldn’t. As he waited she moved into the center of the road, the Shield of Solitude on one arm, her other hand on the hilt of Dawnbreaker. The Thalmor neared her and it took all his willpower to stay where he was and simply watch, which he did with mixed dread and anticipation. He honestly wasn’t sure what she was going to do. Kill them certainly, but he wasn’t sure how, since she coveted the glass armor and would want to take it undamaged.

“You there!” the Justiciar wizard barked. “Stand aside. You’re interfering with official Thalmor business.”

“What business would that be?” Bryn asked.

“None of your concern. Remove yourself from my presence while you still draw breath.”

She nodded to the Nord behind the wizard, asking, “Where are you taking him?”

One of the female warriors stated, “We’re taking this… _man_ to be interrogated.”

“Why, what has he done?” 

The wizard stated, “He has knowledge of a cult of Talos worshippers. He will tell us what he knows or he will die. The choice is his.” He looked her up and down and said, “You’re taking a great deal of interest in our business, and…what is that? Is that an amulet of Talos you’re wearing?”

“It certainly looks like it.”

“It is immoral to worship a man. A faithful Imperial citizen would know this. Perhaps there’s something you wish to confess.”

Bryn said nothing, looking at the terrified man at the center. He looked as if he had already been beaten, his face bruised. She knew that once they pulled whatever information they were looking for out of him he would die anyway, and he probably knew it too. She caught his eye and gave him a brief smile, her expression serene, and he nodded faintly and tensed, readying himself.

“Your silence is answer enough,” the wizard stated.

Vilkas’ heart went into his throat as the wizard’s hands lit up and the three Altmer spread out. The captive dove for the nearest snow drift out of the way as Bryn whipped out Dawnbreaker. The two warriors conjured bound swords and went after Bryn while the wizard threw lightning bolts. Bryn shouted _“FO KRAH!”_ at the warriors, who fell to their knees, having no resistance at all to cold, then she went after the wizard. Vilkas’ hands clenched and unclenched as he fought the urge to run out there. The wizard went down after a few hits from both Dawnbreaker and the shield, and as the warriors struggled to their feet Bryn shouted a cone of frost at them again, bringing them to their knees once more, then one fell over on her side, dead.

Bryn waited patiently for her voice to reach full strength again, and watched dispassionately as the remaining Altmer warrior began crawling away. The Nord man was peeking around the snow drift, watching with wide eyes. Bryn ignored him for now, wanting this over with so the man could go free and the Thalmor bodies moved off the road, and divested of their valuables. When she felt able Bryn walked up behind the last mer and shouted _“FO KRAH!”_ again, and she groaned and fell onto her face.

As Bryn flipped the warrior onto her back, the Nord man called out, “They’re dead, right?”

“Yes, quite,” she replied, motioning him over. “Come kinsman, let’s get those ropes off.”

As she cut his bonds he said in excitement, “You’re the Dragonborn, aren’t you! The one everyone is talking about?”

“Yes, that would be me. And your name?”

“Jerek.” The ropes fell away and he gasped as healing magic poured over him. “My thanks, my lady… lady…”

“Brynhilde.” She handed him an Elven dagger and potions and food, along with a few septims. “Where will you go now?”

“Windhelm,” he said proudly. “I’ve debated joining up with the Stormcloaks, but this was the final straw.” He paused then urged, “Come with me, Dragonborn. Think of what Ulfric could do with you under his banner!”

“Yes, I have thought about it, quite a bit, and that’s why I will never join his cause.”

“My lady!” he protested. “Tell me you aren’t loyal to the Imperials!”

“No, I’m loyal to the folk of Skyrim, and I won’t help Ulfric keep tearing it apart. I absolutely refuse to take sides.” He shook his head, looking disillusioned. She pointed at the dead Thalmor at her feet. “That is the problem! You think killing Legionnaires will get rid of the Thalmor? All that does is leave fewer humans to fight them!” He frowned, looking down at the bodies. She waved him off as she knelt down to start unbuckling the armor. The beautiful, gleaming glass armor. This Altmer woman was just her height, though more slender. “Go, report to Ulfric if you want. When you do, ask yourself what he wants more: peace in Skryim, or to be High King? He won’t get both.”

“With you at his side he could. Please.”

“No. I won’t help him kill his own people, and I sure as hell won’t help him put a crown on his head. Tell him that if he asks you why the Dragonborn wouldn’t join his cause. Or I will, when I reach Windhelm. I’m going to stand in front of Ulfric before too much longer, and I won’t be telling him only what he wants to hear like the rest of his toadies probably are.” 

Jerek looked dismayed at her strong words, shaking his head. “I won’t be the one to tell him that.” He offered her his hand, wondering at how young she looked. She gave him a small smile and took his hand. He was going to remember this day as long as he lived, however long that was. “My thanks, my lady Brynhilde. If ever I have a daughter, I will name her for you.” Her smile broadened, and he let her hand fall, feeling his face warm even in the cold. By Dibella, she was beautiful. He looked up at the sky and said, “Looks like a storm might be rolling in.”

“Oh, it is, friend,” she said with confidence, going back to her task. “It most certainly is.” She heard the man clear his throat then start running. He had to be freezing with what little he was wearing, but he couldn’t exactly wrap himself in bloody black Thalmor robes. When she had the glass cuirass off she heard Vilkas come near, and she sighed and ran her hand over the breastplate, watching what dim light there was make it gleam green, like a newly sprouted leaf. “Isn’t it marvelous,” she sighed.

“It is lovely,” he admitted. “It will suit you well.” He squatted down next to her, hesitating before reaching out to pet her hair. She sighed and looked at him, and he took the back of her neck in his hand and leaned close to kiss her. She responded warmly and he knew then that all was forgiven. He kept his hand there as he broke away and said in admiration, “What a sight you were.” He snorted and added in a haughty tone, “’Remove yourself from my presence’. Ha.” She had to laugh at that. The arrogance of the Thalmor had been appalling, though entertaining. “What did the fellow have to say before he took off?”

“He urged me to join Ulfric’s noble cause. I told him to let Ulfric know I would be coming soon, and not to become his war hound. I told him I wouldn’t help Ulfric kill his own people or become High King.” Jarl Laila had been right about that, as naïve as she was about Maven and the Thieves Guild. Ulfric’s motives weren’t pure, and his ‘Skyrim for the Nords’ mentality could only mean hardship for the many other peoples who lived here if he came to power. She wondered how Ulfric was going to take her mixed blood. The thought of it was delicious.

“Good, let Stormcloak stew on that for a while.” He stood and said, “What should we do with the bodies?”

“Do you think offering them to Talos would be too much?”

He barked out a laugh then caught himself. “Maybe. While I appreciate the irony of it, any other Thalmor that come along would find it a provocation.”

“They were dragging away that poor man to be interrogated, which in their language means torture, simply because they thought he _might_ have knowledge of Talos worshippers. I’d say it couldn’t get any worse.”

Vilkas looked at her for a moment then said, “All right then.” She smiled brightly at him, looking perfectly innocent and girlish, so pretty with the snowflakes clinging to her hair and eyelashes. He swallowed his pride and said, “I screwed up. Again. Back in Jorrvaskr. The situation, you…all of it.”

“Yes, but it isn’t the end of the world, beloved.”

“I let everyone down.”

“How so? You’re not the one everyone keeps looking to, to solve all the problems. We all do as our natures dictate.” And unfortunately it was in a Dragonborn's blood to lead. She supposed there just wasn't any escaping that fact any longer.

The odd answer left him speechless for a moment. He nearly turned away, to drag away the wizard, then he forced himself to say, “Kodlak made you Harbinger, didn’t he.”

“No, not yet, but he hinted at it, as did Vignar. I don’t particularly want the job, frankly, or have time for it, but I want what’s best for the Companions, just as I do for Skyrim. When we get back to Jorrvaskr we’ll look through his things to see if he left his intentions anywhere. He was always writing in that journal of his.”

“I…would abide by his wishes.”

“We all will.”

“Aye.” He turned away to help Bryn deal with the bodies, feeling fresh grief as images of Kodlak’s body and his courageous last moments flashed through his mind. Even sick as he was, he had rushed upstairs to defend his home and shield-siblings, and had managed to take out one of them before the end. He had died fighting, died gloriously. Vilkas was proud of him, even while grieving. And he was proud of Bryn for stepping in and calmly putting things in order when he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He simply didn’t have it in him to lead. Every time he thought he did, something happened that set him off. The position of Harbinger though wasn’t one of leader; it was one of advisor, counselor, a calm and rational voice among the rabble. He certainly didn’t fit the bill there, either. Out of all the Circle, only Bryn did now. If the Companions were to survive then she had to be Harbinger, and he would gladly follow her.  
-  
His gorge rising, Vilkas whispered hotly, “Unnecessary. This is so…so fucking unnecessary!” The room was meant for torture and nothing else. There was simply no reason to torture werewolves. The Thalmor at least had some thin veil of a reason for what they did--to gain information--but there was no point to this. This was pure sadism. All through Driftshade Refuge they had seen werewolf heads stuck on pikes, but this was the first werewolf body they had found. The bloody smell in here and the signs of torture on the poor soul were bringing his beast much too close to the surface. And there Bryn stood, seemingly unaffected.

“This is why Aela and Skjor did what they did. And me,” she softly stated. “If the Silver Hand simply hunted werewolves that would be one thing, but this is sadistic. I’m sorry Skjor and Kodlak died, but this had to end.”

“I know, but…”

“I have to wonder which would be better, dying in some random encounter, or on a mercenary job that has nothing to do with you? Or dying to wipe out this scum, dying to save those you love, to defend your home?”

Vilkas swallowed the lump in his throat. “Aye, love.” Her calm reason soothed the beast in him, made it sink back down, and he was grateful for it. He simply couldn’t understand how she was always so damn calm and reasonable.

The end of their mission when it came was almost a disappointment to him. He wasn’t sure if he was glad or not that it had been this easy. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t gotten his share of wounds, but Bryn had been there to heal them all. The fort lay silent around them, and the fragments of Wuuthrad were spread out on the table in front of them. Vilkas waited a moment, savoring it, then began gathering them up. Bryn asked, “Are they all there?”

“All but one, but that one was missing before.” He wrapped them up with respect and moved to put them in his pack then thought better of it, handing them to Bryn, who accepted them wordlessly. “We should get back to Jorrvaskr and pay our respects to Kodlak’s spirit, wherever it is going.”

“Yes. I just want to check out that chest first.”

“Ever the acquisitive one,” he said jokingly.

“I don’t believe in wasting opportunity.”

“Sure.”

She laughed and he followed her over to the chest. She looked longingly at the smithing equipment around her, wishing she had time to adjust the glass armor so she could wear it home. She had two sets now, so she’d adjust both to have a spare. Bryn opened the unlocked chest and pulled out a nice sum of gold, three silver ingots, and a necklace. A magical amulet. She bit her lip and slowly rose, staring at the amulet of Mara in her hand, feeling a sudden swell of yearning in her. She didn’t look up at Vilkas, afraid of what she would see on his face, but she sensed the tension in him. For a few seconds she entertained the fantasy that he would snatch the amulet out of her hand and put it around his neck, or around hers, and profess his undying love and devotion to her, tell her he couldn’t live without her and beg her to be his wife. She waited, staring at it, feeling her hopes dying by the second, and when he shifted uncomfortably she resisted the urge to cry and murmured, “Farkas could use this. I’m…sure he doesn’t have one yet.” 

He cleared his throat and made a sound of assent, and she carefully set the amulet in her pack then slung it on her back and headed for the door, trying not to cry. So that was how it was. It had been one thing to dance around the issue before, but now she’d had the damn amulet in her hand and he’d let the matter lie. She wished she had the courage to simply put the thing on to see what happened, or didn’t happen. That would have made it painfully clear, though this was painful enough. At least this way she hadn’t been outright rejected. It wasn’t as if Vilkas didn’t want to be with her. It just seemed he didn’t want to be with her forever.


	19. Chapter 19

As they came through the gates a guard said to Vilkas and Bryn in a sympathetic tone, “Hey Companions, old Gray-Mane said to send you up to the Skyforge if you got in tonight. They’ve held off the funeral as long as they can.”

“Aye, we’ll be there,” Vilkas said with a nod. “Thank you.” He saw Bryn nod then head for Breezehome, and he let her go. Hardly a word had been spoken between them on the way home, and at this point he didn’t know what to say. She was only dropping her things off, he was sure. No sense hauling it all up to Jorrvaskr. She wouldn’t miss Kodlak’s funeral.

When she showed up at the Skyforge a minute after him he was relieved, having worried about it the entire way there. Lydia had already been up here when he arrived, comforting Farkas, and held his hand silently. Vilkas hoped Bryn would come to him and hold his hand, but she stayed apart from the others near the top of the stairs, not meeting his eyes. She stared at the funeral pyre as if it were horrifying to her, and when they said the ceremonial words she didn’t join in. She most likely didn’t even know them. When Aela put a torch to the pyre Bryn shuddered slightly. Maybe Altmer had different funerary practices. Most Nords buried their dead, but Eorlund had said Kodlak had requested this, and it wasn’t completely unheard of to cremate the dead.

It was silent as they watched the body burn. After a few minutes Vilkas saw Eorlund go to Bryn and speak quietly to her. She nodded and handed over the wrapped fragments of Wuuthrad, and after another brief conversation she nodded again, turned away and left as Aela called for the Circle to retire to the Underforge. Vilkas sighed and let Bryn go, sure she had a reason for leaving, and indeed he saw her go into Jorrvaskr. Maybe Eorlund had asked for a favor. He supposed he would see soon enough. Eorlund was pumping the bellows and Kodlak’s body was being quickly consumed, more quickly than Vilkas would have guessed possible. There was something poetic about his body becoming one with the Skyforge. Every piece of armor or weaponry forged there after this would have the essence of Kodlak in it.

He watched Lydia take her leave of Farkas as the funeral attendees filed away…Jarl Balgruuf, Proventus Avenicci, Danica Pure-Spring, Olfrid and Bergritte Battle-Born, and Fralia Gray-Mane among them. Many more of the townsfolk had watched from below and were also dispersing, the mood subdued. He sensed his brother come up to him, and he muttered, “It’s the end of an age.”

“Every age has to end,” Farkas said, “and if you look at me all shocked you’re going to get my fist.”

“Fair enough.”

His twin was still dirty from the road, and he asked him, “So it’s all taken care of?”

“Aye, not a single one left. The Silver Hand will trouble us no more.” He was completely exhausted; he and Bryn had been on the road for nearly two days with hardly any rest.

“I hope soon they won’t have a reason to anyway. Bryn told you about the cure, right?” Vilkas nodded. “You’re going to take it, right?” Vilkas hesitated, and Farkas narrowed his eyes and stated, “You’d better take it, Vilkas. We promised each other we would do it together.”

“Of course I will, I…just need to think about it.”

“What’s to think about? No more having to hide what we are, no more dealing with too much sound and smell. Getting a good night’s sleep every night…” He clenched his fists and said, “I swear Vilkas, if you ruin this for me I’ll never forgive you. I want to get married. I can’t do that when I’m like this.” Vilkas looked at him with an expression of hurt. “You make everything hard, everything complicated. Don’t think I didn’t see how you and Bryn left, how you came back. You’re still doing it!”

“We made up on the way there,” he stated angrily. “Over the body of a dead Thalmor Justiciar, no less.”

“Yeah, well you must’ve un-made up somewhere on the way back. What did you do?”

“Why does it have to be me?”

“It’s always you!”

“Well this time it wasn’t. She found an amulet of Mara in a chest, and she stood there with it in her hand waiting for me to do something about it. She just stood there staring at it, then she put it in her pack and we left. She hardly said a word to me the entire way back, wouldn’t even look me in the eye.”

“So why didn’t you do something about it?”

“Why didn’t she!”

“What if she had? What would you have done? ‘Cause I can imagine what she thought you would do. Nothing.” Vilkas growled, his face burning, and Farkas asked, “Why won’t you marry her, damn it? What the hell is your problem?”

“I have too many to name,” he retorted.

“Tell me why you don’t want to get married,” his twin insisted. “You obviously aren’t talking straight with her about it, so at least tell me.”

“I told you before, I don’t want to be a widower. She’s going to face Alduin eventually, and what do you think is going to happen?”

“So you’ll miss her less if you don’t have a ring on your finger? That makes no goddamn sense!”

Eorlund barked at them, “Hey you two, take it somewhere else. This isn’t the place or the time.”

“Sorry,” the twins murmured. He shook his head at them and turned back to his forge, where Kodlak’s bones glowed bright orange-red at the heart of the fire. They stared at it for a moment before Farkas took Vilkas’ arm and led him away.  
-  
 _Aela is too solitary, Vilkas too fiery, and Farkas too kind-hearted. Only Brynhilde stands as a true warrior who can keep a still mind amidst these burning hearts._

Bryn finished Kodlak’s last entry and closed the journal before any of her tears fell on the pages. She fastened it and slipped it into the front of her armor, the simple will folded inside it, then she picked up the last piece of Wuuthrad to take up to Eorlund. It had been eerie to enter Jorrvaskr after the funeral and see it completely empty, but the others were back now, Vignar speaking to Tilma about preparations for Kodlak’s memorial feast. Bryn’s heart wasn’t in it, but these things were needed. She smiled briefly at them as she passed and Vignar gave her a wink, though his expression was still grieved.

Eorlund was alone at the Skyforge, still stoking the fire, and Bryn went to him, trying not to look at Kodlak’s remains, now nothing more than a glowing skeleton. She had fought skeletons before and had always wondered who they had been in life, and seeing Kodlak like this now was more horrifying than his dead body had been.

The smith glanced over at her and noticed her expression. “One would think you’re used to death by now, lass,” he stated.

“I’ve never lost someone I loved before,” she replied. “My parents died when I was a baby, and my Altmer grandmother was still alive and barely middle-aged when I left Cyrodiil.” He grunted in acknowledgment. She handed him the last fragment, the pointed top piece.

“Thank you. Your shield-siblings have withdrawn to the Underforge. I think they’re waiting for you.” Bryn nodded. He waited and said, “Well, get a move on, girl, I haven’t got all day.”

Bryn opened her mouth to ask what he was doing but he shooed her away, getting irritated, so she did the wise thing and left. If he was just going to mount the pieces again he would have been heading for Jorrvaskr, but maybe he wanted to stay with Kodlak’s remains until they were fully consumed.

When she entered the Underforge she could hear the sounds of arguing, and it made her sigh with exhaustion. All she wanted was a bath and sleep, not to have to mediate disputes. If this was what being Harbinger was all about she wanted no part of it. Not that she did anyway.

She stayed out of the argument, which was mostly between Vilkas and Aela, with Farkas throwing in occasional comments in support of his brother. The others seemed to ignore her for the most part, and that was fine. They were speaking of things of which she had little knowledge. It reinforced to her that Aela would never accept a cure. The child of two werewolves, she was moon-born indeed. Aela’s blood was still dried onto the font, a crust of reddish-brown, and Bryn found it revolting. This entire evening had been morbid. It was all she could do to stand there and listen to the others bickering without simply turning around and walking away. Bryn’s attention perked a bit more when Vilkas mentioned the tomb of Ysgramor and a possible way to still cure Kodlak, which was news to her, but then Vilkas knew things about the history of the Companions that they had never touched on yet. There was simply so much there that he couldn’t impart it all.

Vilkas stated, “Kodlak used to speak of a way to cleanse his soul, even in death. You know the legends of the Tomb of Ysgramor."

Aela replied, "Yes, ‘There the souls of the Harbingers will heed the call of northern steel’. But we can't even enter the tomb without Wuuthrad, and it's in pieces, like it has been for a thousand years."

The sound of the outer door opening caught the attention of all four, and they turned to see Eorlund enter the Underforge. The old smith said gravely, "And dragons were just stories. And the Elves once ruled Skyrim."

Vilkas stared at Eorlund, trying to make out what was on his back, then he asked in shock, "Is that… Did you repair the blade?" It didn’t seem possible. Bryn had delivered the fragments to him not half an hour ago.

"Just because something is, doesn't mean it must be. The blade is a weapon, a tool. Tools are meant to be broken, and repaired. This is the first time I've had all the pieces, thanks to our Shield-Sister here.” He pulled Wuuthrad off his back and moved into the light, hearing sharp intakes of breath from the Circle. “Legend says, ‘The flames of a hero can reforge the shattered.’ The flames of Kodlak have fueled the rebirth of Wuuthrad. And now it will take you to meet him once more. The rest of you, prepare to journey to the Tomb of Ysgramor in the morning. For Kodlak.” He turned to Bryn and held out the battleaxe to her. “As the one who bore the fragments, I think you should be the one to carry Wuuthrad into battle."

“Thank you,” she murmured, taking it from him. “For everything.” Of course she had no intention at all of fighting with the thing, which had to weigh nearly thirty pounds. She was completely unsuited to the weapon, having trained only a little in two-handed weapons.

“Aye lass. I’ll take my leave.” He knew damn well the girl was going to be the next Harbinger. Anyone with eyes in their head could see that.

When the smith was gone, Bryn stood staring at the axe in her hand, wondering how on earth she was going to carry the thing all the way up to Ysgramor’s Tomb. She turned to look at the others and they waited for her to say something, and when she looked directly at Vilkas he bit his lip and nearly looked away, but didn’t. She held the axe out to him and he stared at it with something like lust, then he shook his head and folded his arms.

“No, it is yours,” he stated.

“You know I can’t use this,” she protested. “I can’t fight with two-handed weapons. Besides, this has hung on Jorrvaskr’s wall for how long, with you and Farkas growing up under it. One of you should carry it, fight with it. I can’t.”

Vilkas nearly said something snide about her being the new Harbinger and sucking it up and dealing with it, but for once a tiny voice of common sense stopped him. Bryn wasn’t offering it to him out of pity or charity. She truly couldn’t use the weapon, and it would be an impediment to her on the road up to the Tomb. He wasn’t that much of an ass that he would do that to her. He finally nodded, and she let out a breath of relief and held it out to him.

Vilkas took the axe reverently, setting the haft on the ground to run his free hand over the flat of the blade. “Who would have thought this day would come,” he breathed in awe. “Wuuthrad.”

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Farkas agreed, coming over to look at the weapon. He also used a two-handed sword, and when Vilkas handed it to him he hefted it then backed up to take a few swings, making Aela gasp.

“You aren’t testing a new blade at the blacksmith’s, ice brain,” she scolded.

“I’m doing it with respect,” Farkas stated.

“Fine, but I’m not about to watch. We have preparations to make and a feast to attend.”

Vilkas took the axe back and said, “Aye, we leave in the morning, but tonight we celebrate Kodlak.” Kodlak, whose funeral pyre had made the impossible possible. As had Bryn. He turned to say something to her but she was already on her way out, Aela hurrying to catch up to her, and she put her arm through the younger woman’s as they exited the Underforge.

The stone door slid shut, and Farkas continued their prior argument, saying, “You’re still doing it, damn it.”

“Not again,” Vilkas groaned.

“She’s going to leave you if you keep it up,” he stated angrily. “You told me months ago that you were going to screw everything up, that you didn’t know what you were doing, and I’m telling you right now that she’s going to leave you, Vilkas. Everything was okay between you until she took the beastblood, and you’ve let it all go to hell since then. Have you even slept with her since then?”

“It hasn’t been that long!”

Farkas shook his head at him. “Whatever. Don’t come crying to me later when she’s washed her hands of you. I’m trying to help, damn it.” He turned away, saying, “She’d be better off with Aela than you. At least Aela understands loyalty.”

“I don’t deserve this,” Vilkas growled, following him.

“You’re causing my sister pain, for no good reason. If Bryn dies, you’re going to hurt as much as her lover as you would her husband, and why the hell would she die anyway? She could probably take you or me in a fight these days.”

“Alduin is… It’s Alduin, you dummy!” He danced back as Farkas spun and took a swing at him, narrowly missing his jaw. His twin advanced on him and he held up his hand and hastily said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“You will be,” Farkas warned.

“All right!”

They fell silent as they left the Underforge, and when they entered the mead hall Bryn was nowhere to be seen. The younglings and Vignar quickly converged on Vilkas, eager to see Wuuthrad, and he held it out at arm’s length to let them get a good look at it and touch it, feeling a swell of pride that he knew was unwarranted. Bryn could have gotten the fragments herself, though she would’ve taken a good deal of damage in the process, but she hadn’t. Vilkas had been there and he had fought honestly. It made him uncomfortable that his motive had been vengeance, something Kodlak didn’t care for, but it had gotten the job done.

He left the axe with his brother then went downstairs to bathe and change. Bryn wasn’t there either, so she must have gone back to Breezehome. By time he returned upstairs the feast was started, and not long after he took his usual seat Bryn came through the front doors. She was wearing her finest dress with the fur-trimmed cloak, and when those gathered called “Hail, Shield-Sister!” she smiled sadly and nodded. Her eyes scanned the tables, and when they lit on him she stared at him, waiting, and when he took too long to respond her expression fell and she turned away. Vilkas shoved his chair back and went after her, feeling a twinge of panic that Farkas might be right, that one too many of his slips would finally push her over the edge. He caught her hand and stopped her. She didn’t pull away but didn’t meet his eyes either. “Come sit by me?” he quietly asked.

Relieved, Bryn looked up at him and saw real fear in his eyes, could feel the slightest trembling in his hand. She sighed and twined her fingers in his. “Of course,” she replied, feeling him relax as he blinked rapidly. “I’ll be there in just a second. I wanted to talk to Farkas first.”

“Of course.” He lifted her hand and kissed it, not caring who saw, then let her go to return to his seat. He watched her go to his brother and sit by him, giving him a kiss on the cheek, and Farkas grinned back at her, his expression warm. Vilkas had to swallow a lump of mixed hurt and regret as he watched them together; yes, Bryn would have been better off with Farkas. Any woman would be. Bryn leaned against Farkas’ shoulder and whispered in his ear, then she took something out of her belt pouch and pressed it into his hand, closing his fingers over it. Farkas looked down at it, peeking inside the little package, then he looked at Bryn in alarm then over at Vilkas. With a sudden sinking feeling Vilkas knew what it was: the Amulet of Mara. Farkas stared at Vilkas, who stared back, then his twin tore his eyes away and said something to Bryn, who shook her head and rose from her seat. She ran her fingers through Farkas’ hair as he gazed up at her, and Vilkas was certain he asked her ‘Are you sure?’ She nodded and walked away. Farkas’ eyes went back to Vilkas, and instead of glaring back Vilkas let his gaze fall. He wasn’t sure whether to be wounded or relieved that Bryn had given the amulet away. It hurt though that she had made sure that he saw her do it. As if she were making him very aware that she knew he would never marry her.

Bryn took a seat next to Vilkas, and as she expected he said nothing, instead pouring her a mug of mead. She sipped at it, feeling soothing coolness spread through her. It was tempting to get roaring drunk, the way she had that first night at Jorrvaskr after being accepted into the Companions. That wasn’t particularly dignified though, and of course the Dragonborn and future Harbinger had to be dignified.

Vilkas thoughtfully filled her plate with venison and roasted vegetables, and she sighed and finally looked up at him. He met her eyes and gave her a hint of a smile, and she slid her hand onto his leg and rubbed it gently. He let out a breath and smiled more fully at her, and it was so beautiful that it was impossible to contemplate not being with him, marriage or no marriage.

Vignar cleared his throat and stood, ringing a spoon on his goblet. The mead hall fell silent. He raised his glass and called out, “To Kodlak!”

“To Kodlak!” they all shouted, then took a drink in his honor.

“I first joined the Companions nearly seventy years ago, when I was little more than a boy.”

“Here we go,” Vilkas muttered, and Bryn shushed him softly, though she was trying not to smile. Vilkas had heard every story Vignar had to tell over the last nearly thirty years, but he listened respectfully now as the elder related only those that had to do with Kodlak, and he was surprised to find that there were some he had never heard before. They were stories of bravery, of honor. Vignar hadn’t met Kodlak until he’d returned to Jorrvaskr after the Great War, when Askar had been Harbinger and Kodlak still a hale young man in his thirties, trying to herd around two wild young boys who had been entrusted to his care.

Farkas stood next, saying, “I’m not good at telling stories, but I have a few.” His brought more laughter than Vignar’s, most of them involving him and Vilkas getting in some kind of trouble as youngsters, all the way up until nearly their twenties.

The ritual moved around the table, the mood alternately light-hearted and somber. Bryn found it deeply touching, if odd; she had no experience at all with this sort of thing. When it finally reached her the room went quiet again, and when Vilkas nudged her she cleared her throat and stood. Everyone stared at her expectantly, respectfully. She finally said, “I wish I had known Kodlak longer. I wish that I’d had the benefit of his wisdom the way you all have, for as long as you all have. I’m only here today because Kodlak took a chance on me, because he saw something in me I couldn’t yet see in myself.” The dream had been responsible for that, but no one here needed to know that; she’d share it with the Circle, later, but the rest didn’t need to know about it. “I have no stories to tell of Kodlak, only memories of him, the impressions he left on me. I remember best his kindness, the soul behind his eyes. In his presence I always felt safe, as I would imagine a child does with a beloved grandfather. I loved the sound of his voice. I…parted well from him. I only wish that I had been here, when… Well.” She took a folded piece of paper from her belt pouch and held it up. “Kodlak willed a little bit of something to everyone here. I’ll bring those things by the first opportunity I get.” She lifted her mug. “To Kodlak.”

“To Kodlak!”

As Bryn sank into her seat, Vilkas rose, his heart aching. He stared at the central fire and began with difficulty, “Kodlak was the father of my heart. Mara only knows who actually was my, our, father, but when I think father, my mind’s eye sees Kodlak.”

_Oh Kodlak_ , Bryn thought with sorrow as she listened to Vilkas’ moving tribute to the man. He meant so much to so many people, but he had meant to the most to Vilkas. He seemed to be doing fine, considering. She hoped he continued to do so. His behavior lately had been deeply troubling. Granted, he was under a lot of stress, but such times tended to bring out one’s true character. He was a good man though, she knew that. Maybe it really was only the beast that was influencing him so heavily. Kodlak had made a point of that: the beastblood tainted not only the body but the spirit. It affected Vilkas more strongly than the others. She was glad that an end to that was near. She wanted to know the real Vilkas, the honorable, caring, passionate man she loved so dearly, without the beast in the way.

“To Kodlak!”

She was startled out of her thoughts by the toast, and she took a drink of mead as Vilkas returned to his seat. The memorials done, everyone began talking quietly and eating. She placed her hand on Vilkas’ leg again and gave it a gentle squeeze, and he put his own hand over it.

“He would have liked this,” Vilkas said softly. Kodlak hadn’t been a boisterous man, even in his youth.

“I think so.”

“I didn’t know he left a will.”

“I found it in his side table, when Eorlund sent me for the final piece of Wuuthrad.”

“Final piece! So that’s where it’s been all these years. I never guessed. His bedroom was always completely off limits to everyone, always. Even as young boys Farkas and I never dared go in there, when it was Askar’s.”

“It wasn’t comfortable going in there,” she admitted. “I felt like an intruder.”

“Did you find his journal?”

“Yes.”

“So…”

“Yes.” He took in a deep breath then slowly let it out and nodded. He seemed relieved, which relieved her in turn. “Do you want to read it?”

He quickly shook his head. “No, not yet. I’m…not ready.”

“There was nothing terrible in there, dearest.”

“Still…”

“All right.”

“Stay here tonight, with me?”

“Yes. I told Lydia I might.”

“Might.” She said nothing, taking a bite of bread. “I…don’t blame you for not trusting me,” he muttered. “I can’t even trust myself.”

“You’ve been having trouble lately. I hope to remove the source of that trouble within the next few days.” He didn’t answer, and when she looked up at him he was staring at the fire. She squeezed his hand, harder than she intended when he looked sharply at her. She whispered pleadingly to him, “Please honey, promise me you’ll take the cure!”

“Of course I will.” Bryn relaxed, and he vowed to himself to make himself do it, no matter how hard it was. He knew it was going to be one of the most difficult things he had ever done. No matter how he hated the beastblood, it was part of him. It had been part of him so long that he wasn’t sure who he was without it, and that was a frightening prospect. If he didn’t rid himself of it though, he would never know. Bryn would never forgive him, and worst of all neither would his brother. Farkas had always followed Vilkas’ lead. If he didn’t cure himself his brother would feel compelled not to either, and there was no way he could deny his twin a fresh lease on life, with a wife and children. Now that Farkas had the amulet it would feel even more urgent to him.

Later that evening the festivities were getting more rambunctious, and Farkas excused himself to go see Lydia, taking his gear with him, telling the others to meet him there in the morning. Aela excused herself as well, saying they needed to get an early start. She had been quiet most of the night, picking at her food, no doubt missing Skjor.

“Let’s go,” Vilkas murmured to Bryn, and she nodded and took his hand. He led her downstairs, their departure unnoticed. They walked hand in hand down the hall, hearing Aela shuffling around in her room, her door open, no doubt preparing for tomorrow. He was going to turn down his hall when Bryn tugged on his hand, pulling him towards Kodlak’s quarters. He balked, shaking his head. “No, it’s too soon.”

“Please, I just want to show you something,” she pleaded. He sighed and relented. She felt his fingers tighten on hers as they opened the outer doors. She clucked her tongue and said, “These need to be left open. We can’t just shut it all away.” Vilkas stayed silent but didn’t protest. When she went to open the bedroom door he pulled on her again, and she grabbed his arm and tugged him along like a small child.

“Fine, fine,” he said in aggravation. “What the hell could possibly be so… What on Nirn is that?”

“I don’t know. Odd, isn’t it?” She let go of his hand to pick up the bright pink jewel that turned slowly on some invisible axis above a bed of green velvet. “This is what he left to me. I have no idea what it is, or what to do with it.”

“I’ve never seen its like.” She handed it to him and he held it up. He held it by the tips of his fingers, unsettled by the magic holding it aloft. He handed it back to her, and she put it back on the shelf. “Is that what you wanted to show me?”

“Well, yes, but not everything.” She went to a large chest against one wall and pulled out a key, hearing a grumble from Vilkas. She smiled at him over her shoulder. “Better than picking the lock.”

“I suppose.” She lifted the lid and motioned him over. He looked down into the chest, feeling a pang of grief at the sight of Kodlak’s wolf armor. Vilkas had never seen him wear anything else; he had already been part of the Circle when the twins came along. Then his eyes lit on the black and gold gleam next to it. “Ah, look at that,” he said in admiration. He hesitated then reached in and picked up the cuirass. He held it up, saying to Bryn, “Now _that_ is armor. The only thing stronger is Daedric, and you wouldn’t catch me dead in that cursed stuff. This though…this is the armor of a true hero. I had no idea Kodlak owned any. It must be from his early days.” He admired it a bit longer then laid it back in the chest.

“It’s yours.” Vilkas looked at her sharply, and she repeated, “It’s yours. Kodlak wanted you to have it.”

He shook his head vehemently. “No. I can’t. Absolutely not.”

“It was what he wanted.” She took out the folded piece of paper and handed it to him. He took it from her and opened it. It was dated from a few days ago. The day Bryn had left Whiterun for Glenmoril Coven. “You were first in his thoughts. He must have started this right after I left. He wanted you to have the armor of his youth, before he became a werewolf. There’s meaning in that, Vilkas. Look at the very bottom.”

He scanned the rest of the list, noting that Kodlak had left his warhammer to Farkas, and at the bottom were directions to Eorlund to melt down the wolf armor, all the sets that he was given, and let the making of it die with the smith. He folded the paper and handed it back, shaking his head. “I’m not worthy of it.”

“So be worthy.”

He stared at her painfully, then whispered, “He told me that. When I first came to him about us, to tell him what I had done in that crypt. He told me to be worthy of you. And I haven’t been. Gods know I haven’t been.” He wasn’t sure how he could ever be. The stronger and more skilled Bryn became, the less worthy he felt. Bryn didn’t protest his statement, either, though she seemed confused by it more than anything. He closed the lid. “No. I will not wear it. Not yet. I would feel like a fraud.”

“All right, beloved.” He took her hand and led her out of the room, closing the door, though he left the outer ones open. Something crashed upstairs and there was the sound of Torvar’s guffaws and Ria’s shriek of laughter, making her laugh. “I’m glad we left when we did.”

“As long as they don’t burn the place down, let them have their fun. Vignar is no doubt up there with them, matching them mug for mug. He’ll keep an eye on things, if he doesn’t fall asleep at the table first.” He pulled her into his room then pressed her against the door, saying huskily, “Be glad for the noise. It will cover your screams.” Bryn bit her lip and giggled, and the girlishness of it made him harden even quicker. He kissed along her ear, murmuring, “You think I’m joking, but I assure you I am not.” He felt her nose along his neck, then he gasped as she pulled his hips against her at the same time she nipped him. He held still, beginning to ache, as her nose moved to his ear, and she nibbled at the lobe, sending goose bumps over his skin.

“Take me,” she breathed in his ear, “and don’t be nice about it.”

A dizzying surge of lust went through him, and he growled and spun her around to face the door. He pinned her hands there and hissed, “Don’t. Move.” He shoved up her dress and made a choked sound of need when there was nothing there to impede his progress. He kicked her feet apart, undid his pants then began to caress her between, hearing her moan. When she was wet enough he entered her roughly, making her cry out, giving her exactly what she wanted, and when he drew close he stopped, leaning against her back as he put one hand over hers. The other reached down and began firmly rubbing her, making her press back against him as she panted. He murmured in her ear, “You’re mine, aren’t you.”

“Oh yes,” she breathed. He laced his fingers with hers and she held on tightly as his touch made a tingling, almost burning pleasure build in her.

“Tell me you’ll never leave me.”

She panted, “Never, I…would never—“ Vilkas began moving slowly inside her and it pushed her over the edge. He grabbed her hips and took her so roughly it almost hurt, but she had asked for it, and it felt too good to protest. He lapped and bit at her neck as he leaned against her then wrapped his arms tightly around her, finishing with his breath hot in her ear. 

Bryn let her hands fall as he pulled out of her, but he didn’t let go, if anything holding her more tightly. It was no doubt making a mess of her dress, but that could be taken care of easily enough with a washcloth, enough to get her home in the morning. She laid her arms over his and he rocked her slightly, rubbing his head against hers as their breathing slowed. He was usually talkative afterward but this time he was silent. It continued for so long that she began to grow uneasy, and when he slowed to a standstill she began to truly worry, but before she could ask what was wrong she felt him began to tremble. When she tried to turn around to look at him his arms tightened further, to the point where she could hardly breathe. “Vilkas!” she whispered. He didn’t answer, and she pried his arms off and turned around. He avoided her eyes, looking past her at the door, but his own eyes were wet, haunted looking. She didn’t ask what was wrong, afraid to sound patronizing. “Come on,” she murmured, taking his arm and leading him to the bed.

She began undressing him, and after a moment he sniffed and took over, not looking at her. She took her own clothes off and when directed slid in first, then he blew out the lanterns and got in after her. She laid there in the dark for nearly a minute, feeling him shiver every so often, wondering what on earth was wrong with him, then he rolled over with a whimpering sound and moved up against her, sliding down to lay his head on her chest. She put her arms around him and brought up one hand to run her fingers through his hair. She softly stated, “I love you, Vilkas.” She felt him nod, silent. His stubble was pricking her skin but she ignored the discomfort.

When he fell asleep that way a few minutes later she sighed and resigned herself to being uncomfortable, so exhausted that her body was screaming for sleep. She hoped that it was only grief over Kodlak’s death that had made him act odd. She had no idea if he had actually wept over the old man’s death yet, other than that solitary tear on the road the other day. Maybe Nords didn’t weep over their dead. She supposed she hadn’t really cried much either, but then she hadn’t known Kodlak the way the others had, or loved him the way Vilkas did. It had to hurt terribly for him to lose the man he had taken to heart as a father, when he had lost his own parents as a tiny child, and then Jergen had left—

Bryn felt a pang of sorrow, hearing Vilkas’ words in her ear earlier: _Tell me you’ll never leave me._ Those weren’t exactly the words one whispered to a lover during sex, and it hadn’t really registered with her at the time. She wondered if he really feared that, that she would leave him too. Skjor was dead, Kodlak was dead, Jergen had left and probably had died somewhere, his parents had most likely been murdered in front of him and Farkas. And then there was Farkas, wanting to marry, which meant he would leave Jorrvaskr and make a home with Lydia. Farkas had been across the hall from Vilkas for the last ten years. They had always been inseparable before that as well. Bryn was often away from Whiterun, sometimes for a month or two at a time; no wonder he feared her leaving him altogether, especially when his behavior had been so unbearable lately.

She hadn’t realized she had fallen asleep until he twitched violently, waking her with a gasp, and when he whimpered she touched his bare shoulder gently to wake him from his nightmare.

“Leave my brother alone,” he mumbled.

Bryn’s breath caught, and she shook him lightly to wake him up, but he only muttered something else unintelligible and rolled over and fell back asleep. She rolled onto her side, putting her arm over him, her heart aching that he still dreamt of the cave, thirty-five years later. Even though it happened long before she was born, it was still terrifying to think of how close Farkas had come to dying, and how the thin thread of chance had led Jergen to that cave. It was sad that Vilkas still resented Jergen for leaving, when it had to have been hard for a single man to take in two traumatized toddlers and try to raise them himself, when by all rights he could have dropped them off at Honorhall Orphanage and gone his own way. The thought of two frightened, emotionally damaged little boys being left in that hellish place in Grelod’s care was horrifying. In fact Bryn thought she might pay the woman a little late-night visit sometime soon to convince her to lay off the children. That Dark Brotherhood gear she’d picked up would come in quite handy for that. She wouldn’t lay a hand on the woman—she wasn’t a murderer—but she would impress on her quite strongly that her days of mistreating the children were over. She would pass through Riften on her way up to Eastmarch, once things were all squared away here at Jorrvaskr. Maybe she would take Iona with her for a bit and see how she worked out.

Feeling content with that settled in her mind, Bryn quickly fell back asleep.  
-  
The grinding of stone doors in the nearby walls made the twins tense and go for their weapons, and when they saw Bryn emerge from one they relaxed. She looked thoughtful, giving them only a brief smile, the sack of heads slung over her shoulder, not as full as before. They looked at each other then Farkas asked with worry, “Where’s Aela?”

“Down in the tomb,” she answered, staying in the doorway. “Communing, she says.” She took a deep breath and let it out again then smiled more fully at them. “Kodlak is at peace and on his way to Sovngarde.”

“Thank Shor!” Vilkas said in a shaking voice. 

Farkas went to Bryn with a broad grin as he said, “Vilkas says you’re the new Kodlak. Does that mean what I think it does?”

“Yes, it looks that way. Kodlak told me to lead the Companions from here, in Aela’s hearing,” she said in resignation. She had hoped that at the very last moment Kodlak would surprise her and say that Vilkas was the new Harbinger, or Vignar, anyone but her. Aela had been shocked as well, though accepting. Relieved even. She’d teased her a bit about how far she had come from the whelp who had been begging to join not that long ago, and Bryn had been glad she was able to tease. She still wasn’t quite herself, and when they had fought the spiders and Bryn had started removing their venom sacs she had started gagging and had to turn away. She had when she had seen Bryn take the heads out of the sack too.

“So everything was good?”

She gripped his upper arms and said happily, “Very good, big bear. The wolf spirit left his body and Aela and I destroyed it. He was so happy, Farkas. He really was. Tsun will accept him in Shor’s Hall with open arms, as a true Nord hero. I bet that right now he’s hoisting a mug with Ysgramor himself.”

“That’s…aw hell, that’s really great,” he said in a rough voice, his eyes shining. “I was worried… Well, I was just worried.”

“I know, me too, but when we approached the Flame of the Harbinger there he was, warming his hands. He said other Harbingers were there as well, evading Hircine, but I couldn’t see them. After he was cured, he said something about rousing the other heroes in Sovngarde to the Harrowing of the Hunting Grounds, to liberate any others who wanted free of Hircine.”

Farkas nodded, then he put his hands on her shoulders and leaned close, sniffing her hair deeply. He stood back, still holding her, and smiled. “Smells like you’re free too, eh?”

She patted his cheek and said, “Yes, I took care of that the second Kodlak faded away.”

“Good.” He turned to look at his brother, who was still standing next to Ysgramor’s statue, glaring at Bryn with a wounded expression. “Hey, ready to—“

“You cured yourself?” Vilkas said in dismay. “Just like that?”

Confused, she replied, “What other way should I have done it? Maybe I should have waited for you two so we could do it all together. I’m sorry, I didn’t think, I was so eager to have it gone. I was half afraid that if I didn’t do it then I wouldn’t get the chance later.” Vilkas stepped down from the dais, his hands in his hair, and started pacing. It was unsettling, on top of his refusal earlier to go through the tomb with them and fight the ancient Companions. He had been so good on the way up though. He had carried Wuuthrad proudly, and his expression had shone when he’d placed the axe in the statue’s hands, as if he were handing it over to the real Ysgramor himself. She glanced at Farkas and he was staring at his brother with a fierce expression, as if he were one second away from going after him.

Farkas said in a warning tone, “Come on, Vilkas. We’re going down and getting cured.” His twin ignored him, pacing like a caged sabre cat. “You promised, damn it. You promised both of us. You promised Kodlak.”

Bryn’s eyes widened in shock as she said to Vilkas, “Tell me you aren’t refusing the cure!”

Vilkas muttered, “I just…I need to think about it.”

Farkas said, “Oh no you don’t. No thinking. Just do it. Now. Right damn now.” Vilkas shook his head, and Farkas nearly launched himself at his brother to start pummeling him, but the sacredness of the place stopped him.

“Please Vilkas honey,” Bryn begged. “Go downstairs. Start there. Look at the tomb and let it sink in. I know this is hard—“

“Like hell you do!” he retorted. “How the hell could you know? What, two, three whole weeks you had beastblood, and even then you might as well not have for all it affected you!”

“Is that my fault? I didn’t suffer enough for you, is that it?”

Farkas shook his head and said, “No. No no no. We aren’t going there. No fighting or being mean to each other.”

“You’re right,” she sighed. “I’m sorry.” She steeled herself for a nasty reaction and went to Vilkas, but when she tried to stop his pacing he growled and shrugged her off.

Farkas stated in a hurt, angry tone, “I can’t get married until I get cured. I won’t get cured unless you do first.”

“Stop pressuring me! Both of you!” Vilkas shouted.

“What pressure?” Bryn asked in disbelief. “You told me from the day we became a couple what a curse this was, how you couldn’t wait to get rid of it, how afraid you were of Hircine dragging you away to his Hunting Grounds, what a little fool I was to take on the beastblood, and now you have the chance to get rid of it and you’re hemming and hawing about it? What are you afraid of!”

“I’m afraid of nothing, I just don’t appreciate ultimatums!”

Bryn turned away to head out the opposite door, feeling cold air blowing down from above. She was so angry right now she could use the chill, and she had noticed when they’d approached that there was a small mountain above the tomb, so this doorway must go somewhere interesting. “Well how is this for an ultimatum? You and I are done until you get cured.”

Farkas sighed and shook his head while Vilkas stared after Bryn’s retreating back with his mouth hanging open. Farkas said, “Come on Bryn, don’t be like that. It isn’t helping.”

“I’m sick of us all being held hostage to his tantrums,” she retorted. “It was one thing when he couldn’t help it, but he has the chance to get cured right now and he’s refusing to do it. He’s choosing to keep you from getting married, for Mara’s sake!”

“I can wait until he’s ready.”

“Yes, well that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to wait at the top of this mountain for one hour, with the heads. If he doesn’t come to get me within that hour, I’m burying the heads up there in the snow and I’m leaving for home.”

As Bryn turned away Vilkas snarled at her, “I knew it. I knew you would leave me. Your promises mean nothing!”

“As do yours, apparently, and besides, I’m not leaving you. I’m putting space between us until you come to your senses, that’s all.”

“Bullshit!”

Bryn ignored him and continued up the tunnel, feeling tiny pellets of snow strike her face. The weather up here was about the coldest she had ever felt, too much even for a Nord to tolerate for long in the open. She heard Farkas growl something and Vilkas’ bitter reply down below. She ignored it, meaning exactly what she said. She couldn’t possibly fathom what her beloved’s issue was this time, other than what she had said: fear. If he couldn’t master it then she was staying away from him until he did.

“Ah ha,” she murmured as she reached the top, seeing a word wall awaiting her there. She walked up to it and let the word flow into her, the sensation no longer stunning her as it once had. _“Raan,”_ she murmured, closing her eyes to let the word roll around her mind before settling into her understanding. This had a bestial feel to it, something to do with animals. She would have to try it on one of the many horkers they had avoided on their way here and see what it did.

Bryn took her time poking around the top of the mountain, seeing if there was anything else worthwhile up there, and to her delight found a rare vein of gold ore. She took out her pick and started chipping away at it. It was a mindless task that kept her busy, and warm, while she waited. She really wasn’t sure what Vilkas would choose. She truly couldn’t be certain, and again she wondered what on earth his motivation was this time. It was partly fear, certainly. Fear seemed to motivate much of his behavior, especially when it came to her. What he feared about the cure though was anyone’s guess.

The weather was so poor that Bryn had trouble telling when an hour had passed, but she finally got so cold after finishing her mining that she decided to pack up and go back downstairs to take her leave. She was burying the heads to the side of the word wall when she heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow behind her. She glanced up and saw Aela, not either of the people she had been expecting. She rolled her eyes and went back to her task, saying, “Let me guess, he stormed off in a huff and is on his way home, with his brother holding his hand the entire way.”

“No, they’re both down in the tomb,” Aela stated. She shivered and pulled her fur cloak more closely around her. “Well, no doubt that you’re a true Nord. You’ve been out here an hour and a half, and I’ve been out here five minutes and I’m freezing.”

“Ah, I hadn’t realized it had been so long. I was mining.”

“Mining.”

“Yes. Gold.”

“All right.” Gods, the girl was odd. Pretty though, with the snow swirling around her pale face and hair. Aela nodded with her chin towards the word wall. “I’ve never run across one of these before. What word did you find?”

“ _Raan._ It feels like it has some connection to animals. I’m going to try it on the horkers.”

Aela snorted a laugh. “Don’t you think you should try it on something a bit more manageable first? Like a rabbit? Just in case?”

Bryn laughed gaily at that. “You’re right. Better safe than sorry.” She stood up, the heads buried, and said, “All right, then. Let’s get home.”

The huntress frowned, asking, “What about the heads?”

“I can’t take them home. They’ll spoil.”

Aela gagged a bit at that then clarified, “No, aren’t you going to take them down to the twins?” Bryn stared at her. “For the cure. They’re waiting there for the cure.”

“Really. Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have climbed my ass up here for fun,” she growled. Bryn’s eyebrows rose then she nodded and bent down to dig the heads back out. Aela shuddered as Bryn pulled out two, each wrapped in layers of linen and leather, but still loathsome and smelly, and left the last one there. It would never be needed. Bryn walked past her with the heads and the scent hit her like a slap in the face, making her bend over and vomit, losing the remains of the light lunch they had eaten a few hours ago. Bryn dropped the heads and hurried to her, rubbing her back, and as she wiped her eyes and coughed Bryn got out some water for her to drink. She nodded her thanks and washed her mouth out and spit then took a drink, and when she handed back the canteen she blurted out, “I think I’m pregnant.”

“Oh Aela,” Bryn breathed. Aela looked down at her hands, her jaw clenched, and Bryn moved close to her, putting her hands on her shoulders. The huntress looked up at her with mixed grief and hope in her pale green eyes. “So the nausea…”

“I’m two weeks late.”

“Oh Aela,” she repeated brokenly, tears rising in her eyes. Aela smiled hesitantly at her and brought her hands up to grasp Bryn’s arms. “He…he would have been so happy. I wonder what it will be?”

“The women of my line bear only daughters. I’m going to name her Skjorta, after her father.”

“She’ll be a fine, strong girl.”

She hesitated then said, “I…I thought I would like to raise her at Jorrvaskr, Harbinger. If that’s all right.” She wasn’t going to send her child off somewhere to be raised, away from her. Not that she had anywhere she could send her.

“Oh, stop that,” Bryn scolded, putting an arm around her and kissing her cheek. “Of course she’ll be raised at Jorrvaskr. And good grief, don’t call me Harbinger.” She paused, a thought suddenly striking her. “This won’t…well, the beastblood. Will it affect her?”

“Not at all. Pa told me so, after I got my first menses and began moving into womanhood. The Blood doesn’t touch the child, and the womb protects it during the change. The pregnancy should proceed normally, but…I’d like to wait, to tell anyone else. Until I’m past my first trimester.”

“Of course, whatever you want.”

Aela smiled sadly at her and said, “You know, I’m going to kick Vilkas’ ass if he doesn’t make things right with you. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve thrashed him, or even the second.”

“Really! I do remember him telling me that he’d learned long ago to not cross you. And Farkas said you scared him.”

“Ha!” Aela barked out a laugh. “Let’s just say that when I first came to Jorrvaskr, there were some dominance issues to work out. The twins thought they were princes there, strutting around like they owned the place just because they were raised there. I put a stop to that, at least when I was around.”

“Good.” She rubbed Aela’s back then stepped away. “We should get inside. You go first so the heads don’t bother you.” Aela made a face and hurried away down the mountainside. Bryn picked up the two bundles and took them down, happy for Aela. It was so sad about Skjor though; he had died with no idea that he would be a father some day. She had to wonder how he would have handled fatherhood in his fifties, but he had always seemed to handle everything with complete calm and self-possession. She didn’t think she had ever seen him truly lose his temper or composure. She could imagine him managing a child with the same competence he did the whelps, though of course with more kindness.

She took the shortcut down to the Tomb of Ysgramor, going in silently to watch her beloved for a few moments. He was pacing the Flame in circles, clenching and unclenching his fists, his face glistening as if he were sweating with stress. Farkas watched him warily, as if ready to tackle him if he tried to make a run for it. Aela was moving off to the side then took a seat on a ledge.

“Was she gone?” Farkas asked Aela with worry.

“No, she was mining.”

“Mining!” Vilkas exclaimed, still pacing. “Mining what, for fuck's sake!” It sounded like her, something he would have found charming if he wasn’t coming apart at the seams.

“Gold, supposedly, on top of the mountain. There was a word wall up there too, with some kind of animal Shout. She was actually in the process of burying the heads and getting ready to leave when I went up there. You came to your senses just in time.”

“Come on,” Farkas pleaded with worry. “Just don’t, please?” Aela shrugged and began digging through her pack for something to eat. He then saw Bryn standing by a treasure chest, and he motioned with his head for her to come over, a beseeching expression on his face. It had taken everything he had to get Vilkas down here, then another half an hour of nearly begging on his hands and knees to get his twin to agree to the cure. He was afraid if they didn’t hurry Vilkas would change his mind again and take off. Bryn came over with the heads and Vilkas finally saw her, his eyes going wild, and Farkas yanked a bundle out of her hand and went to his brother, forcing it into his hands. “Do it, now. Go.” Vilkas hesitated and Farkas pushed him towards the Flame of the Harbinger.

Farkas nearly shoved him into the cold flame, and Vilkas made a choked sound of dread and set the head in it, not giving himself time to think about it. He doubled over with a cry of agony as he felt something tearing inside, the wolf digging its claws into his soul as if refusing to go quietly or easily. The room swayed around him as he stumbled to his feet, seeing his brother and Bryn battling a monstrous, ghostly red wolf, Aela peppering it with arrows from a distance. He shook his head to clear his vision and pulled his greatsword, and when he did the wolf turned and snarled at him. It came at him full bore, Farkas and Bryn following, taking swings at it. It was limping as it neared him, and the other two raised their weapons, waiting for him to make the final blow. When he did the wolf howled then dissolved, and he felt a tug and a snap then utter peace.

Vilkas took a deep breath and closed his eyes, blowing it out shakily, and when he softly laughed Bryn asked, “Are you all right?”

“I...It’s like waking from a dream,” he murmured. “I can breathe more deeply now, as if some invisible weight were pressing on my chest all these years.” He took a deep breath again. “I can no longer smell you, or hear your heart beating, the way I used to. But my mind…it feels clear now.” He had feared it wouldn’t be. He had worried endlessly the last few weeks that he was simply a flawed human being, that none of his shortcomings were due to the beastblood.

“I’m…I’m glad.”

He opened his eyes to see her staring at him, nearly in tears. “This…is a great service you’ve done for me, you and Farkas,” he said haltingly. “My soul is clean now. Perhaps Kodlak and Ysgramor will still welcome me when my time comes.”

“I know they will.”

He looked at his twin and said, “Now you. I want to see you married before spring.” Farkas smiled at him, his eyes shining, and Bryn tossed him the other head. The four warriors of the Circle braced themselves, then Farkas threw in the head, where it was consumed in a flash.

Farkas’ wolf was every bit as difficult to dispatch as Vilkas’, though he wasn’t as staggered when it tore its way out, and this time there were four of them to fight it. The battle was brief, and when it was over Farkas stared at his brother with a dazed grin. Vilkas asked, “How does it feel?”

“Like relaxing into a warm mug of spiced mead,” he sighed. “I’m losing aches I didn’t even know I had.” He moved away from the others and took a few swings with his sword, laughing. “This is how a warrior should feel: alive and aware, not clouded with thoughts of the hunt.” He smoothly slid the sword into its sheath on his back then grabbed Bryn in a bear hug, swinging her around, making her laugh. “This is because of you, little sister. Now I can go home clean, and worthy of a wife and children. Thank you.”

“It’s because of Kodlak,” she said as he set her down, though he still held her tightly against him. She put her arms around him and tucked her face into his neck, breathing deeply, but she couldn’t sense anything different about him. It was nice to be held, and she could use the comfort. Farkas would be married before long, move to Breezehome, start a family, while Bryn and Vilkas kept stumbling along, finding stolen moments to enjoy each other then parting again, though with fewer fights now she hoped. Only time would tell if this would make any kind of difference in Vilkas’ temperament. It was much too soon to tell. She felt a third hand on her, and when she lifted her head Vilkas was there.

He murmured with regret, “I’m sorry, love. I…have no idea why you’ve put up with me.” His head was unmercifully clear now, growing clearer by the minute, and he saw all his many sins marching in front of his mind’s eye…all the petty cruelties, the sneers, the jabs, the tantrums. _Unworthy!_ a tiny voice hissed in accusation. And now if he was unworthy of her there would be no beastblood to blame it on, only his own failings as a man. There was no way some mercenary could be worthy of the Dragonborn. Some day she would advance to the point where she realized that, and then... Well, she had sworn to never leave him, but a promise made while climaxing wasn't exactly ironclad.

As his hand fell away she caught it and said, “For the same reasons you’ve put up with me.”

“I’ve never put up with you. Never.”

Aela raised her voice and said, “Touching as this is, we need to get back. The whelps probably have Vignar tied up somewhere and all the mead drunk, if the place hasn’t burned down.”

“Aye,” Vilkas said with a nod. He hesitated then put his arm around Bryn’s shoulders, and she sighed happily and leaned against him, looking at him with shining golden eyes. No, he wasn’t worthy of her, but he loved her, and she loved him, and all he could do was try.


	20. Chapter 20

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught Eorlund’s attention, and he nodded to Bryn then turned his attention back to the grindstone. “It suits you,” he stated, referring to the gleaming green glass armor Bryn wore, a full set other than the helmet, the wearing of which she was notoriously against. She wore a gold and emerald circlet around her head, which looked nice but was useless, though there did seem to be the faint sheen of an enchantment on it. The green and gold flattered her coloring, though it all made her look just a bit more Elven, which was a shame for such a pretty lass.

“Thank you. I’m quite fond of it,” she replied. This was the first time she would be wearing it to do a job. A very unofficial one.

“So Harbinger, what brings you to me today?”

“I’ve been thinking of this for some time. Months. Have you thought ahead to taking an apprentice?”

“Huh. Yes, some. More so since Kodlak’s passing. Though his death was untimely, we weren’t neither of us young.” He glanced up at her. “Something tells me you have someone in mind.” It was heartening that she had put thought into this, starting well before she had ever dreamed of becoming Harbinger. She had pulled everyone together much better than he had imagined she would, and while there was still sadness over losing Skjor and Kodlak, people were moving forward and business was back to usual. If anything there was more business coming in, now that it was known that the Dragonborn was Harbinger of the Companions. Now if they could just get some promising new whelps into the ranks.

“Farkas.”

“Is that so?” It was surprising.

“He used to help you at times, when he was younger.”

“Aye. He didn’t get in the way as much as he could have, I suppose. His iron work was passable.” He wetted the blade with oil then continued grinding. Farkas had actually seemed to have a talent for the work, which had been surprising at the time, but he had been too keen to follow his twin as a warrior, and Eorlund had always believed his own sons would follow him. How wrong he had been.

“Do you think he could do it?” Eorlund shrugged, which was more than she had expected.

“If he doesn’t have one of his episodes while he’s working, maybe. Quick way to ruin a piece, that.”

“By time he’s working on his own, he’d have children at the forge with him to snap him out of it.”

“Is that so!” he said again, this time with even more surprise. “So the lad is thinking of taking a wife? That housecarl of yours, I assume.”

“Yes, in the next six months I’d say, probably less.” He and Lydia were so wrapped up in each other these days it was sickening, in a wonderfully sweet way. Bryn never slept in the house anymore, and Farkas almost always did, so Breezehome practically belonged to them already; Bryn had basically lived with Vilkas since returning from the Tomb of Ysgramor, spending every night in his bed, though she kept her gear and clothing in the Harbinger’s quarters. It had been wonderful, her fears about it unfounded. While he was still hot-tempered, most of the time Vilkas was able to stop himself before doing something rash or mean, and he might get better still with time. It was a vast improvement in any case. Farkas hadn’t asked Lydia to marry him yet, but it wouldn’t be long. Farkas wanted to fight a dragon before he semi-retired, and then he was going to ask her. On their way home from the Tomb, the Circle had picked up a rumor of a dragon at Shearpoint, a peak in The Pale, and where there was a dragon guarding a peak, there was a word wall. Bryn wanted Lydia to go with her on the mission, one last time, but what she needed to do now came first.

Eorlund stopped the wheel and set the sword across his lap, giving Bryn his full attention. “So you’ve heard then that my sons…son, doesn’t know one end of the forge from another.”

“Neither of them do, then?” Eorlund stared at her, chewing at his bottom lip, his expression hardening. She held her hand up and said, “Hear me out, Eorlund. Please. I don’t say it lightly.”

“Say what? You have a lot of nerve, bringing up Thorald to me. I don’t care who you are.” His younger son was dead, and he had come to accept that over the last year. He worried something was wrong with Fralia’s mind that she couldn’t.

“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t have proof he was alive.” He blinked, sitting back. She pulled out a small, leather-bound booklet and held it out to him. “I broke into the Battle-Born house and stole this, and showed it just now to Fralia and Avulstein. Thorald’s being held in Northwatch Keep, far in the northeast. Believe it or not, Idolaf Battle-Born has been trying for some time to find out what happened to him.”

Eorlund stared at the missive, not taking it, then he looked up at her and said in a rough voice, “If you say it’s so, Dragonborn, that’s good enough for me.”

“I’m heading there now to get him out.”

The old smith closed his eyes and whispered, “Talos be praised.” And indeed the girl wore an Amulet of Talos proudly, and had for some time. No one troubled her about it, though he had heard how she came about those sets of glass armor. He opened his eyes and asked, “How are you getting him out? That place is locked up as tight as an Imperial’s fist and crawling with High Elves.”

“The way I always take forts like this. I’ll pick off everyone outside with a bow and work my way in. There won’t be a single Thalmor left breathing by time I’m done.” He nodded slowly, looking relieved but troubled. “I do this as Dragonborn, not as Harbinger, not as a citizen of Whiterun, if that’s your concern.”

“Ah, you read minds now too?”

“A lucky guess.”

“I worry the Thalmor won’t know the difference, or care.”

“How will they even know it’s me?”

“Who else could do this? Who else would dare?”

“Avulstein, for one. He wanted to go with me and I told him absolutely not. I won’t have you and Fralia worried sick about two sons.”

“I appreciate that,” he said gruffly.

“I wish I had approached your wife earlier about it, but I thought only to comfort her. If I had known the situation I would have acted sooner.”

“And gotten yourself killed, no doubt,” he stated as he turned back to the grindstone. “I have two sons. We only have one Dragonborn.”

Dismayed, Bryn stated, “That’s a hard thing to say.”

“My son’s big mouth got him into this. Maybe now he’ll learn to keep it shut if he wants to keep his head.” He heard a noncommittal sound from the girl. As he began whetting the blade again she said, “Send Farkas up the next time he has a day free and I’ll talk to him about his future.”

“Yes, I will. Thank you, Master Smith.”

“Thank you, Harbinger.”

Bryn went back down to Jorrvaskr, where Vilkas waited at the side of the building, her gear at his feet. Warpaint framed his icy gray eyes. He had been training Torvar in the two-handed sword, while Farkas was still trying to convince Athis of the merits of heavy armor. Bryn frankly thought Torvar a lost cause, though his drinking had slowed somewhat since Kodlak’s death. Ria and Njada were on some small job to retrieve a stolen heirloom, well within the young women’s capability. Vignar had joined the Circle upon their return from Ysgramor’s Tomb and had been an invaluable resource to them all. Everything was moving along smoothly and orderly, just the way she liked it.

“Heading out, love?” Vilkas asked in a resigned tone.

“Yes, I should get going,” she said with similar regret. “I worry about what shape Thorald might be in, or if he’s even still alive at this point.”

“Aye. How did Eorlund take it?”

“Well, considering. And he agreed to take on Farkas. Could you let him know?”

“Of course. That’s good news.” He’d expected as much, but one never knew with Eorlund.

She put her arms around his neck. “I’ll miss you. This last month has been…good.”

He put his arms around her waist and murmured, “Yes they have.” Very, very good, and he was going to be lonely as hell tonight. He had worried the entire way home that it would cause problems to have her there, that it would look bad to live with their new Harbinger, but it was impossible to sleep apart. Neither of them felt comfortable sleeping in Kodlak’s room, and everyone still thought of it as such. Bryn had helped Aela clean out Skjor’s quarters only a few days ago, but that room wasn’t an option either. There was no point in sleeping apart, in fact it would look ridiculous to even try when everyone knew they were together. No one had given them any grief about it, not that it would have mattered.

Yes, the last few weeks had been good, so good that at times he had even considered asking her to marry him, his love for her stronger than it had ever been, and then thoughts of Alduin would rear their ugly head, or thoughts of how the last month had only been a lull in Bryn’s career, how it wouldn’t always be this way and before long she would grow restless and be on her way again. And here she was leaving. He knew she had to, and he didn’t resent it, but he couldn’t consider marrying someone who was always gone. What was the point to that? Bryn seemed content with what they had, for now, and there was no sense in bringing up anything that might cause dissent between them. It had been so peaceful lately he couldn’t tolerate the thought of it. He had been peaceful lately. There was no more beastblood pulling and pushing at his soul, and he was starting to respect himself again, and he woke up well-rested every morning next to a beautiful woman. It was enough, for now. And then there was his brother, head over heels in love with Lydia, anxious to start a life with her; Vilkas wasn’t going to steal his thunder and wanted him to go first. If Bryn faced Alduin some day and lived, then he could think about marriage and children, but not until then.

Bryn played with the back of his hair and said, “I think I’ll stop in Solitude on the way back and buy Proudspire Manor.”

“Ah yes, you’re behind on your plan of getting thaned everywhere.” She laughed sweetly at that. He said with regret, “I suppose things will need to start moving again, eh love?”

“Yes, but I hope to spend at least one week a month here.”

“Just make sure it isn’t an inconvenient week.” She laughed again, her cheeks turning pink. “How soon will you be back?”

Bryn shook her head. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I’m going to come back through the Reach. I have a letter to deliver to someone in Markarth that I completely forgot about, I’m embarrassed to say.” To be fair, Bolli the fisherman hadn’t said it was urgent, and she had made him aware that she had no idea when she would be going to Markarth. “I want to see the city and get a feel for what’s going on in the hold. I know I talked about going to Eastmarch first, but I think I’ll give Ulfric a bit more time to sweat things out.” Vilkas laughed shortly at that. “It won’t take long for word to get out that Northwatch has been cleaned out, and I want that to get to Ulfric as well. I’m certain Elenwen will know who did it, but that’s her problem.”

“Watch your back to make sure she doesn’t make it yours.”

“It’ll take something with a fairly good punch to get through glass.”

“True, and I’m glad you have it.” It was the best light armor to be had, and Bryn wouldn’t wear anything but light armor. She relied on speed and stealth, and needed the light weight and speed of movement light armor and weapons provided. The glass did look quite pretty on her, and the circlet made her look regal, altogether a good look for the Dragonborn. He touched the gleaming gold set with grass-green emeralds and saw the faint sheen of magic play over the surface. “This is new.”

“I just enchanted it this morning with fire resistance. I can handle frost fairly well, but dragon fire is a different story. I haven’t enchanted the armor yet. I want to find an enchantment for health or stamina regeneration that Farengar told me about. I also want to make my way up to the College of Winterhold eventually, to learn more about healing magic and enchanting.” Vilkas grunted in distaste, and she assured him, “I’m not going to become a mage, beloved. And I have two pieces of an amulet I found that I wanted to have someone look at. I’m not in any hurry for that though. Winterhold seems a depressing place.”

“That it is,” he agreed. “I think they would shut the remains of the city down altogether if the College wasn’t keeping it in business, and the Jarl not hanging on to the memory of old glories. It’s a shame. Winterhold was proud once.”

“I’ll put it off until much later. Northwatch first, then Solitude, then Markarth, then…oh.”

“What?”

“I completely forgot about Delphine and Esbern,” she whispered in shock. She had so much going on lately that even with her journal she was starting to lose track. Tonight in camp she would have to go through it and cross out everything she had already taken care of, and make note of what still needed doing. She had thought about getting a new journal but this one had been with her since the start and had sentimental value.

“The Blades?” he said in derision. “They can go to hell.”

“Well, yes, it would be nice if they could, however if I’m going to be in The Reach I should meet with them near Karthspire and see what they’ve found. If I can get them into their little hideout they’ve been looking for, that may satisfy them. And they might have additional information for me.” Vilkas looked doubtful. She sighed, “I wish you could go with me. Not to Northwatch Keep, but to the other places. It would be so nice to travel Skyrim together.”

“Before, I could have. Now…we can’t both be gone.” At least now he felt he could manage the Companions’ business adequately on his own, in the short term, with the rest of the Circle’s help. The younglings seemed to be treating him with somewhat more respect since his temper had gotten under better control as well.

“I know. It was wishful thinking.” She kissed him tenderly then hugged him, and he held her close, burying his nose in her hair. “I’ll miss you so much, Vilkas.”

“Not as much as I’ll miss you, love. You’ll be so busy you won’t even know the time has passed.”

“Maybe before the last few weeks, but not now.”

“I know, but…you’ll be busy, and I’ll be all alone in our bed, missing you.” They practically lived as husband and wife, spending every night together, taking every meal together, bathing together, running the Companions together. Everyone seemed to like having her around, especially Aela, the two women having gotten rather close in recent weeks. Vilkas had even joked to the Huntress that she was trying to steal Bryn from him, and she’d warned him with a completely straight face that she had considered it and might still do it if he messed up again. He still wasn’t sure if she had been joking or not. It was impossible to tell with her at times.

Bryn patted his cheek and said with a sad smile, “Oh honey…at least you’ll be in a bed.”

“True, that,” he said with a quiet laugh. She kissed him again then let go, and he bent down to pick up her gear and hand it to her.

“Ugh, I hope the new house comes with a housecarl.”

He laughed more loudly and said, “Yes, Lydia hasn’t made a secret of how she is sworn to carry your burdens. Your very heavy burdens.”

Bryn rolled her eyes then went on, “I would take Iona out if she were closer. Maybe before I go to Eastmarch I’ll swing by Riften and pick her up. She seemed to have warmed up when Farkas and Lydia and I were there. Maybe she just needs drawing out. I certainly don’t want to lug around dragon scales and bones on my own.” She put her pack and bedroll on her back then picked up her glass shield. She hoped Elisif and Falk didn’t ask where the Shield of Solitude had gone; she didn’t want to have to tell them that she had disenchanted it to apply the magic to her new shield. She was tempted to give up shields altogether one of these days and take Athis up on learning to wield blades in both hands. She would have to find a sword that was as impressive as Dawnbreaker to balance it out though. Maybe something with a frost enchantment.

A fat drop of rain landed on Bryn’s forehead, and she sighed heavily, “I should get going.”

Vilkas grimaced. “Ah love, I’m sorry.”

“It won’t be the first time by far, or the last.” She kissed him again lingeringly. “I love you.”

“And I you. Stay safe, love.” She smiled sadly at him and turned away, and he resisted the urge to walk her down the steps. He would then have to go to the gates, and then the stables, and he would never be able to let her go. She gave him one last smile then disappeared out of sight. He took a deep breath and headed back to the yard as it began to rain in earnest.  
-  
 _“LAAS!”_ From her spot behind an outcropping in front of the fort, Bryn detected eight Thalmor warriors, a handful of them walking on rounds inside the walls. Challenging, but not impossible.

She sneaked near the water to the back of the fort, her eyes lighting up when she saw a single guard standing watch at a gap in the wall. Another guard was on a raised platform looking Bryn’s direction, and she slid behind a tree, blocking that guard’s line of sight. She dipped an arrow in frostbite venom then took aim at the lone guard, overdrawing to get as much force as possible out of the bow. Even then it took three hits to take the Altmer woman down. Bryn got only one shot at the warrior on the platform before he dropped out of sight and roused his comrades.

“Damn!” Bryn whispered, ducking down behind the tree. Soon four guards were pouring out of the gap in the wall. She waited to see if they were coming, and indeed they were, no fool bandits or rotten-brained draugr. She took a shot at the one in the lead and he stumbled, then Bryn slung her bow on her back and pulled out her sword and shield.

“There she is!” one shouted.

Bryn kept moving to avoid the archers, focusing on the warrior in front of her, who conjured a ward. Bryn sliced at him with Dawnbreaker, dispelling the ward, then shouted _“FO KRAH!”_ He cried out as he stiffened, and one of the archers cried in Altmeris, “Dragonborn! Don’t let her get away!” Bryn finished off the warrior then sprinted toward the nearest archer, bashing with her shield then taking the woman’s head off. The other archer made a sound of fear and ran for the gap, and Bryn shouted frost again, dropping the mer to his knees. She kicked him from behind and sank the tip of her sword into his back with both hands.

Breathless, she leaned against the wood wall, listening intently, and when no others came out she crept inside the walls. There were three Thalmor left, including one nursing an arrow wound in the arm, the one she had shot on the platform. She finished that one off with another poisoned arrow which brought the other two running, and with another frost shout and Dawnbreaker’s fire they were dispatched.

The keep itself wasn’t large and took little time to move through, though the wizards’ shock spells had taken their toll on her. Two of the wizards carried keys, which she pocketed, but the keep itself was surprisingly poor in loot. She did find a very valuable Elven sword that had some sort of banishing enchantment on it, but other than that there was little of worth and paltry gold. The gilded Elven armor was no doubt worth a pretty penny but would be hard to sell without raising too many questions.

The torture room when she found it was a nasty surprise, but she was relieved to find a young man with gray hair that had to be Thorald Gray-Mane, battered and abused, but alive. She hurried to him and tried one of the keys, and while she tried the other he lifted his head and stared at her with bleary eyes, trying to focus.

“You there,” he mumbled. “What are you doing? You’re not an Elf…are you?”

“I’m getting you out of here.” The manacles came undone and she eased him to the floor, casting healing hands on him.

“Thank Talos,” Thorald whispered, his voice breaking. “I never thought I’d see another friendly face again.”

“We need to get you to safety as soon as possible. Let’s move.”

“Aye, but…how? How did you know I was here? Who are you?”

“No time. Can you fight?”

“Yes, gladly.”

Bryn led him to the opposite door, surprised the man was as hale as he was after what he had to have been through. She wondered if he had any idea how long he had been captive. She held her hand up for him to wait and eased the door open, her bow at the ready. Two Thalmor warriors had their backs to her down the hall, and she put an arrow in one, getting the other’s attention. She took one down with another arrow then shouted frost at the other, waiting for her to weaken before putting an arrow into her.

“The _thu’um_ ,” Thorald breathed. He shook himself and ran past her to flip two levers, opening the cells lining the walls. No one moved to leave, and he shouted, “Run, you fools! We’re getting out of here!” When none of his fellow prisoners would set foot outside their cells he nearly tore his hair out in frustration.

Bryn touched his shoulder, making him flinch. “They’ll leave on their own when they realize the Thalmor are all dead.”

“All of them?” he said in shock.

“Yes, every single one I believe. In this fort, anyway.”

Thorald followed the girl to the door, and when the gray light of a rainy day hit his eyes he nearly fell to his knees and wept. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen the sky, or heard a bird sing. He looked at her and she smiled, and it would have made his heart skip a bit if he were in better shape. By Dibella, she was a lovely lass. “I cannot thank you enough for rescuing me from this place,” he told her. “I suspect I’d never again see the light of day otherwise. But why would you risk your life for me? A stranger?”

“Your family was concerned for you. Your mother never gave up hope that you were alive, or your brother.”

“And Da?”

“Well, he’s…a practical man.”

“Aye. Enough said.” So his father had given up on him. Written him off. Sounded like the old man. “Where’s Avulstein?”

“I told him to stay in Whiterun.”

“But who are you?”

“My name is Brynhilde.”

“That _thu’um_ …you studied with the Greybeards?”

“Yes, some.”

“I didn’t think they let women into High Hrothgar.”

“They do when they’re Dragonborn.”

“Dragonborn,” he whispered in shock. “Gods be praised, it’s true?” Bryn nodded. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

“We can talk more on the way to Solitude.”

“Solitude!” he squawked. “Like hell! It’s an Imperial stronghold!”

“You plan on walking home in rags? We need to get you proper clothes and supplies.”

“I can’t go back to Whiterun. It’s too dangerous, for me and my family. Avulstein too, I would wager. I fear he may not be safe there anymore. They’ll go looking for me, and Whiterun will be the first place they search.” He shook his head. “No, our best hope now is to fall in with the ranks of the Stormcloaks.”

Bryn rolled her eyes, muttering, “I was afraid you’d say that.”

“What else would you have me do? Besides, Ulfric has the right of it. Skyrim for Nords. You should understand. You’re Dragonborn and a Nord.”

“Yes, a half-Nord, half-Altmer Dragonborn.” Thorald’s eyes bugged as if they were about to fall from his head. “I despise the Thalmor, but I’m not happy with how Ulfric operates either.”

“Ulfric is a great man!”

“Yes, but that doesn’t make him a good man.”

“Hard times call for hard men. He does what he has to.”

“Does he? We’ll see about that. Many folk other than Nords live here peacefully and prosperously. What do you think Ulfric would do if he became High King? Go on a racial cleansing spree like the Thalmor did, perhaps?”

“He would never do something so heinous!”

“Tell the people of Markarth that.” Thorald shook his head and looked out the door. “Fine, run all the way to Windhelm in rags. If a dragon doesn’t eat you on the way there, tell Ulfric that the one the Divines have sent to clean up this mess is half-Altmer, that the Greybeards have declared me Ysmir, Dragon of the North, and the Stormcrown sits upon my brow. Let him chew on that until I deign to visit his city.”

“Aye. Yes, Dragonborn,” he said hastily. The steel in her voice brooked no arguments. “Wait…dragon?”

Bryn rubbed her eyes then let her hand fall away. Of course he didn’t know about the dragons, or anything else that had happened in the last six months. “Come, I’ll escort you to Dragon Bridge and explain everything on the way. I know it’s an Imperial outpost, but you can hide outside town while I get you properly outfitted. I didn’t rescue you from the Thalmor to see you get eaten by a bear on your way to Ulfric.”

“All right. Thank you.” Thorald wasn’t about to protest it. There wasn’t any other easy way out of Haafingar other than over the Dragon Bridge. He also wasn’t about to naysay the Dragonborn. Dragonborn! Truly these were strange, awful times if someone like that had been born again in Skyrim, though if she were half-Elven maybe she wasn’t from Skyrim. She looked like a Nord though. She had the _thu’um_. If she thought she could sort things out, and if she was willing to slaughter a fort full of Thalmor just to rescue one man, all the more power to her.  
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“Ah, the power of the dragon is yours! There can be no doubt that you are the Dragonborn of prophecy!”

Bryn glared at Esbern, breathing heavily as she knelt on one knee, her body aching with burns, hagraven scratches and two Forsworn arrows that had found gaps in her armor. This was not at all how she had planned on entering Karthspire, finding Esbern and Delphine fighting the biggest dragon she had seen other than Alduin, while a dozen Forsworn scrambled about firing randomly at either them or the dragon. Bryn had been forced to plunge into the heart of the camp spanning the river and dispatch the Forsworn that were swarming the place, and out of nowhere a hagraven had appeared, while all along the dragon attacked anything that moved. It had been complete chaos, trying to fight so many different enemies at once while keeping an eye on the Blades. To be fair, they had pulled their own weight in the fight and were in better shape than her.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Delphine said with satisfaction.

“Yes, yes, and I believed before this, but…to see it with my own eyes!” Esbern said in delight. “In my own lifetime!”

Bryn growled, “Can we get on with this?”

“Oh, yes, of course, of course.”

“The arrows!” she shouted. “Someone _pull out the fucking arrows!”_ The two Blades recoiled as the sound cracked at them then rumbled into silence, and Bryn cursed them both as useless until Delphine finally nodded and came to her, her expression wary. Bryn never used that kind of language, but she was in so much pain at the moment that she was about ready to either explode in fury or collapse, and collapsing was not an option.

“Ready?” Delphine asked.

“Just do it,” she said through gritted teeth. She screamed and fell forward onto her hands as the first arrow came out of her side, and when the second came out of her thigh right after that she nearly passed out. Her vision swimming, Bryn raised a hand to heal herself, refusing to wait for either of the Blades to do it, if they even could. The pain ebbed then disappeared as the wound closed and the blood flow stopped. She rose to her feet, shaking, and the two Blades watched her warily as she shoved Dawnbreaker into its sheath, her nostrils flared. She was in no mood to collect any dragon parts and stomped away from them, hearing them follow a moment later.

They crossed the river camp and went up the side of the hill to a cave, where three more Forsworn including a Briarheart waited. They were quickly removed and the small cave system passed through, then they found themselves in an open canyon-like area.

The Blades ran up the stairs, their faces shining. “Ah, early Akaviri stonework,” Esbern said in admiration.

Delphine said, “We’ve got to get this bridge down. These pillars must have something to do with it.”

“Yes, they’re Akiviri symbols,” Esbern answered. “Ah, let’s see…you have the symbol for ‘King’…and ‘Warrior’…and of course for ‘Dragonborn’. That’s the one that appears to have an arrow shape pointing downward at the bottom.” Bryn moved past him and turned all three pillars to the symbol for Dragonborn, trying not to roll her eyes. The stone drawbridge began to come down.

Delphine stated, “Whatever you did, it worked. Let’s see what else those old Blades left in our way.”

Bryn wasn’t particularly impressed with the cleverness of the ancient Blades, quickly moving across the pressure plate puzzle. The three of them crossed another bridge, and after going up a short tunnel found themselves in a courtyard. Bryn had to admit she was impressed with the space, with a large carved stone head on the opposite wall and a series of concentric circles cut into the floor before it.

“Wonderful!” Esbern breathed. “Remarkably well-preserved too.” He hurried to the circles, Delphine and Bryn following. “Ah, the blood seal. Another of the lost Akaviri arts. No doubt triggered by…well, blood.” He looked at Bryn. “Your blood, Dragonborn.”

“Of course,” she muttered, resisting the urge to quip that she was feeling a little short of blood right now. All she wanted right now was a meal and a nap.

He looked up at the giant stone face, pointing at it. “Look here! You see how the ancient Blades revered Reman Cyrodiil?” He wandered away to look at the other stonework.

Bryn closed her eyes and prayed for patience, then she bent down on one knee, pulling out a small utility knife. She looked back at the Blades and Esbern was engrossed in the scenery, but Delphine watched with glittering eyes. Bryn shook her head and turned back to the circle, pulled off a gauntlet then gritted her teeth and sliced a finger and let her blood drip onto the stone. The circle began to spin and glow as stone grated on stone and the giant head began to lift.

“That’s done it!” Delphine said in amazement. “Look it’s coming to life!” She ran to join Bryn, patting her on the shoulder, smiling broadly. “You did it, there’s the entrance.” She motioned ahead of her. “After you, Dragonborn. You should have the honor of being the first to set foot in Sky Haven Temple.”

Esbern added with misgiving, “There’s no telling what we may find inside.”

Bryn tartly said, “Well then, by all means, let me go first.”

“That isn’t what I meant, Dragonborn,” the old man said in dismay. The girl turned away from them and strode up the stairs, summoning healing magic as she went, and he glanced at Delphine to see her expression was guarded. The woman held her hands out and down, warning him to be careful, and he grimaced and nodded. The Dragonborn were known for being prickly, and it wouldn’t do to offend, though it seemed to be impossible not to do so.

Bryn hurried ahead, wanting all this over with so she could eat and sleep. She pushed through stone doors and entered the temple proper, and the view took her breath away. She sensed the Blades lighting braziers behind her that had to have been cold for half a millennium, and they began to light up the huge room. A long stone table dominated the center, and more stairs went up the back. Then Bryn’s eyes landed on the wall.

“Shor’s Bones, here it is!” Esbern exclaimed. “Alduin’s Wall!”

She listened with half an ear and watched numbly as Esbern ran up to it with a torch, starting from the left as he explained the bas-relief symbols and carvings. Instead of finding all this exciting, Bryn felt almost nauseous as she stared at the wall, seeing Alduin carved there three times. Esbern was convinced the key to defeating Alduin was a Shout, but Bryn had never heard of such a thing, and quietly told Delphine so when the older woman asked. If anyone knew it was the Greybeards. Bryn hadn’t gone up to visit them since stopping there on the way home to Whiterun after becoming thane of The Rift. She supposed she was due, but she didn’t like Delphine’s attitude towards the monks. She found the Blade’s resentment of them baffling.

“They’re afraid of you, of your power,” Delphine finished. “Trust me, there’s no need to be afraid. Do you think Tiber Septim would have founded the Empire if he’d listened to the Greybeards?”

Angry over the speech, Bryn retorted, “Do you think Ulfric would be tearing Skyrim apart if he had?” She turned back to the wall. “Don’t worry, I’m not afraid of my own power. I haven’t been for some time.”

“Good. The Greybeards can teach you a lot, but don’t let them turn you away from your destiny.”

“What would that be? To give you a new purpose? Maybe displace Emperor Titus Mede II and found a new Dragonborn dynasty? Let’s see, what fancy surname should I give myself…how about Dragon-Killer? Ice-Shouter? Storm-Crown? Yes, Empress Brynhilde Storm-Crown. Catchy, isn’t it? Much better than Septim I think.”

Delphine stared at her, her tongue in her cheek, then she quietly stated, “Not at all. You’re Dragonborn, and you’re the only one who can stop Alduin. Don’t forget that. I haven’t.”

Bryn turned away from her, the rest of her little speech going in one ear and out the other. She watched Esbern near the end of the wall and let out a bitter laugh that startled the two Blades. So the Akaviri had assumed the Last Dragonborn would be a man. Hilarious. She would go see the Greybeards on her way to Riften, next time she passed that way, and see what they knew of this Shout, but who knew when that would be. She was well on her way to becoming Thane of The Reach, having spent more time in the hold than she had expected, and still had Falkreath Hold to add as a notch on her belt. If the Blades thought Bryn was simply going to hop to it and face Alduin soon they were out of their minds. She felt strong enough to deal with most anything, but today’s painful encounter had shown her how far she still had to go. Alduin wouldn’t meekly hover in place while she hid and shot arrows at him, anymore than today’s dragon and Forsworn had.

She walked away from the other two and went up the steps to the right and soon found herself outside in a picturesque courtyard. The architecture was alien to her, though attractive in its own way. She could see Kolskeggr Mine below, to the right. The Reach had its own beauty, as every hold did, full of canyons and rock and rushing rivers. She would return here after visiting home for a bit and taking Farkas on his dragon hunt, along with Lydia, and make herself Thane of The Reach, once she had accumulated the necessary funds to purchase Vlindrel Hall. Then she would move on to Falkreath, then The Pale, then Winterhold. She would save Ulfric Stormcloak’s hold for very last. By then he would have more than enough time to ponder things. She just hoped that the fellow she had first rescued from the Thalmor, and Thorald, would have the guts to give Ulfric her message. Time would tell.


	21. Chapter 21

“Amazing,” Farkas breathed. “Just like Vilkas said.” The dragon was awe-inspiring, even sleeping on top of the word wall at Shearpoint. It was immense, the biggest living thing he had ever seen, and was a beautiful copper-bronze color with a leaf-shaped tail. Vilkas had called fighting a dragon his most fantastic battle ever, and Farkas was eager to see if this lived up to his expectations. He had thought his twin a bit of a baby for admitting to being terrified at first, but now that he was about to do it he had to admit he was a bit anxious himself.

“Wondrous, isn’t it?” Bryn whispered back. “I always feel a little guilty when they’re like this. Then they wake up.”

“What’s in the coffin?”

“We saw this at Volskygge,” Lydia murmured, seeing Bryn nod in agreement. “It might be a dragon priest. A draugr that floats around throwing spells. Nasty. Better we stay away from the coffin until the dragon is dealt with.”

“Okay then. Ladies first.” Bryn and Lydia took out their enchanted bows as he drew his sword from his back, the two women having agreed to provide back-up and let him face it on the ground. He was actually a little nervous at this point.

“Watch for the tail once it’s grounded, big bear,” Bryn warned as she drew back the bowstring.

“Got it.” He didn’t want to end up with a broken leg as Vilkas had. With his luck it would heal crooked and he’d have a limp the rest of his life. It wasn’t as if he planned on completely giving up fighting. He liked smithing with Eorlund more than he had expected, finding something soothing about the rhythm of it, but he was still a member of the Circle, still a warrior, still a trainer. The old smith was firm but fair, not prone to praise or undeserved criticism, and Farkas was glad that Bryn had suggested this new path in his life. He didn’t want Lydia always worrying about him the way she did about Bryn. The way Vilkas worried about Bryn. He sure as hell didn't want his children growing up without a father.

The women let their arrows fly, and the dragon screamed and launched itself into the air, electricity crawling over its hide. The three of them ran into the open, staying well away from the word wall and the sarcophagus. Farkas raised his hands over his head and shouted at the dragon, “Here I am, you big bastard! Come and get me!”

Lydia shook her head while Bryn laughed, feeling happy. The trip up here had been enjoyable, the banter light-hearted, though she missed Vilkas. She could tell he felt left out, but he and Farkas couldn’t both be gone. Jorrvaskr was running well these days, nearly two months after Kodlak’s death and Bryn becoming Harbinger; business was brisk and the junior members were toeing the line. Bryn had greater expectations of the Companions than Kodlak and his predecessors had, as did Vignar, in fact she and the old man saw eye to eye on pretty much everything. Vilkas had sometimes seemed taken aback by it, having come of age under a Harbinger who believed in letting everyone follow their own path, in whatever way they saw fit. Bryn did only to a certain extent. She and Vignar both considered the honor and reputation of the Companions as a whole to be of greater significance than any given member’s personal sense of honor, or bringing in coin; they both felt the latter would naturally follow the former. Vilkas had seemed a little confused by their firmness but had gone along with it, while Farkas didn’t seem to notice or care and Aela approved. Vilkas had told her early on, before they were a couple, that coin was what he fought for, but there had been defensiveness there, and the longer he lived without the beastblood the more he seemed to value his own personal honor, and the honor of their company.

Bryn wanted the Companions to be more than principled mercenaries, and wished she could be around more to enforce that, but after they returned to Whiterun she would only have a week there before she headed out again. She was a full thane of The Reach now and owner of Vlindrel Hall, a home she found more to her liking than Proudspire Manor, though she found the male housecarl there a bit hard to feel comfortable around, simply due to his maleness. Argis was also quite handsome even with his scarred eye, and she felt unable to completely relax in the house, no matter how professional his manner was, and taking him on jobs was simply out of the question. It made her feel guilty and she had made sure to say very little to anyone about the man. She had spent little time in the house anyway, and in Markarth in general. While Jarl Igmund was a good man, as was his uncle and steward, Raerek , the Silver-Blood family seemed just as dirty as the Black-Briars. There was some business going on with a man named Eltrys and the Forsworn that she hadn’t gotten involved in yet, and Bryn had already annoyed the Silver-Bloods by driving their sellswords out of Sanaurach Mine in Karthwasten. She wasn’t ready to involve herself any further in their business yet. The fact that Jarl Igmund refused to bow to the Silver-Bloods’ demands told Bryn what a decent person he was, though the Thalmor agents patrolling his palace were no doubt an incentive. Bryn found their arrogance disgusting, though she wondered why they hadn’t confronted her. All of Skyrim knew that she was the one who had ‘given the Thalmor a black eye’, and she had even encountered a small group of them on the road sent to kill her, and yet Ondolemar had said nothing about it. It was odd.

Bryn and Lydia hung back once the dragon was grounded, hitting the beast with arrows as Farkas went in with his sword. Bryn was unable to use any Shouts, afraid of hitting her friend. The battle was much harder than expected, the dragon larger and fiercer, and it was all Bryn could do to hang back and let Farkas do the bulk of the fighting. He finally finished the beast off by ducking under a wing and sinking his sword into its side, and it reared up and threw him onto his back as it went into convulsions. He rolled out of the way as its body came crashing back down. As he climbed to his feet it began to glow, and the light flowed past him to Bryn, who closed her eyes and let the soul come to her.

“Will you look at that,” Farkas said in amazement. He hadn’t seen Bryn absorb a dragon soul before. She hadn’t even been the one who killed it.

“Incredible, isn’t it,” Lydia said with pride. “How many do you think now, my thane?”

“Twenty? I’ve lost track,” Bryn murmured. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, feeling the word wall pulling insistently at her. She hadn’t felt one pull this strongly at her since the first one. She pulled out Dawnbreaker and her shield, saying, “Time to see what’s in the sarcophagus. Ready?” The other two nodded, Farkas looking a bit rough around the edges but mostly unharmed. Bryn crept toward the sarcophagus, and when she was within ten feet of it the lid cracked and flew off, and a dragon priest floated out of it with a hiss of _“Krosis!”_

Between the three of them the undead creature was quickly finished, though the fire from its staff had left them all a bit singed. After Bryn healed everyone Farkas went to the pile of ash and brittle armor, poking it with his foot, then picked up a bronze-colored mask attached to a brown hood, shaking the ash off. “Do they all drop these?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Lydia answered, taking the mask from him to clean it off. “We’ve only encountered one other before, in Haafingar hold.” She tossed the mask to Bryn, who turned it over in her hands as she walked back to what remained of the dragon skeleton. The other woman took off her circlet then pulled on the mask. Lydia heard a sound of interest from her. “What do you think, my thane? Can you tell what it does?”

“I like this one,” she said with pleasure, her voice sounding hollow. “This could be useful…hm. It enhances lockpicking, archery and alchemy! Definitely useful.” The other mask she had, Volsung, was good for breathing underwater, carrying extra weight and squeezing a bit more gold out of merchants, but she never used it, and so it sat in a chest in the bedroom in Proudspire Manor. This one, Krosis, was something she could use almost constantly while adventuring, and she planned to.

“That’s great, right up your alley,” Lydia said with a smile. She turned back to Farkas, opening her mouth to ask him if he wanted to keep the dragon skull, then her mouth fell open farther when she saw what he was pulling out of the neck of his armor. He smiled at her, his silvery-gray eyes sparkling, and she stammered, “Is that an Amulet of Mara?” She nearly hit herself in the forehead for sounding like a fool. Of course it was an Amulet of Mara. The sneaky man!

“Sure is,” he said with a grin.

Lydia laughed in delight then composed herself and said seriously, “My, I’m surprised someone like you isn’t already taken.”

“Interested in me, are you?”

“Why yes, yes I am.”

He let out a shaky breath of relief and took her hands in his. “Then it’s settled. You and me.”

“You and me,” Lydia agreed, standing on her toes to kiss him, her eyes shining, then she threw her arms around his neck with a laugh of delight. She should have known he had something up his sleeve from the way he’d been acting lately. She had considered lately asking him to marry her but had kept putting it off, in case Bryn asked her to go out with her again. Bryn hadn’t asked, and hadn’t taken her when Lydia had been the one to press the matter. Lydia disliked Bryn going out alone—everyone did—but Lydia couldn’t force herself on her lady, and Bryn had seemed fine lately, always coming back to Whiterun in good spirits with fantastic stories to tell. Lydia missed being part of those adventures, missed the sisterhood of the road, but the last two and a half months at home in Whiterun had been satisfying too, especially since Farkas had been apprenticing with Eorlund. It already felt somewhat like they were married. Actually being married though would be so much better.

Lydia let go of Farkas to look at Bryn, and felt a pang of worry go through her to see the other woman standing stock still near the dragon skull, facing their direction. She could only assume Bryn had been watching, since her eyes were impossible to see in the depths of the mask from this distance. A sudden chill crawled over Lydia’s skin along with a sense of foreboding, even more terrible than she had felt when she had first realized Vilkas intended to bed Bryn. Vilkas and Bryn had been a couple a month longer than Farkas and Lydia. Vilkas and Bryn had fallen head over heels in love from the very start, while Farkas and Lydia had gradually come together. Life in Skyrim could be short and brutal at times, and once you found someone compatible you didn’t waste time on long courtships; that Farkas and Lydia were now engaged while Vilkas and Bryn were not seemed wrong.

Bryn seemed to deflate then nodded at them and turned away to gather dragon scales and bones, and Lydia looked up at Farkas to see him frowning, also worried about Bryn. “I don’t like this,” Lydia whispered.

“Me neither,” Farkas replied in kind. “My brother is an idiot. Brains of Ysgramor my ass.” Lydia made a sound of agreement and leaned against him, and he put his arm around her while they waited for Bryn to finish her business then go to the word wall. They were going to have to snap her out of it on the way back to Whiterun or who knew what she would do.  
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Farkas took off at a jog once they reached Honningbrew Meadery, wanting to let his brother know they were back and let him know the good news. Lydia immediately turned to Bryn and said in a firm tone, “All right, enough, my thane. You’ve hardly said a word the entire way back, and I’m sick of looking at that ugly mask.” Bryn grumbled and took it off, shoving it in her pack, and Lydia saw with dismay that Bryn’s eyes and nose were puffy and red. “How long have you been crying under that damn thing!”

“I don’t know, an hour or two,” she said glumly. “I’m sorry. This was supposed to be special for you and Farkas, and…and I’ve ruined it.”

Lydia sighed, “No you haven’t, we—“

“He’s never going to marry me!” she wailed, then put her face in her hands and started sobbing. She felt Lydia’s arms go around her, and she wept, “I had the amulet in my hands and he just fidgeted and didn’t say a word, so I gave it to Farkas.”

“Oh Bryn,” Lydia murmured sadly. “Maybe he was waiting for you to do it. To put it on.”

“I know what he would do. Nothing. Or he’d try to make a joke of it, to lessen the sting of rejecting me.”

“You don’t know that. He loves you, I know he does. I’ve seen him with you and he adores you.”

“He fears as much as he loves.”

Lydia frowned deeply, not knowing how to react to such a strange statement. It was terribly sad that Bryn had given that amulet to Farkas instead of using it herself. It was sweet though that it had come from her, that she had known Farkas wanted to marry Lydia. She was sure though that Bryn hadn’t known Farkas was going to do it on the side of a mountain after killing a dragon and a dragon priest, or she wouldn’t have reacted the way she had. It hadn't been particularly romantic, but it had definitely been memorable.

Bryn lifted her head and sniffed, and the other woman stared back with sympathy, her arms still around her. “You’re so lucky to have Farkas. If only I could have loved the right one the right way!” Lydia clucked her tongue, already knowing about all that. She shook her head and went on in a broken voice, “I’m happy for you two, believe me. I’m glad that the two people I love best love each other. I don’t want to ruin this for you. I tried so hard not to get upset.”

“You won’t ruin this. You can’t. I understand why this is hard for you.”

“But why is it? Why am I cursed like this? What did I ever do to offend the gods so much that they’re doing this to me? What good is all this power if I don’t have the power to make myself happy?”

“You can’t help who you love.”

“I know, but…what made me love him? He was so mean to me at first, so why?”

“He’s awfully easy on the eyes,” Lydia said with regret. “They both are, but Vilkas has that…certain something, I don’t know what it is. Intensity, I suppose.” Though he had calmed somewhat since Kodlak’s death and Bryn becoming Harbinger. He no longer had that creepy, unnerving edge to him he’d always had before. She wasn’t sure what had changed, but it had changed. Farkas had settled a bit more too, seeming less distracted. Maybe Bryn’s leadership really had been good for the Companions, and the twins personally. Maybe it was just having a female leader, who knew.

“I know how much he loves me,” Bryn continued helplessly. “How can he love me so much but not want to marry me?”

“Maybe he does and is afraid to. You’re gone so often…maybe he honestly is afraid of losing you.”

“Not marrying me won’t change that!”

Lydia shrugged. “I’m just trying to reason it out. You just said that he fears as much as he loves, so you know he’s afraid of something. You two practically live together, and he’s happy with it, so maybe he thinks it’s enough for now.”

“Well it isn’t. If he’d at least talk to me about it—“

“But you aren’t talking to him either.” Bryn didn’t dispute that. Lydia gave her a gentle shake by the shoulders. “Maybe seeing me and Farkas marry will get him thinking about it.”

“Maybe seeing my handsome housecarl in Markarth will get him thinking about it.”

Lydia slowly shook her head, saying in a tone of warning, “Don’t you dare, Bryn. Making him more afraid won’t help matters one bit and you know it. Why would he want to marry someone who would do that to him?” Now she knew why Bryn had hardly mentioned the man at all.

“Why should the Dragonborn settle for someone who thinks she’s good enough to fuck around with but not good enough to marry!” Lydia’s mouth fell open as her eyes widened in shock, then Bryn gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth, horrified. “I didn’t say that,” she whispered. “Tell me I didn’t just say that!” Lydia kept staring at her in dismay then closed her mouth and shook her head again. The thing was, Bryn did feel that way, or at least she had all of today while stewing behind her mask. All day long she had turned the whole matter over and around in her head every which way, driving herself mad trying to figure out why Vilkas wouldn’t propose to her. He was afraid of something, she and Lydia both knew that. Afraid of her leaving him, afraid of losing her to Alduin or some other enemy in her travels…their not being married wouldn’t change any of that, but maybe he thought he was protecting himself. Well, it was coming at cost to her, and she resented it. It sounded vain, but she was the damned Dragonborn, and if she was good enough to sleep with for all these months she was good enough to marry.

When Bryn rubbed her eyes Lydia took her arm and gave it a tug. “Come on, pull yourself together,” she demanded gently. “We have a wedding to plan, then after the wedding you and I are hitting the road again.”

“You can’t do that!” Bryn protested, stumbling as Lydia hauled on her arm. “You’re getting married!”

“Yeah, so?”

“But…Farkas will miss you!”

“Farkas is learning a new craft and doesn’t need any distractions. We’ll take a few days after the wedding to relax, maybe stay in Riften and boat on the lake a bit or something, then you and I are going to head to…what’s your next target?”

“Well…Falkreath—“

“We’ll go to Falkreath.”

“But…aren’t you having children?”

“Merciful Arkay, not yet! Maybe we’ll start trying in six months, maybe a year. Farkas really wants babies, and that’s fine, but I’m in no hurry, and like I said, Farkas doesn’t need any distractions. I can’t imagine a bigger one than a screaming baby keeping you up all night. You clearly need me more than he does. Gods only know what you’ve been brewing up in that head of yours all these weeks alone.” Bryn sputtered in offense, and Lydia didn’t care, knowing she was right. Bryn didn’t need Lydia’s physical protection anymore, but she needed companionship on the road, someone to help keep her head on straight. Lydia felt she had been remiss in paying attention to Bryn’s needs, but it had been easy to do with Bryn always up at Jorrvaskr when she was home in Whiterun. Farkas would cope just fine without Lydia, his full attention usually on whatever was right in front of him. He would miss her but he would stay plenty busy with Eorlund and the Companions. They would each have the comfort of knowing they belonged to each other and every separation was only temporary. Also, Vilkas would be provided with a positive example, and it just might help him pull his head out of his backside.  
-  
“Come to see Balimund perform miracles with steel, eh?”

“Perhaps some other time. I thought I would watch your pretty assistant instead.” Bryn straightened up from the workbench at the sound of Vilkas’ voice. He smiled warmly at her and she returned the smile hesitantly, her eyes flicking to Balimund. She had been in Riften for nearly a week now, preparing for Lydia and Farkas’ wedding, which was taking place tomorrow. Vilkas had come ahead of the others and was obviously unexpected. He wondered just how much time she had been spending at the forge during her time here. He was not at all pleased with the idea. She looked as if she had been here all day, her face smudged with soot.

The smith smiled and stood to offer Vilkas his hand. As the other man took it he couldn’t help noticing the thick gold bracelet Vilkas wore, and remembered Bryn crafting it. “I didn’t recognize you out of your armor and war paint, Companion. Well met.”

“Aye, well met, Master Smith.”

“You flatter me.” He jerked his thumb at Bryn. “This one though, she’s getting there. There’s nothing more I can teach her. I sure wasn’t the one that taught her to work ebony. I’ll credit old Gray-Mane for that.” The girl had found an ebony shield the other day in the ruins of Forelhost nearby, and when she had asked if she could use his equipment to improve it he had been more than happy to oblige, just for the pleasure of watching her work. Her gift of fresh fire salts hadn’t hurt either. It had sent faint regret through him to watch her at the workbench; it would have been nice to have a wife to work next to him. He had finally just come out and asked her that day why she hadn’t told him she was taken, and it had nearly reduced her to tears and made him feel terribly guilty. Her explanation had been honest and had made sense, but he’d been surprised to hear that it was the twin with the shorter hair that was her lover, and that she was back in Riften to arrange the wedding of the other brother, who was marrying her housecarl from Whiterun. He’d changed the subject, sensing it was uncomfortable to her, and had asked instead what she’d been up to lately other than pissing off the Aldmeri Dominion, and the things she had told him had left him stunned. He wasn’t sure how she found the time to eat and sleep, let alone do any smithing.

“She’s a quick study, and Eorlund a good teacher,” Vilkas replied. “My brother is currently apprenticing with him, to one day take his place.”

“No offense, but that’s a tall order.”

“Aye, this is true. Still, it is the Skyforge we’re talking about, and it seems to have accepted Farkas.”

“I can only imagine the honor of working it, but this one here,” he said, patting the side of his forge, “she’ll do just fine. As long as my friend Bryn keeps me in fire salts.”

Finally speaking up as both men looked at her, she quietly said, “As long as conjurers keep throwing fire atronachs at me, I will.”

Vilkas nodded at her and said, “Come, finish up what you’re doing and show me Honeyside. I left my things with Iona but didn’t want to poke around.”

“I’m almost done. I just have to polish up the second ring. I um…made wedding bands for Farkas and Lydia. I was going to take them to Maramal to enchant with the matrimonial blessing. At the…the temple.” She quickly turned back to her task to avoid seeing Vilkas’ reaction. “I found a new mask the other day. I can’t believe I missed a ruin so close to town when I was here before. I took Iona with me this time. She did all right, but it just wasn’t the same as it is with Lydia. I found a new Shout there, but I nearly killed some guards with it yesterday when a dragon showed up outside town, so I’m afraid to use it again. Are Lydia and Farkas with you?”

He hesitated, her stream of speech sounding almost frantic. He had to admit, he wasn’t looking forward to setting foot in that temple. “No, they’re a day behind me, with the rest of the party. I told them I wanted to have some time with you before the rest of the rabble show up.” She nodded, buffing at the item on the table. He leaned against the side of the building and asked, “What is this new Shout of yours?”

“ _Strun._ Storm. I thought it would throw a lightning bolt, but it ended up calling down a lightning storm a minute long, and it didn’t care who was friend or foe. If the guards hadn’t gone under cover it would have killed them. I felt terrible.”

“Well, how were you to know?” Balimund said as he went back to the tanning rack.

“I suppose. I’m glad Jarl Laila saw it that way.”

The smith laughed, “You think any jail could hold you?”

“No, but I doubt I’d be too welcome in town after that,” she answered with a quiet laugh. “I like it here and would rather not get banished, thank you very much, or lose my house.”

“So, big party at Honeyside tomorrow night, eh?”

“I hope so. I tried to think of everything, but I’m not used to being a host.”

“Lots of drink and plenty of food, the rest takes care of itself. Good thing you don’t have any neighbors close by, though.”

“Would you like to go?” she offered. “Mjoll is going but I didn’t think anyone else would be interested.” Her fellow thane was eager to meet the other Companions and had offered to bring a drum, since for some odd reason no Bards were permanently posted in Riften.

He held up his hands and shook his head. “Oh no, no. Thanks for the offer, but you Companions are too wild for an old smith like me.”

“Well, I’m really not wild either.”

Vilkas smirked and drawled, “Is that so?” Bryn shot him a look of alarm while Balimund made a sound of interest and turned around. “Well, I hate to be a gossip, but someone has a hard time resisting a good Elven reel, especially when it’s combined with cold Honningbrew mead.” The smith guffawed at that.

Bryn sputtered and turned back to polishing the ring as she said, “Elven dances are the only ones I know, for obvious reasons, and it was only the one time. I’ll never get drunk ever again.”

“That’s too bad. Athis and Farkas are bringing their instruments.”

“I never said I wouldn’t dance ever again.” Both men laughed at that. She held up the ring along with its twin, inspecting them critically, then she turned and held them out to Balimund. “What do you think? They’re both warriors, so I had to keep them simple.”

The smith’s eyebrows rose as he took the rings from her. He glanced at her then back to the rings. “Dwarven metal?” The girl nodded and he let out a whistle. The rings were beautiful, a light reddish-gold color. He handed them back to her and said in approval, “Excellent work. Beautiful but simple and strong, good for a married warrior. I never would have thought of using Dwemer metal for jewelry. Mind if I steal your idea?”

“Not at all. Thank you.”

“No, thank you for showing me something new. I think Madesi will find the idea interesting as well.” He winked at her then turned back to the tanning rack. “Make sure you stop by and say goodbye before you leave Riften.” Vilkas looked like he didn’t particularly like them standing close to each other, his arms folded and brow slightly creased. Well, if he was jealous then he was insecure, and if he was insecure there was a reason for that. If he and Bryn weren’t married yet after all their months together then something clearly wasn’t right between them, and clearly Vilkas was making a big mistake.

“I will. It won’t be for a few days I think, but I will.” She slid the rings into her pocket and left the forge, Vilkas falling into step at her side.

When Bryn said nothing he asked, “Mind if I look at the rings?” She nodded and held them out on her palm, not looking at him. In fact she hadn’t looked at him for more than a second since he had arrived. He took the rings, trying not to get angry or feel hurt and only partially succeeding. She’d hardly looked at him or talked to him after coming back from Shearpoint either, stopping in Whiterun only long enough to drop off the dragon remains, check in with Vignar, then head out again, using the excuse of going ahead to arrange the wedding in order to avoid Vilkas. He knew she was avoiding him, and he knew why. He was going to have to talk to her about it today, to make sure the tension between them didn’t ruin his brother’s wedding, and the thought of it made his guts knot with anxiety. 

He held the rings at the tips of his fingers, rubbing his thumbs against the gleaming metal, admiring the sheen and the color. He had never seen Dwemer jewelry either, and had to admit it was certainly fit for a warrior. He glanced at Bryn and she still refused to look at him, and when he held the rings back out to her she took them with lowered eyes, picking them out of his palm as if trying to avoid physical contact with him, though she hadn’t avoided it with Balimund. Feeling his temper starting to rise, he kept his mouth shut until they reached Honeyside, afraid that anything he said would start an argument or make Bryn dissolve into tears, and if Bryn got angry enough and started yelling the whole town might hear it. Unfortunately it seemed there would be no avoiding a confrontation.

When they entered the house Iona stood, asking Bryn, “Would you like to bathe, my thane? You’ve been at the forge all day.”

“That would be nice, thank you,” Bryn murmured. Vilkas picked up his two packs and she pointed to the bedroom within view. “You can set your things anywhere—“ He threw the bags next to the bed, with more force than necessary, sending a shiver of dread through her. “I ah, I’m going to take these over to the temple. I’ll only be gone a few minutes.” 

Vilkas nodded, beginning to slowly pace through the room like a caged sabre cat, his arms folded, and Bryn turned and basically fled the house. He looked at the redheaded housecarl, who met his gaze with mixed annoyance and worry. He told her, “Perhaps you should go for a walk when she gets back.”

Iona lifted her chin and stated, “With all due respect, Companion, this is not your house. I leave if or when my thane tells me to.”

“Well then, be prepared to witness a lovers’ quarrel.”

Offended, she said, “You came to Riften a day early to argue with my lady?”

“No, but it looks like it’s going to end up that way.”

“I don’t see what she could have possibly done in the five minutes after you left your belongings here to warrant an argument. My thane is good and kind. She has spent the last three days arranging a wedding party for your brother, and she spent all morning crafting wedding bands for your brother and his bride. The least you could—“

“Has Balimund been in this house?” Iona stiffened, her eyes widening furiously, then he muttered, “Never mind. Forget I asked.” That had been a stupid question even for him, worthy of the old Vilkas.

“I shall _not_ forget,” she said in a tense voice, then she turned on her heel and went out the back door to fetch water.

“Idiot,” Vilkas muttered to himself, sitting down on the edge of Bryn’s bed. The housecarl was right; Vilkas was starting something that wasn’t warranted. Bryn was avoiding his gaze and acting nervous because he had surprised her, with someone he was a bit jealous of, and because they were going to a wedding tomorrow and the subject of marriage was an uncomfortable one between them. She had avoided him after returning from Shearpoint because marriage was on her mind. He had no idea what to say to her on the matter. The thought of asking her to marry him made him sick with anxiety, and the idea of actually marrying her was one he couldn’t even begin to think about.

When Bryn returned Iona was standing with her hands on her hips in front of the fire as if on guard duty, watching the water start to boil. She gave her housecarl a hesitant smile then looked past her to where Vilkas had left his bags. “Where is he?” she whispered, feeling nauseous with nerves.

“My thane,” Iona said with quiet firmness, “please don’t…ugh. I don’t even know how to say this.” It was the other housecarl’s job to be the handholder. It wasn’t in Iona’s nature at all, but she had to defend her lady.

“It’s all right, Iona. You…you can go if you want.”

“Absolutely not. I refuse to abandon you to be verbally abused by that…male. He had the nerve to ask if Balimund had been in the house.”

“He what!” Bryn exploded, her trepidation instantly erupting into anger. “Where is he?” she repeated.

“On the back porch.”

Bryn stormed out the back door to the balcony, where Vilkas was leaning on the railing watching fish hawks fly over the lake. “How dare you,” she seethed as she slammed the door shut. He sighed heavily and put his chin in his hand, still staring out over the water. “He has never set foot in this house, and I’ve never set foot in his. He’s my friend and nothing more.”

Vilkas muttered, “Yes, I realize that.”

“If you have a problem with Balimund, you sure as hell had better never go to my house in Markarth, because you’ll have a very serious problem with the housecarl there.”

“Is that so,” he said in aggravation, turning to look at her. He had been ready to apologize until she had gone there. “Handsome, is he?”

“Yes, very.”

“More handsome than me?” Her attitude faltered at that as she looked uncertain, not knowing how to respond. “I came a day early to spend time with you, and you can’t even look at me, even after I was courteous to the smith. I shook his hand and was polite to him, and vice versa, with no hard feelings—“

“Then why did you say that!”

“Because I am an idiot, that’s why. Why do I ever say any of the stupid things I say? I was going to apologize until you brought up your handsome housecarl, and let me guess, he’s blond?” Bryn’s cheeks turned pink, confirming his guess. He resisted the strong urge to say something snide and instead said, “I know you would never be unfaithful to me. That isn’t even a consideration. I shouldn’t have said what I did to Iona. I took it back right away but it made no difference to her.” Bryn said nothing, though her eyes slid away from his. “You came back from Shearpoint and hardly said a word to me. I come here and you still won’t look at me or talk to me. What did I do?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Aye, and that’s the problem, isn’t it.” She didn’t reply, though she swallowed hard and blinked. Vilkas grumbled and leaned on the railing again to look out over the water. It was certainly beautiful here. There was even a little dock with a rowboat. Dragonflies flitted over the water and salmon swum serenely beneath them. It was no wonder Bryn liked it here. Riften had more than its share of problems, but there were good people here, and the house was warm and welcoming, and The Rift was lovely country. When it became apparent that Bryn wasn’t going to be the one to broach the subject, he finally said with some difficulty, “I’m sorry that it upsets you, but…I…I can’t. Marriage…I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Gods help me, I don’t know why, but the thought fills me with… It’s terrifying. I’m sorry.”

“Is it me?”

The despairing question made a lump rise in his throat, and he moved to take her in his arms but she stepped away from him. “How can you say that?”

“Because no one wants to marry me. No one but Balimund has ever shown any interest in me at all. Because I’m Dragonborn and a freak.”

“That’s bullshit,” he said roughly. A tear slid down her cheek and he tried to touch her again but she wouldn’t allow it. “There’s nothing wrong with you. I’m…”

“If you say ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ I’m going to punch you.”

“Just…give me some time to get used to the idea.”

“How much time do you need? How much do you think I have?” she cried, finally turning to look at him. Vilkas stared back uncomfortably, and she asked him, “If I surprised you one day with an Amulet of Mara around my neck, you’d ignore it, wouldn’t you? You’d pretend it wasn’t there, or give me some platitude with pity in your voice.”

“I don’t pity you. I love you. You know how much I love you. I asked you to live with me, damn it.”

“But not in the old Nord way. Not with the pledging of our troth or any intention of permanence. You have a way out. You’ll make sure you always have a way out.”

He slowly shook his head. “That is not at all how it is. I don’t want to marry because I don’t want to, simple as that. I enjoy our time together, and I like living with you, when you’re there, but you’re almost never there. What is the point of marrying when we see each other a few days a month, if that?”

“Because it isn’t always going to be this way. Once I deal with Alduin and the Thalmor, I won’t be traveling like this anymore.”

“And when that day comes, we can talk about it again. But for now what is the point?”

Bryn didn’t answer right away, staring at him with a heartbroken expression. The point was that someone loved her enough to want to belong to her, and her to him, and wanted the world to know it. The point was feeling secure, and wanted. The point would escape him and she wasn’t going to try to explain it. She couldn’t understand how he could love her as much as he claimed to and not want the promise of permanence. When Farkas had set his sights on Lydia, he had liked her a great deal but hadn’t loved her yet. She nearly asked Vilkas what the point was of staying in a relationship that he had basically admitted was going nowhere. She finally said, “Well then, I’m glad we got that all aired out.”

He sighed, “Come on, don’t be that way.”

“You just told me you have no intention of ever marrying me. How do you expect me to be?”

“That is not at all what I said. I said when the day comes that there’s no longer a reason for you to travel all the time, we could talk about it again.”

“What tells me the outcome would be no different then?” Vilkas stared at her with his jaw clenched. “So tell me this, if I wasn’t traveling all the time, if I hadn’t been Dragonborn, if I was just a regular Companion and always in Whiterun, would you marry me then?”

“I don’t play around with ‘what ifs’,” he growled. “This is how it is, right now.”

Bryn snorted bitterly and stated, “This is how I see things right now: I’m the Dragonborn, the Harbinger, thane in five holds, and the man I’m with refuses to marry me. It makes me look pathetic. It makes me like a fool.” She saw the spark of fear in Vilkas’ eyes at that. Good, he should be afraid. For all her complaints about no man wanting her, she knew damn well that if she walked down the street of any city she was known in with the Amulet of Mara on she would be besieged with offers, and not just from men. “This is what I was avoiding by avoiding you. Some part of me knew. That’s why I gave the amulet to Farkas and didn’t put it on that day, because I knew you’d turn me down.”

“It isn’t as if I never want to marry,” he stated, trying to keep his voice steady. “Just not right now.”

“When?” He looked away, not answering. Desperate, she cried, “Tell me I’m not just wasting my time, damn it! You want me to keep going on month after month, with no promise that at the end I’ll get a husband and family out of it? Promise me that when I’m done with Alduin and the Thalmor we’ll marry!”

“I can’t promise you that. I said we would talk about it.”

“You can’t keep stringing me along like I’m some cheap barmaid, like I’m something you can enjoy part-time when it’s convenient to you. If you don’t want to marry me by now, you never will. I’ll just keep getting older and older while you keep setting the timeline further and further out until I’m barren.”

“I am not stringing you along!” he exclaimed. “How the hell can you think that? You know I love you, you idiot woman. I love you more than anything!”

“No, you do not, because if you did you would want to marry me, and you don’t. It’s not even that you want to and are afraid of it, you just don’t want to. If you don’t want to marry me, then you don’t want me around forever. You don’t want to be stuck with me permanently.” Vilkas growled and ran his fingers back through his hair, closing his eyes. “I want a husband and a family. I thought I would be fine without it when we first came together, but I was naïve to ever think that. I suppose I should apologize. I was so glad just to have your attention that I thought I could live without marriage and children as long as I had you, and I was wrong. Maybe some part of me really thought you’d want to marry me some day.”

“I never said I never wanted to marry you,” he groaned in frustration. “Why aren’t you listening to me?”

“And yet you can’t promise me that some day you will want to marry me.” She shook her head and turned away to the door, exhausted. He kept going around and around in circles. “This Nord courtship thing really isn’t at all what the Temple of Mara led me to believe. I give up.”

As she opened the door to go back inside Vilkas said in a shaking voice, “So that’s it then. You really are going to leave me this time.” On the eve of Farkas’ wedding, at that. His twin would be horrified. And extremely pissed off at Vilkas.

Astonished, Bryn stopped and turned to look at him. “I’m not leaving you! When did I say that?” The real fear and heartbreak on his face was terrible to see. She wasn’t going to be responsible for that. As long as she loved him she didn’t think she would ever have the strength to leave him. She feared though that it might get to the point some day where she wouldn’t have to leave him for things to end, or her resentment would grow to the point where the love would fade. “When I said I gave up it meant I was done talking about it, that’s all.”

“God damn you,” he choked, feeling a shudder of relief go through him. He crossed the short distance between them and pulled her against him, and when she finally gave in and relaxed against him with a sigh he whispered, “You scared the shit out of me, you little bitch.” Bryn didn’t answer, laying her head on his shoulder instead. “I love you, damn it. I’m sorry it isn’t how you want it, but…just give me time, all right? I don’t want to lose you.” He felt her nod and it made the last of the anxiety drain out of him, leaving him worn out. He supposed he was glad they had gotten this aired out, but it had been every bit as horrible as he had expected, if not worse. He hadn’t really been afraid in Ysgramor’s tomb that Bryn was leaving him, but this time he had been terrified of it, completely certain that it was over. He sniffed Bryn’s hair, smelling lavender overlaid with the smoke of the forge.

“I need to wash,” she mumbled against his shirt.

“If you get rid of the housecarl, I’ll help you.”

“Mm, that sounds nice.”

“I thought we might go to the Bee and Barb after, for dinner.”

“Also nice.”

“I love you, Brynhilde.”

Bryn lifted her head from his shoulder, her eyes wide, not sure whether to laugh or not. He never said her full name, and in fact rarely even said the shortened version of it. She finally petted his cheek and answered quietly, “I love you, Vilkas.”

“I am glad of that.” The thought of her one day no longer loving him was unbearable. The thought of her passing through Whiterun or Jorrvaskr and not even looking at him was more than he could stomach. If it really came down to it, if he was forced to choose between marrying her or her leaving, he would have to marry her. Losing her was not an option. He hoped it never came to that, that he could get to the point of freely wanting marriage and a family with her on his own, however long that took. At least after today he could relax a bit, now that the dreaded discussion was out of the way. They would have to take the days as they came after that and see where it eventually led them.  
-  
The two couples watched Mjoll give Aela a tender kiss on the lips in parting, and Farkas grunted and muttered for the tenth time, “Really didn’t see that one coming.”

“Neither did I, but it’s wonderful,” Bryn said happily. The Lioness and the Huntress had hit it off spectacularly at the wedding party two nights ago and had spent the entire next day together. Bryn honestly hadn’t had any idea that Mjoll was oriented that way and had actually thought she and Aerin were a couple, but Aerin had been completely unfazed by the budding romance. The whole thing was confusing, though sweet. She wondered if Aela had told Mjoll about her pregnancy; she hadn’t told anyone else yet and was hiding her morning sickness well, though it was finally starting to taper off. Bryn thought it would be nice if Aela’s daughter and Adrianne Avenicci’s baby grew up with each other. The smith’s child was due any day. Bryn hoped that she would be able to handle seeing the older women with children in their arms, while hers remained empty, with little hope of ever being filled.

Vilkas had been as sweet as pie to her the last several days, and it had been nice, but a sort of hopelessness had settled into Bryn’s soul. He had held her hand tightly all through the wedding ceremony, and all she could think about was how she was never going to be the one standing up there. It made her feel like a fool, just as she had told him the other day during their argument. She was the Dragonborn, made to save the world, and she couldn’t get this one damned man to marry her. She supposed it was idiotic of her to keep obsessing over this when she was supposed to be going about the business of growing her Voice so she could save the world. She and Lydia would be heading out in a few days for Falkreath Hold to continue that, but having her good friend and housecarl with her wouldn’t help matters much. Bryn would see the Bond of Matrimony on her companion’s finger and know Lydia was married and secure, and Bryn never would be.

Aela and the four junior Companions waved goodbye then headed down the road to return home; Vignar and Tilma had stayed behind, too elderly to make the trip. Farkas sighed then yanked Bryn away from Vilkas and wrapped his arms around her, saying happily, “This was the best couple of days I’ve ever had. Thank you, little bird.” The wedding had been perfect. The celebration that night had been perfect. The next day, yesterday, his first as a married man, had been perfect. He had woken up next to Lydia in their room in the Bee and Barb, and she had smiled at him, and he couldn’t believe she was finally his wife.

“You’re welcome, big bear,” she replied quietly. “I’m glad you two are happy.” _Because l never will be,_ she added silently.

Farkas put his arm around Lydia, who hugged both of them tightly, and he grinned at his brother and wiggled his eyebrows. “Look at this, huh? This is how it’s done.”

“How what is done?” Vilkas retorted. “All I see is some brute strangling two poor women who have no choice in the matter.”

“Jealous. That’s sad.” His brother snorted a laugh. He kept his arm around the two women as they headed back to the city gates. Bryn always found his touch comforting, and he could tell she was sad the last few days. She and Vilkas were still very affectionate with each other, in fact Vilkas seemed to be going out of his way to treat Bryn with extra care, but Farkas could still see the sadness in her eyes. Lydia had told him about confronting her outside Whiterun, how Bryn had wept that Vilkas would never marry her. Lydia had made him swear to stay out of the other couple’s business, but it was hard. He knew that badgering Vilkas about marrying Bryn wouldn’t get him anywhere anyway. The other two were getting along fine, so he left it alone.

“Hey, Dragonborn,” said one of the guards. “Heard they’re reforming the Dawnguard. Vampire hunters or something, in the old Fort Dawnguard to the East. Might consider joining up myself.”

“Don’t you dare,” Vilkas warned her.

She sighed, “Believe me, I don’t have the time.” She smiled at the guard. “But thank you for the tip. I’ll keep it in mind. I’ve heard the vampires are becoming a problem. I’ve been attacked myself a few times on the road.”

The female guard on the other side said, “Nasty buggers. I’ve heard one scratch from a vampire can infect you. I hope that isn’t true.”

“Keep some cure disease potions on you at all times, and you’ll never have to find out.”

“Aye, true that. Still, ‘twould be nice to have a fancy sword like yours, just in case.”

Bryn patted Dawnbreaker. “I never go anywhere without it.”

“Neither would I.”

As they passed through the city gates, Lydia asked, “So, what are we doing today? We did the boat rides yesterday. The forests around here are beautiful. Maybe we could go for a long walk and have a picnic?”

“The south side of the lake is nice,” Bryn offered, “near Snow-Shod Farm. We should gear up though. Bears and frostbite spiders—“

“Spiders?” Farkas said with worry.

Lydia smiled and put her arm through his, saying, “I’ll protect you, husband.”

He grinned at her and said, “I’m counting on it, wife.” He saw Vilkas roll his eyes and make a face, and he reached out his other arm and lightly punched him in the ribs, making his brother laugh.

Half an hour later they were on the road that ran along the south side of the lake, and another twenty minutes after that were settled in a birch copse overlooking the lake and Goldenglow Estate. Vilkas built a small fire to warm themselves around; while The Rift was the warmest of Skyrim’s holds, it was still wintertime and a nip was in the air. They laid out two bedrolls to sit on, each couple taking one, and were soon contentedly drinking mead and eating a light lunch of grilled leeks, goat cheese, bread and pheasant breast. It was relaxing and pleasant, with nowhere to rush off to, no other plans for the day.

After their meal, Farkas took a drink then said, “That Maven is a bitch, but she brews a good mead.”

“It’s Asgeir’s doing more than hers,” Bryn stated. “He oversees the operations and the brewing, while she takes care of the business side. In other words, the dirty work that he doesn’t know about, or doesn’t want to know about. It’s a shame…he’s a nice man. He’s marrying the Emperor’s cousin, did you know that?” Vilkas and Farkas shook their heads.

Lydia said with misgiving, “I hope he knows what he’s getting into. I have my doubts about the cleanliness of Vittoria Vici’s hands, or anyone at the East Empire Company.” She glanced at Bryn and added, “We should get up to Solitude when we have the chance. I think we have enough coin to get the house there fully furnished.”

Bryn nodded, saying, “I do feel bad about Jordis rattling around in a mostly empty house.” Bryn found the layout of Proudspire Manor awkward, though it was a lovely house, and wished that she had more time to spend in Solitude. She liked the city, comfortable around Imperials and the Legion. Certainly more comfortable than she was around Stormcloaks, who seemed suspicious of everyone who wasn’t a card-carrying member of their little club. Bryn wondered if at some point she should go to Castle Dour and have a chat with General Tullius, to feel him out a bit. If she absolutely had to, she would cast her lot with him, but she was going to make sure she didn’t have to. That dossier she had found on Ulfric still wouldn't leave her mind.

Vilkas asked, “Where do you think you girls will go next after this?”

The housecarl motioned towards the road nearby. “We’ll follow this into Falkreath and spend a few weeks there, maybe a month depending on how it goes. Then we’ll come home for a bit and after that head back up to The Pale. After that…I hate to say it, but I have to wonder if it’s worth dealing with Winterhold. There are so few people up there and the city itself nearly gone, and the Jarl there is nothing more than a vote in the moot anymore.”

“Still, it wouldn’t do to cause offense, and a vote is a vote,” Bryn said. “And I want to get rid of those amulet fragments. I hope someone at the College will know what to do with them.”

Vilkas put his arm around her and said wryly, “Just be careful Shouting up there, or the rest of the town might slide into the sea and the College with it.”

“That might be a mercy,” Farkas said.

“Maybe so. The place is desolate by anyone’s standards, and I haven’t been there in a number of years.” Lydia excused herself to find a tree to relieve herself, Farkas going with her. Vilkas kissed Bryn, and she smiled and leaned against him. “I can see why you like it here,” he stated. “You’ll like Falkreath, I think. The forests aren’t as open as this, but still beautiful.”

“I don’t remember much about it,” she quietly said. “Only Helgen.” He made a sound of sympathy and kissed the top of her head. “I wonder if Ulfric has nightmares about it. I don’t very often anymore, but I wonder if he does, or Ralof and Hadvar, wherever they are.”

“I think Ulfric’s dreams consist mainly of putting a crown on his head and throwing everyone who isn’t a Nord out of Skyrim.” He shook his head and went on, “I’m not fond of Elves, but as long as they cause no trouble or harm I have no reason not to let them be. They work as hard as anyone else.”

“Well, your reasons for disliking Elves are the same as his, except you were a tiny child, not a full-grown adult. The things he must have experienced were horrific, but surely he can see that not every mer is responsible.” Vilkas grunted, having been told all about the dossier, though he had refused to read it himself. “I still carry the file with me everywhere, when I’m on the road…” She trailed off, seeing someone walking along the road, and murmured, “Speaking of which…” She saw bright blond hair, and it alarmed her until she realized that the Thalmor she usually saw always had their heads covered by a hood or helmet. And this person was alone.

Farkas and Lydia were on their way back as Vilkas and Bryn stood, then Bryn clapped her hands in surprised pleasure as the man came into view. He was a single Nord man in a gold-trimmed vest and tunic, carrying a lute on his back and a sword on his hip. The twins smiled at each other as Lydia ran out to get the Bard’s attention. She came back with Talsgar the Wanderer, who all of them had seen in various places at various points in their travels.

“Ah, what luck,” the Bard said in delight. “Now, surely there is a song somewhere in this…two esteemed members of the Companions’ Circle, the Dragonborn Harbinger, and her trusty housecarl.”

Vilkas said, “If anyone can craft a saga about a picnic, you can Talsgar. Are you on your way to Riften?”

“Aye, to guest for a day or two at the Bee and Barb then make my way north to Windhelm to play at Ulfric’s court.”

Bryn said, “We were just talking about Jarl Ulfric. Tell him hello for me when you see him.”

He pulled the lute off his back and said, “Dear lady, I tell everyone I meet hello for you.”

_Our hero, our hero claims a warrior's heart_  
 _I tell you, I tell you the Dragonborn comes_  
 _With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art_  
 _Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes_  
 _It's an end to the evil of all Skyrim's foes_  
 _Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes_  
 _For the darkness has passed and the legend yet grows_  
 _You'll know, you'll know, the Dragonborn's come_

Vilkas moved behind Bryn, putting his hands on her shoulders, and she tried not to sigh as she listened to the song that she despised more than any other. She never let on to any Bard that she hated the song; it wasn’t wise to get on a Bard’s bad side and end up the target of a scathing satire. She was nominally part of the Bard’s College, after finding a Bard’s remains and a lost verse about King Olaf in some ruin she was exploring; she had taken it to the College since it was right in Solitude, and after helping Headmaster Viarmo convince Jarl Elisif to allow the Burning of King Olaf Festival to continue they had named her a member of the College. It was ironic really, considering she couldn’t sing or play an instrument to save her life, but she had learned a thing or two about speechcraft from one of the professors, and their library was unequaled anywhere in Skyrim other than the College of Winterhold. She enjoyed the company of the Bards, and they were next door neighbors to her house, so if she ever stayed there she would be able to hear music and singing in their courtyard.

They paid Talsgar well for his company and he continued on his way to Riften. The four packed up and put out the fire then walked up the road a bit further to the bridge that crossed the Treva River. It had been a perfect day in most respects, and Bryn hoped to make it a little more so. As the two couples stood together taking in the scenery, she said to Lydia and Farkas, “Since Farkas and Vilkas are going home tomorrow morning, I wanted to give you both my wedding gift before we go our separate ways.”

Lydia sighed and shook her head, saying, “You’ve already done more than enough, my thane. The rings, the party, the room at the inn…really, it’s enough.” She glanced at Vilkas and he didn’t seem surprised, and when she looked at her husband he seemed to already know as well. In fact Lydia seemed to be the only one who didn’t know what was going on.

“Of course it isn’t. You’ve done more for me than I can ever repay, but I want you to at least have this.” She pulled an envelope out of her belt pouch and held it out to Lydia, who looked at it with worry and didn’t take it. Bryn moved close to her and took her hand and put the envelope it in, saying with quiet intensity, “Please, take it. For me. This…this would make me happy.”

“All right then,” Lydia said with a nod, unable to help feeling that old pang of dread and foreboding. She opened the envelope and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She stared at the deed for a brief few seconds then let her hands fall, a tight expression on her face. “You’re giving us Breezehome,” she said in a tone of accusation. “Gods Bryn, you can’t do that.”

“I already did. The property is signed over to you as of the day you and Farkas married.” Lydia stared at her with glistening eyes, looking almost angry. She stated quietly, “A married couple should have their own home to raise a family in. I’m never there, Lydia. I want you to have it, need you to have it, to know that the house, and you, will always be taken care of.”

“You’re talking like you’re dead already,” the housecarl spat. “You and your damn fatalistic attitude!”

“When was the last time I slept there?” Lydia didn’t answer. “If I had my way you would stop going out with me, and start your life with Farkas in earnest, but I know you won’t allow that, and that’s fine, and I’m glad you’ll be with me. At least now if anything happens to me you have the house.”

“And what the hell would kill you that won’t take me out too!” she squawked.

Bryn frowned at her and asked, “Why are you so angry?”

“Because since the day I met you, you’ve acted like you’re dying.” Bryn didn’t deny it, and when Lydia looked at Vilkas he had a sad, resigned expression on his face. He wasn’t any better; Lydia knew damn well that one of the reasons Vilkas wouldn’t marry Bryn was because he was afraid she would die when the time came to face Alduin. It was an idiotic reason, something that instead should have spurred him to marry her, but it was his reason whether he fully admitted it or not. Lydia looked at her husband, and Farkas sighed heavily.

“It would make her happy, honey,” Farkas stated. “That should be all that matters.” Lydia made a sound of exasperation and rubbed her eyes with one hand, and Farkas took the deed and envelope from her, folding it and sliding it back inside then putting it inside the front of his doublet inside his armor. He smiled at Bryn and petted her hair. “Thank you, little sister. We’re grateful for your gift,” he said sincerely. He kissed her forehead then pulled her close. “Besides, how many houses do you really need? You’ve got three others. Spread the wealth around.” She laughed and Lydia sputtered, still upset. Lydia wasn’t really angry, but her worry and sorrow usually turned to anger as her way of managing it. She would come around eventually and be glad of the gift. And Bryn was right that she never slept there anymore, and hadn’t since becoming Harbinger, while Farkas usually did. Farkas and Lydia always slept together in what was supposed to be Bryn’s bed, and what did Lydia think that meant?

Bryn asked him, “Will you check on the house while we’re gone?”

“Of course I will.” He wasn’t sleeping there alone without his Lydia, and Bryn likely knew that by her question. Farkas was fairly certain that before too much longer Bryn would finally just let Lydia go. Farkas wasn’t sure how that would work, since the position of housecarl was usually a lifelong thing, granted by the Jarl. Lydia was right that Bryn had always had this sad, fatalistic air about her, and Vilkas had done very little to alleviate that, and Bryn would figure since she would never be happy that Lydia might as well be. Farkas appreciated that, sad as it was, and knew better than to argue Bryn out of it. No one could. Seeing Lydia happily married, and someday with children, would please Bryn, and maybe Bryn even thought she could somehow live vicariously through Lydia, who knew. Either way, Farkas wasn’t going to fuss about it. Some day Lydia would let go and stop fussing about it too, but it was anyone’s guess when that would be.


	22. Chapter 22

“My Jarl.”

Balgruuf’s breath caught as a shadow detached itself from the statue of Talos above him. The Dragonborn’s pale face and golden eyes caught the light of the candles set around the altar, but the rest of her was like a living shadow. He climbed to his feet and whispered angrily, “What are you trying to do, stop my damn heart!”

“I’m sorry, but I wanted to speak to you privately,” Bryn said in apology. “No guards, no Irileth.” It bothered her a bit that he was out here alone like this. She hadn’t expected him to leave Dragonsreach when she was readying herself to sneak up there and into his quarters, so she had followed him down the hill to here.

Balgruuf frowned deeply and muttered, “Tell me that isn’t Dark Brotherhood gear you’re wearing.”

“Yes, it is, and no, I am not a member, nor will I be. I took it off an assassin several months ago. This is the first time I’ve tried it, actually.” That khajit had been the last member they had sent after her. Either Maven had wised up or the Brotherhood was running out of assassins. She had heard rumors that they weren’t what they used to be. Vilkas would have thrown a fit to see her in the leathers and didn’t know she possessed a set, but he was on a job in Hjaalmarch with Torvar and Njada for several days. That was fine. She missed him a great deal, and she loved the time they spent together, but it was hard to sustain a relationship on a few days a month together when there was little hope of reward at the end of it all. He behaved as if everything were perfectly fine, as if they could keep going on like this forever. He was sweet to her, and she adored him, but if she went to face Alduin without a proposal from him she supposed she would finally have to summon up the courage to wear the amulet herself. If she was going to have the courage to face the World Eater, she had to have the guts to ask a man to marry her. And if he said no, or put her off again, and she lived past destroying Alduin…well, he’d had all the time he could ask for to make a decision about her. She wouldn’t leave him; she just wouldn’t come back.

“Very sneaky, Dragonborn. I can’t say I care for it. Why was it necessary to ambush me out here in the middle of the night?”

“Because I need to talk to you about your son, Nelkir, and I’d rather no one heard what I have to say.”

The Jarl took a deep breath then let it out, seeming to deflate. “Ah, yes.”

“He is a very troubled child, my Jarl.”

“Yes, which is why I asked you to talk to him and get to the root of it. The boy won’t talk to me, or his siblings.” He sat down on the stone wall near the shrine, and Bryn silently moved down to stand before him, then sat when he patted the wall next to him. “I appreciate you looking into this, my friend,” he said sincerely. “The other two, they’re simply spoiled, but Nelkir… He’s always been a quiet, introspective child, but lately…he frightens me, I’ll admit. I’ve seen him watching me with murder in his eyes.”

Bryn sighed and said, “He did talk to me, rather honestly actually. Some of his problem seems to be simple hurt and resentment that has fed on itself. He knows he has a different mother than your other children.” Balgruuf sighed and folded his arms, nodding. “He knows you secretly worship Talos and hate the Thalmor nearly as much as the Stormcloaks do.” She didn’t add the part about Balgruuf being afraid of being run out of his own city, or the child referring to him by his first name instead of ‘Father’. There was no point in doing so.

“So he’s been sneaking about the palace then? Eavesdropping?”

“Yes, but it’s more than that. He told me about a door in the basement—“

“Ah, merciful Divines, no,” Balgruuf choked, putting his hands over his eyes.

“Yes. I listened at the door. The Whispering Lady spoke to me. Mephala. I told her I had no interest in helping her and that she would find me much less malleable than a little boy. I think she has taken whatever was already bothering your son and has been feeding it. If we remove whatever is in that room perhaps it would help.”

“What is in that room is best left undisturbed.”

“So you know what it is, then.”

“Aye, I do. My family has guarded it for nearly two hundred years, and the door has stayed sealed by blood just as long. It is the Ebony Blade, an artifact of Mephala, the Daedric prince of deceit.” He laughed bitterly. “How fitting.”

“Can it be destroyed?”

“No, that has been tried. Even the hottest fire of the Skyforge could not melt it down, in fact the fires began to cool when the blade touched it. All one can do is hide it, guard it.”

“It will continue to haunt your child until it’s removed. If this goes on long enough…I don’t know what Nelkir will become capable of under that kind of influence, especially as he grows older. He’s…what, eight?”

“Nine next month.”

“Imagine a moody teenager under its influence.”

Balgruuf made a sound of horror and asked in a shaking voice, “What do you suggest?”

“I’m going to High Hrothgar after Vilkas returns. I’ve been putting off some business there for a while. Maybe they’ll have an idea what to do with it. They don’t seem particularly corruptible, so maybe I’ll leave it with them, or barring that just carry it myself until I figure out how to get rid of it permanently.” The Jarl slowly shook his head at the last idea, and she shrugged and said, “I’ve dealt with three other Daedric princes in the last year with little consequence. I doubt I’ll have issues toting around the Ebony Blade as long as I don’t use it.”

“Three. I didn’t know, other than Meridia.”

“I also carry Azura’s Star, and won Hircine’s Ring, though of course it’s useless to me since I’m not a werewolf.” She had actually given the ring to Aela, who had been thrilled with the gift. “Oh, and that horrid Wabbajack from Sheogorath. I hid it under my bed in Solitude. So four.” Balgruuf’s eyebrows rose and his expression became a bit less hopeless. “If you don’t want me to take it, then we should bring Vigilants of Stendarr here to look at the situation, maybe re-consecrate the door. That might quiet it for another two hundred years.” At that he brightened and nodded. She hesitated then put her hand on his arm, and he glanced at her in surprise then smiled and put his hand over hers.

“You’ve been a good friend,” Balgruuf stated.

“That’s kind of you to say, my lord. I’ve tried, with the limited time I have.”

“And I appreciate that.” He sighed, “You know, I love my children, but some days I wish my brother had been the older one. He’s not suited to the task, but still… My marriage to my wife, Anghilde, was one of convenience and station, something I felt I had to do as Jarl to ensure the stability of my hold. I came to care for her, eventually, but she never really warmed to me, or the children, and I don’t blame her for that. Gaelle… she was a Breton servant here, who helped Anghilde with the children. She was always kind, always patient with Frothar and Dagny. My wife was too busy spending my coin to pay attention to me or the children, and well…things happened. Gaelle was more a wife to me in the year and a half we were together than Anghilde ever was, and Anghilde didn’t care, in fact she seemed relieved if anything. Gaelle died giving birth to Nelkir. This was before Danica came to Whiterun. I could hardly stand to look at the boy for a good three years after he was born, and I still blame myself for that. I shouldn’t have taken my grief out on him, by neglecting him, and by time I realized my error… Gods, I hope it isn’t too late.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Brynhilde whispered, near tears.

He patted her hand. “Don’t be. I tormented myself those first few years after she died, wondering if Mara took her from me as punishment for betraying my wedding vows, but Mara doesn’t work that way. Mara gave Gaelle to me as a gift, to enjoy while I could, to show me what real love felt like. I’ve prayed to her often enough over the years to know that there’s only so much she can do. Anghilde drifted away over time and went her own way, and frankly the children don’t miss her, and neither do I. She writes occasionally, from Bruma, and sends gifts on the children’s birthdays, even Nelkir’s.”

“Do you really think Mara answers prayers?”

The sorrowful question made him look at the girl, and she was staring at the young Gildergreen with a forlorn expression on her face. “I think she tries. I prayed to her that I’d never fall in love again, and I can say with complete honesty that she certainly answered that one, or has so far.”

“Oh.” What a terrible thing to wish, though she supposed it would grant a certain peace. For all her sadness and regret and hurt over Vilkas, the Jarl’s grief over the death of his beloved had to be a thousand times worse.

“Something tells me you’ve done praying of your own.”

“Oh yes. Every time I go to Riften. I’ve done everything her priests and priestesses have asked of me and then some. I’ve prayed and prayed.” She sighed heavily as he made a sound of sympathy, no doubt knowing full well what the problem was. “Maybe she thinks I already have enough. Thane in every hold but Ulfric’s. More houses than I can visit, more gold than I can spend, more friends than I can count, more power than I can handle. For some that would be more than enough, but all I wanted was a husband and children. Skyrim has given me everything except what I came here for.”

Feeling sorry for her, the Jarl nodded at the statue behind them and said with forced lightness, “Maybe it’s only that he got first dibs on you, eh?” Bryn burst into laughter then put her hand over her mouth, making him chuckle. He grew serious once again as he stood; he had to get back before Irileth realized he was gone and hunted him down and dragged him back to Dragonsreach. “So, Ulfric. You’ve been avoiding Windhelm all along, I take it?”

“So far, yes, and most of Eastmarch.” She put her arm through the Jarl’s to walk him back home, not entirely trusting that his own city was perfectly safe. “It’s another reason I wanted to talk to you, my Jarl. About Lydia. Before I go to Eastmarch.”

“I heard you gave her and her husband Breezehome as a wedding gift. It was generous.”

“I want to release her from my service.” Balgruuf seemed unfazed by the request. “Not to sound callous, but her presence has become…superfluous, I guess. If she can’t be released from my service I’m going to have to simply order her to stay home.”

“No, she can’t be released from your service,” he said with regret. Bryn sighed and nodded. “That isn’t how it’s done. Housecarl is a lifelong position, ending either when you die or she does.”

“I see.”

“If you order her to stay here and live in the house you gave her and enjoy married life and have children, well, I suppose she would have to do that.”

Bryn relaxed and nodded again. “All right. Thank you, Jarl Balgruuf. I didn’t know what to do. I want her and Farkas to be happy.”

“And you want her to live the life you can’t?” It wasn’t really a question but a statement. Bryn lunched with him at least once during her times home in Whiterun, usually just the two of them, in the small dining room in his apartments so they could talk somewhat freely, so he knew full well her many regrets. So many would have traded everything they had to live the life she did, but it wasn’t the life she had asked for.

“Yes, that is exactly so, my Jarl.”

“I imagine she will be rather upset when you order her to do that. She’s very devoted to you.”

“And me to her. I love her as a sister, and I trust her more than anyone I’ve ever known, but…it has to end, and now is a good time. It’s been a year since Helgen, since Alduin showed up. I’ve traveled nearly every inch of Skyrim and killed…gods, what is it now, forty, fifty dragons? It’s to the point where it’s getting tiresome. Everything is. I’m going to talk to the Greybeards about how to finish this, on my way to Eastmarch.”

“Where you intend to yank Ulfric’s chain, I hope.” Bryn grinned at him and wiggled her eyebrows, making Balgruuf laugh. “Ah, good. I suppose it’s too much to hope that you’ll simply chop off his head and put and end to all this.” There had been no major battles but the skirmishes seemed to never end, and it was slowly bleeding Skyrim dry. Balgruuf and Ulfric were fairly close in age and had never really liked each other, though they had always respected each other; lately that was turning into animosity on Balgruuf’s part as he tired of Ulfric’s attempts to sway him to his side of the conflict.

“I’m trying to avoid that.”

“Why?”

“I feel sorry for him.”

He exclaimed, “Shor’s bones, why?” He didn’t get his answer as the front door to Dragonsreach burst open and a disheveled Irileth came out in her nightshirt and bare feet, sword in hand. Her blood-red eyes fastened on Bryn then her nostrils flared. Irileth had never gotten all that comfortable with Bryn, seeming to distrust the girl’s motives, unable to believe that she was content to be the Jarl’s friend and nothing more. Balgruuf found it laughable that the Dragonborn would want his throne. A woman with her power could be High Queen of Skyrim if she really wanted to rule. And as for any other interest Bryn might have in him, well, he knew how he compared to the Companion who enjoyed her attentions. Irileth’s protectiveness was touching though. The Dunmer woman watched over him like a mother sabre cat over her cubs. In fact if he hadn’t known better he would think Irileth was jealous of Bryn.

“You!” Irileth said furiously. “Unhand the Jarl immediately!”

“It isn’t how it looks, Irileth,” Balgruuf joked, unable to help finding the situation amusing.

“I should run you through,” the Dunmer said to Bryn, ignoring the Jarl. “How dare you accompany the Jarl dressed like an assassin!”

Bryn let go of the Jarl and said with a straight face, “The Jarl has been unhanded. I apologize. But you… um, right there…” She motioned at Irileth’s hair, and the housecarl reached up and pulled a goose feather out of her hair that must have come from a pillow. A guard snickered and immediately found the tip of the sword at his throat. Bryn had to admit that Irileth had beautiful hair when it was unbound, falling around her bare, dusky face in loose red waves. She glanced at the Jarl and even he seemed taken aback by his housecarl’s mussed appearance and bare legs, which Bryn thought were rather shapely, and in the cold air her nipples were patently obvious through the thin cloth. Balgruuf blinked then cleared his throat and looked away, blushing slightly, then his eyes traveled back to her. _Ah_ , Bryn thought with sad pleasure. She was an Agent of both Mara and Dibella and couldn’t help wanting others to fall in love and be happy, and do whatever she could to aid the process; maybe Mara had listened through Bryn, now that the Jarl had finally unburdened himself to her. Maybe after nine years of grief and loneliness the Jarl might find comfort again, where he had least expected it, with Mara’s blessing. Unfortunately she had no such hope for herself.  
-  
Bryn grumbled to herself as she neared the peak of the mountain, her legs aching and lungs burning. She probably should have rested a bit longer after climbing the Seven Thousand Steps before that but hadn’t expected this to take so long, and she still felt guilty about riling Master Arngeir, albeit unintentionally. She supposed climbing a mountain was never easy no matter the circumstances. Unfortunately the long period of time it required gave her too much time to think, to reflect. She hoped Lydia forgave her the next time she saw her, whenever that would be. Her housecarl had been absolutely livid with Bryn for basically releasing her from service. Bryn had tried a number of ways to convince Lydia to stay in Whiterun, none of them successful, and finally had ordered her to not follow Bryn the next time she left town. Lydia had glared at her with wet eyes, no longer bothering to argue with her. The housecarl had known then that it was the end. Bryn kissed her cheek and Lydia looked ready to punch her, nearly in tears, which wasn’t like her at all. 

Bryn had walked out Whiterun’s gates and hadn’t looked back. She had paused outside Warmaiden’s to listen to tiny Magni War-Bear crying then the gentle rumble of Ulfberth’s voice as he soothed his son, but once she left Whiterun she hadn’t looked back. In fact if it weren’t for her responsibilities there she thought she might never go back. The place was too painful for her now. Seeing the War-Bears’ baby was too painful. Watching Aela’s belly grow was too painful. Seeing Farkas and Lydia’s wedded happiness was too painful. Hearing Vilkas tell her how much he loved her was the most painful of all. How could he make such sweet, intense love to her and tell her afterwards how he would die for her, and refuse to marry her? When she had told him she was finally heading to High Hrothgar to ask Arngeir about the shout to take down Alduin he had stared at her with wide, almost frightened eyes and had asked if she was really sure she was ready; she was. He’d said surely she had more shouts to find; she did, but they were in Eastmarch, probably. She had sought out every master trainer she could find in her chosen proficiencies, and they had nothing more to teach her. Even Eorlund didn’t; with Farkas watching, the two of them had finally figured out how to work dragon scale and bone and had fashioned a shield, and that day she had finally seen joy light up the old smith’s face. Bryn certainly was good at making people happy. She made everyone happy except herself.

Bryn took a deep breath and shouted _“LOK VAH KOOR!”_ one last time to clear the dangerous fog blocking her way, then she breathed a sigh of relief to see a word wall and the peak: the Throat of the World. It was the highest point in Skyrim, and all of Tamriel. She paused there, looking for a building, a little hut, something that would house a reclusive monk, and there was nothing. She sighed heavily, tired and irritable, about ready to simply leave and go to Riften for a while. In Riften things were quiet and no one demanded anything of her, the house warm and comfy and the housecarl unobtrusive. The thought however of walking all the way back down to the monastery, then down all those steps, made her feel like crying. Then it made her think of Farkas and Vilkas joking about sledding all the way down, and that also made her feel like crying.

The flap of dragon wings and a roar made her sigh and pull out her ebony bow, but the sight of the dragon coming toward her made her hesitate. It was enormous, the biggest she had seen other than Alduin. It looked tattered and ancient, bleached and gray, like an old flag left flapping in the wind, then Bryn nearly smacked her forehead in realization as she put the bow away. _Paar-thur-nax_. The leader of the Greybeards had a very dragon-like name, in the usual three parts. He came to land in front of her and she bowed deeply, hoping she was right and not about to get snapped up in the massive jaws, ones that seemed to be missing half their teeth. She had never seen a dragon that looked so weathered, but then if he had been living at the top of this mountain for a few thousand years she supposed he would.

“Drem Yol Lok,” the voice thundered, making her very bones shake. “Greetings, _wunduniik_. I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my _strunmah_ …my mountain?”

“I am Brynhilde,” she stated, trying to sound as strong and confident as possible, while inside her guts were like jelly. To be finally holding a conversation with a dragon…it nearly made her feel like weeping. It eased a loneliness in her that she hadn’t realized the root of until this moment: she had the soul of a dragon and had been missing the company of her own kind. Or something like that. She supposed she had spent a great deal of time around dragons, making them dead. “I am Dragonborn, Master.”

“Ahh,” Paarthurnax said in curious delight. “So it is you whose _thu’um_ I have heard echoing from every corner of this land for the last year.”

“Yes. I…I’m sorry, but I wasn’t expecting you to be a dragon.” Though it made a terrible kind of sense that he was.

“I am as my father Akatosh made me. As are you, Dovahkiin. Tell me. Why do you come here, _volaan?_ Why do you intrude on my meditation?”

Wary of his reaction, Bryn hesitated. Arngeir had gotten extremely upset when she had brought this up, and it seemed a dragon could only get angrier. She finally said, “I need to learn the Dragonrend Shout. Can you teach me?”

“ _Drem_. Patience, child,” he said calmly. “There are formalities which must be observed, at the first meeting of two of the _dov_. By long tradition, the elder speaks first.” He thundered, “Hear my _thu’um!_ Feel it in your bones! Match it, if you are Dovahkiin!” Bryn braced herself and he turned his head away towards the word wall, which she now realized was blank. He took a deep breath then shouted a torrent of fire at the stone. When the flames died down he motioned with his massive head toward the word now glowing there. “The Word calls you. Go to it.”

Bryn nodded, her heart racing, and walked toward the word, seeing that instead of the usual glowing blue that it was similar to how the Greybeards had first taught her, and how they had recently taught her Clear Skies. The word was absorbed into her understanding, the final piece of Fire Breath.

“A gift, Dovahkiin,” the dragon stated. “ _Yol_. Understand Fire as the dov do.” Bryn gasped as Paarthurnax gifted her with his understanding of the word _SHUL_ as the Greybeards did. He demanded, “Now, show me what you can do. Greet me not as mortal, but as _dovah!”_

She nearly asked if he was sure, if he really wanted her to shout fire at him, but he surely knew what he was asking. She grimaced then shouted at him, _“YOL TOOR SHUL!”_

The fire rolled harmlessly off the ancient dragon, and he cried in delight, “Aaah…yes! _Sossedov los mul._ The dragonblood runs strong in you. It is long since I had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind!” He leapt up from the ground and wheeled happily in the air, making a few turns before coming to land again on the lip of the word wall.

Bryn went to stand below him and said haltingly, “But…I can’t speak in the dragon language—“

“A Shout is dragon speech, _kiir_.”

“But I would like to know the entire language, Master Paarthurnax. If I am one of your kind, should I not know the language? Why can’t I understand it?”

The dragon said in an amused tone, “Not even birds, Dovahkiin, are born already knowing their song. You are young. Grow your Voice, and the rest will follow.”

“Except the Dragonrend Shout.”

“Ah, yes,” he said carefully, angling his head to see her more clearly. He studied the mortal girl, finding her terribly interesting after so many centuries of conversing with males, mostly elderly males. While the Greybeards without exception were somber in dress and reserved in demeanor, this woman, this Dragonborn, thrummed with barely suppressed energy, fidgeting slightly as she did her best to wait and be respectful of him, as was proper in a young _dovah_. Her golden eyes glowed from within, and in her green and gold armor she was a spot of color and vibrancy in a world of unrelenting white. Young Talos, Tiber Septim, had been an interesting specimen as well, but this one was different. Tiber Septim had been hungry, ambitious, though also respectful, and confident in his power. This Dragonborn though… she was a hunter, a predator, a dragon killer, her Voice greater than Tiber Septim’s had ever been. She had been feeding on the souls of _dov_ for a year, as Tiber Septim never had been able to, and Paarthurnax had been listening to her Shouting across the land the entire time, the echoes reaching him even in the depths of his meditation. And this child’s fate was so much more terrible than Tiber Septim’s had ever been. 

“I was expecting this,” he finally said. “Alduin and Dovahkiin return together.” She nodded slowly and looked away, her shoulders drooping, and he felt a touch of sympathy, no easy thing for his kind, not even for him. The child radiated sorrow and resignation, her arms hanging limply at her sides. Tiber Septim had relished his nature, prideful of it to an extent that both Paarthurnax and the Greybeards had found troubling. This Brynhilde seemed to accept it with a fatalistic weariness. Well, perhaps that was a good thing. Pride, ambition, cruelty…these things came naturally to _dov_. Perhaps this child’s reticence would keep her from falling victim to her inborn nature. If not, well, she would have to survive facing Alduin for that to be a valid concern.  
-  
Bryn stood over the old woman’s bed, listening to her raspy breathing, and wondered if she was making a mistake. This was the kind of thing she hadn’t done before, something that no one close to her would approve of. She didn’t know what else to do though. She had passed by Honorhall Orphanage earlier today to pay her respects to Jarl Laila, her first day back in Riften since Farkas and Lydia’s wedding months ago, and she had heard children crying, and as she’d moved close to the building’s walls she’d heard the crack of leather and a child’s screams. She had immediately entered the orphanage and Grelod had hurried out, acting as if nothing was amiss, while Constance was in the corner cradling a weeping boy, and it had been all Bryn could do to not to Shout the woman apart right then and there. Both women. Constance could have put a stop to all this by going to the Jarl long ago, and like a coward she hadn’t. It seemed obvious the young woman cared for the children, but not enough to stand up to Grelod.

The memory refreshing her nerve, Bryn made sure the mask covered her face and leaned over Grelod and put a gloved hand over her mouth. The old woman came awake with a whimper, her eyes wide in the light of the single candle Bryn had lit by her bed. “Grelod the Unkind,” Bryn said slowly, making her voice as menacing as possible. “The Dark Sacrament has been performed for you.” Grelod shuddered in fright. “You’ve terrorized these children long enough, old woman.” She held a knife in front of Grelod’s face, with absolutely no intention of using it, and drew breath to continue, to offer to spare the old woman’s life in exchange for her promise to never lay a hand on the children again, when suddenly Grelod stiffened, her eyes rolling up in her head. Bryn took her hand away in dismay and the old woman let out a strangled cry then went limp. Bryn stared in horror, refusing to believe what had just happened. She pulled off a glove and felt along the wrinkled neck, and there was nothing. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t supposed to happen!

She flinched as she heard sounds of confusion in the main room, the children wakened by Grelod’s cry, and she put out the candle then leapt off the bed and slid into the corner behind the wardrobe, her heart hammering. She stayed there as a boy crept into the room, then another, and she bit her lip waiting for the children to start panicking as they realized Grelod was dead. Her eyes widened as the first boy poked Grelod with his finger then let out a whoop of joy and started jumping up and down, and suddenly all the children were cheering and hugging each other. She stayed there for several minutes, barely breathing, feeling numb disbelief sink into her. She had killed the old woman. She had frightened the crone to death. She had murdered her as surely as if she’d slit her throat, in fact that might have been a kindness.

Constance Michel came running into the room and gasped, her hand over her mouth, and one of the boys said in a tone of pure happiness, "When Aventus took off, when he said those things, about killing Grelod... I never imagined he was serious..."

The little girl said in response, "Aventus really did it! He got the Dark Brotherhood to kill old Grelod!"

“We love you, Dark Brotherhood!” another boy cheered. “Thank you, Aventus!”

“Children, please,” Constance said in a shaking voice. She couldn’t help being glad either, but it wasn’t right to celebrate anyone’s death. The children gathered around her and she hugged them close, saying, “I know Grelod was cruel, but we should be respectful. Not one more word about that Aventus Aretino boy. It couldn’t have been the Dark Brotherhood. There isn’t a mark on her.”

“I don’t care,” a third boy said. "When Aventus escaped, Grelod got meaner than ever. I really thought she was going to kill one of us. Guess not!"

The girl said sagely, "Kill one person, and you can solve so many problems. I wonder at the possibilities."

Constance gasped then said firmly, “All right, children. Everyone back to bed. No more talk of Aventus, Grelod or the Dark Brotherhood. We’ll…I’ll, deal with all this in the morning.”

“Yes Miss Constance,” they chimed brightly.

“And in the morning I’m cooking everyone a big breakfast.”

“Yay!” they cheered as they filed out of the room.

“What’s breakfast?” one of the boys whispered.

Bryn let out a long, silent breath as the children left the room, her guilt fading. She hadn’t touched the old woman with a weapon, but the crone had laid her own hands on the children in violence with horrid regularity, to the point where they feared she would someday end up killing one of them. She watched Constance light the candle by the bed then go to Grelod’s desk to quickly scoop up the coins there. Bryn would give things a chance to settle down here then she would come by with a very large donation and a basket of food. She hadn’t imagined the children weren’t even getting breakfast. It angered her that Jarl Laila wasn’t overseeing things here at all. Honorhall was the only orphanage in Skyrim, since most children were taken in by family or neighbors when parents died, and if it was in Laila’s city then it was her responsibility to make sure it was run properly.

While Constance was occupied, Bryn took the opportunity to slip out of the room, but she didn’t make it to the bedroom door before she heard a gasp. She glanced at the young woman to see her staring at her in terror. Thankfully her face was covered, but her eyes were not, and they were distinctive. She cursed her clumsiness and quickly looked away as she hurried out of the orphanage, luckily without alerting any of the children, or the guards. She moved in the shadows down to the canal level then around and came up near Honeyside, and was able to silently get into the house and out of the leathers without waking Iona downstairs. She carefully folded the gear and put it in a sack then stowed it under the bed, determined to get rid of it. She would be able to come to terms with what she did soon enough. As for the Aretino boy, she would have to look in on him once she reached Windhelm, which she planned to do next week. If there had been a reason to send him to the orphanage before, surely that reason still existed and he wasn’t being cared for properly, and something told her Ulfric wasn’t doing any better a job at managing his city than Laila was doing.

She put on her nightclothes and slid into bed, though she was unable to sleep, her mind churning restlessly. Grelod had been every bit as evil and sadistic as any bandit Bryn had come across, worse even for tormenting children who had been entrusted to her care. She would lose no sleep over that, but she still couldn’t relax, worried that Constance Michel had recognized her from her eyes and would report her to the guard. Even if she did, Bryn would be able to pay off any bounty that was incurred and be free to go on her way, unless Maven stepped in.

Bryn shook her head and rolled onto her side, refusing to let herself worry about it. She would handle whatever came of it as she did everything else and move on. What she couldn’t help worrying about was everything else. Alduin. Paarthurnax. Lydia and Farkas. Vilkas. The Companions. Jarl Balgruuf. Her conversation with the ancient draconic leader of the Greybeards had weighed heavily on her for the last several days since she had talked to him. She had told him that she didn’t want the world to end, which he had found acceptable, and he had told her that perhaps she was balanced against those who sought to bring about the end of the world. She couldn’t help wondering if that was the Thalmor but hadn’t asked. Really, it didn’t matter. She had asked for the wise dragon’s guidance and he had helped her meditate on _Fus_ , after telling her about the Elder Scroll. She hadn’t been able to even contemplate going after it, and had instead climbed to the very peak of the Throat of the World, the highest point in all of Tamriel, maybe all of Nirn, and had sat there for nearly an hour, letting her mind go blank, feeling the intense chill whip around her. She had found a strange, notched pickaxe of all things up there, and several veins of ore, but it would have felt bizarre to simply start mining up there, and so she had left it all untouched. It had been peaceful, looking in all directions over Skyrim, though she was up so high that she couldn’t pick out many landmarks. She could understand how Paarthurnax had felt completely detached from everything going on below for so long. 

As she had sat up there she had felt the temptation to simply give it all up, to put her life behind her and stay in High Hrothgar with the Greybeards forever, to study the Way of the Voice with Paarthurnax. The urge hadn’t lasted long. Alduin would keep raising dragons, the Civil War would continue, the Thalmor would keep working their machinations. It would be incredibly selfish of her to turn her back on everything, and everyone. There were too many people she loved to let them die of her neglect. She wanted whatever children Lydia and Farkas had to be born into a world that was orderly and safe, where folk were free to worship who they wanted and no race felt superior to another. She had no hope for herself, but she would do whatever she thought necessary to make the lives of others happier, more comfortable, more secure and yet more free. And so she had done tonight by giving the children of Honorhall Orphanage a new lease on life. And so she would continue doing. Such was her purpose in life, beyond defeating Alduin.

Bryn’s thoughts trailed off, and the lap of the waters of the lake against her house eventually lulled her to sleep. In her dreams she flew above Skyrim, borne on cold winds and dragon wings, free and perfectly happy as she almost never was, rising above petty concerns and ambitions, and when she tired she landed at the top of a mountain and held _tinvaak_ with others of her kind, speaking their language freely, the _strunmah_ trembling with the thunder of it. She had never had a dream like it before, and when she awoke she grasped for the words but they slipped away, though she could feel them hovering just out of reach. She huffed in frustration and stared at the ceiling, well rested but weary. She would just have to study the tongue with the Greybeards, when all was said and done, if that day ever came. All the masters but Arngeir spoke only the dragon tongue, unable to control their Voices, only Arngeir old enough and powerful enough to have brought his back under control. She hoped to Talos that such a thing never happened to her; she already had to be careful not to yell in a temper or her Voice thundered. She couldn’t imagine how terrible it would be to try to go about her business, live her life, with her every word shaking everything around her.

She heard Iona’s door open downstairs, and Bryn hauled herself out of bed and went to the back door to open it and let some fresh air in. It was drizzling softly, making the world gray, but it was still lovely, soothing. For not the first time Bryn wished she could stay here. The house was quiet, the countryside beautiful beyond compare. She hadn’t liked Falkreath as much as she loved The Rift. She preferred the gold and white birch forests to the towering firs and pines. Maybe once she defeated Alduin she could come back here permanently.

The thought didn’t pain her as much as she had expected it to. She knew Vilkas would always find some reason not to marry her. She had left the matter alone, even at mid-winter, which had been her previous date to ask him herself. The Jarl had held a party and she had finally danced with her beloved, and the night had been too perfect to mar, and she had already given up by then anyway. She was absolutely determined though to ask him before facing Alduin. She had to know for sure that he wouldn’t say yes, completely and without doubt. If he said yes it would change everything, but she was certain he wouldn’t, and so she had to plan for that. If she went after Alduin with no betrothal, and if she lived, she simply wouldn’t return to Whiterun. That city had always felt most like home to her, but she would just have to find a new home, or rotate her time amongst the other three she had. She would tell Vilkas before she left that he was Harbinger, since he was now capable of handling it, with no beastblood clouding his judgment or heating his temper to unmanageable levels. He would probably be quite upset when she told him she wasn’t coming back, but he would get over it. People could get over almost anything, and in time she and Vilkas would get over each other. He would eventually find some woman who was content to be a part-time convenience to him, or he would grow old alone in the ranks of the Companions as Vignar was, as Kodlak had, with his brother’s family there to comfort him in his old age the way the Gray-Manes did Vignar. And Bryn…well, if she lived, she had a long road to walk before she let herself get infatuated with any man again.


	23. Chapter 23

“I would gladly retire from the world, were such a day to dawn.”

“Aye, but in the meantime we have a war to plan.”

Ulfric nodded and leaned back in his throne as Galmar walked back to the planning room. He resisted the urge to rub his eyes wearily, knowing it would make him look weak. Engaging in debate with his housecarl, his general and closest friend, always drained him. Galmar saw everything in black and white, his worldview blessedly simple. If only it were really that simple. Nothing was ever that simple.

He sighed and glanced over at Jorleif, his steward, another good friend who had the fortune to live his life without complications, without doubt, and felt a shock run through him to see a warrior standing next to the steward, staring at him, or so he assumed, the eyes hidden behind a bronze mask the likes of which he had never seen. It looked to be a woman, though a damn tall one, wearing glass armor. Elven armor that he had seen plenty of in his youth, and the sight of which made his blood boil. The woman murmured something to Jorleif then turned on her heel and strode out of the hall, her footsteps eerily silent, and Ulfric watched her go, feeling deeply unsettled. He nearly called out for the guards to stop her, but he had no real reason to do so other than curiosity and a rather bad feeling.

Once she was gone he murmured, “Jorleif. A word with you.”

“Aye, my Jarl,” he answered, hurrying over. 

Ulfric motioned him close, sound carrying incredibly well in the hall. “That woman, who and what was she?” he asked quietly.

“Ah, just some adventurer looking to make some coin. She arrived in Windhelm a couple days ago, took care of some bandits at Lost Knife Hideout for Brunwulf. She’s offering to help with the murders.”

Ulfric frowned deeply. “You’re telling me there have been more? What are the guards doing about it?”

“They’re doing the best they can, Ulfric. We’re stretched thin, you know that.”

“Aye. Well, if she can do something about it she will be rewarded handsomely.” And if she was a High Elf, with the nerve to wear that armor in his sight, then she would be told to leave his city right after the bag of coin hit her palm.

“Yes, well…” Jorleif cleared his throat and glanced into the war room. He lowered his voice to nearly a whisper then added, “She got into a brawl with Galmar’s brother the minute she stepped through the city gates. The fool’s been drinking and harassing the greyskins again.” Ulfric grunted, uninterested. “The girl nearly broke him in half, but Rolff was too embarrassed to tell Galmar about it. She wrung a promise out of him to stay out of the Grey Quarter and leave the Elves alone or there’d be hell to pay.”

Ulfric snorted in amusement, though irritated. “Is that so. She thinks she can order my city to her liking, is that it?” Jorleif grimaced. “Is this the first time you’ve seen her?”

“Aye.”

“She kept the mask on the entire time?” Jorleif nodded. “She isn’t Altmer, is she?” She was certainly tall enough to be, as tall as Ulfric himself, though her build was much heavier than an Elf’s.

“Can’t rightly say. Never seen one of them High Elves lowering themselves to her kind of work. She didn't sound like one, either.” He rubbed the side of his nose and said in a wary tone, “She was a spooky one though. She stood there watching you and Galmar argue about Whiterun, her head tracking you like a hunting hound watching a rabbit.”

“Did she give her name?”

“Aye, right as she was leaving. Strundu’ul, she said.”

Feeling a shock of adrenaline stab through him, Ulfric’s breath caught as his eyes widened. “ _Strundu’ul!”_ he choked.

“Funny name for a girl, eh?” Ulfric looked pale, staring at the far doors as if he had seen a ghost, his hands gripping the arms of his throne so hard that his knuckles were white. Worried, the steward asked, “Do you know who it is, my Jarl?”

Ulfric took a moment to find his tongue then quietly stated, “That was the Dragonborn, Jorleif.”

“Holy hells!” He put his hands over his eyes. “Ah gods, I had no idea. How could I have known?” He let his hands fall away. “Took her sweet time making an appearance. We’ve been waiting for this.”

“Yes, so long that we thought she would never come, which was deliberate on her part, I am sure,” he said wryly. He shook his head in admiration. He had gotten her two ‘messengers’, and while they had chosen their words carefully her intent had been clear: she didn’t like what Ulfric was doing, and some day she would come to Windhelm to tell him so, and in the meantime he could wait and wonder what she was going to do about it.

“What do you want me to do, my Jarl? I could send the guards out and bring her back.”

He snorted in derision. “There would be no bringing her back. We could only request the honor of her company.” He had followed her career closely, once he’d become aware of her. He hadn’t known whether to laugh or weep when he realized that the Dragonborn had been riding next to him in that cart to Helgen, that she had leapt out of that tower and run straight to Whiterun and into Balgruuf's court and the arms of the Companions, when with just a slight twist of fate he and Ralof could have kept the girl with them and perhaps been able to influence her to their side. They’d had no way of knowing that the skinny, frail-looking lass was of any importance. As of then she hadn’t been. What she had become since then though…no, there would be no bringing her back to the palace against her will. She had a reason for coming here now, last of all the holds in Skyrim, and Ulfric very much doubted that he was going to like what she had to say to him.

“If she hasn’t hightailed it to Whiterun to inform Balgruuf of what she just heard.”

“Let her. Balgruuf knows my intent. He’s known it for months.” Months that Ulfric had kept hoping that Balgruuf would see reason and join his side. The man hadn't even bothered to respond to the last one. Well, so be it.

Jorleif stroked his moustache and asked, “If I may… _Strundu’ul?_ What does it mean? I thought the Dragonborn’s name was Brynhilde.”

“It means Stormcrown in the dragon tongue.” The steward whistled. Word from Ivarstead was that about a week ago the Dragonborn had ascended the mountain once again, and later that day thunder had rolled down from the peak in waves, frightening the residents of the small town. Ulfric didn’t doubt that she had finally made the acquaintance of Paarthurnax, whom he himself had met only once, late in his studies at High Hrothgar. How he longed for those years sometimes, and the peace he had known then. The Dragonborn, Brynhilde, had chosen her words to Jorleif carefully, knowing that Ulfric could speak the language, though he was quite rusty. “Next time she comes, do whatever you have to, but I want to speak to her. I don’t care what I am in the middle of or what time it is. Do it carefully, respectfully.” He was as well-versed in the lore of the Dragonborn as any Greybeard. Those with the dragon blood were notoriously prideful and temperamental, just as the _dov_ were.

“Yes, my Jarl. Should I inform the guards to keep an eye out for her?”

“No. She’ll come when she feels like it. One does not force the hand of a creature like that.”

“Aye.”

The steward walked away to see to the preparations for dinner, and Ulfric resisted the urge to get up and pace the hall. He leaned his chin on his hand and replayed his brief look at the woman in his mind, frustrated and fascinated beyond what was bearable. He remembered little about her from Helgen, his mind too preoccupied with his impending death to pay much attention to the girl; she had been pale blond and thin, dressed in rags, quite tall, but that was all. He felt like a fool that he hadn’t noticed her while arguing with Galmar, but Jorleif often dealt with random folk that wanted an audience with Ulfric and the Jarl paid no attention to them unless they were there to join his ranks, and even then he only said a few words to them then turned them over to Galmar. He didn’t think he had ever had such a shock in his life as he had at that one word: _Strundu’ul_. A powerful message indeed. It was alternately worrying and exciting that she was finally here, and waiting for her to reappear was going to have him in knots until then, not that he would show it.

He finally stood and went into the war room, seeing Galmar and Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced bent over the map, fine-tuning their strategy for taking Whiterun with as little damage as possible. They straightened up respectfully, and he said with a wry smile, “The Dragonborn was here, Galmar. Right in this hall while you and I debated about Whiterun.”

The general brought his fist down on the table and growled, “Damn it all, and that idiot Jorleif just let her go?”

“He didn’t know who she was. She was wearing a mask, but she made sure I knew who she was. It’s my own fault I didn’t realize it until after she was gone.”

“So let me send some strong men out to haul her smug ass back here. Who the hell does she think she is?”

Ulfric laughed quietly and said, “She knows who she is. Have you not been paying attention, Galmar? How many strong men do you think it would take to haul against her will a person who could Shout this city apart?” His own actions at Markarth long ago looked trivial compared to what she could do. He knew with painful self-awareness that she could destroy him in minutes in single combat. She could put a stop to the civil war immediately by striding into this room and killing all three of the seasoned warriors here, kill every guard on her way out, then bring the palace down over their corpses. But she hadn’t, and she would have today if that were her intent. What her intent was though…not knowing was driving him mad. The waiting was driving him mad, and it had been less than ten minutes since she had left.

“No, I haven’t been paying attention. I’ve been too busy running your war. All I know is that her place is here, at your side, helping to free Skyrim.”

“I’m afraid she doesn’t see it that way.” The girl had made it quite clear that she had absolutely no intention of joining his cause.

“So make her see it. She’s the damned Dragonborn, half-blood or not. She could end this war and put you on the throne within weeks. It pisses me off to no end that she’s been playing games with us, with you, for the last four months.” Galmar had wanted to fetch her to Windhelm immediately after that Jerek fellow had shown up, singing the praises of the Dragonborn beauty who had saved him from torture and certain death at Thalmor hands. The nerve of the girl, to send a message to Ulfric in such a way!

“No doubt she is doing what she feels she must, as we all do. She is here now. I’ve told Jorleif to ask her to meet with me the next time she graces us with her presence.”

“Graces us!” Galmar said in offense. “She should be glad not to get thrown out on her ear after the arrogance that she’s shown you! Sending the men she’s rescued to put whispers in your ear. Pah! You are the future High King of Skyrim and she will show you the respect you deserve.”

“I’m afraid the Dragonborn gives her loyalty on a more personal level and cares little for ideology. She was openly wearing an Amulet of Talos. She’s slaughtered more Thalmor than any of our men have. She clearly has no love for the Empire despite having been raised at the heart of it. She hasn’t approached Tullius yet, that I am sure of.”

Galmar grunted, “You have a point there. So, we go back to waiting, again.”

“There’s nothing else we can do.”  
-  
“Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear.”

Bryn shook her head, saddened by the boy’s ceaseless chanting, sounding exhausted as if he had been going at it since the moment he awakened that morning. She had to admire the child’s resourcefulness in not only escaping the orphanage but managing to get all the way back to Windhelm on his own and survive here alone in the house and then gather together all the items to perform the Black Sacrament. Quite a clever child indeed.

“Please, how long must I do this?” the boy whimpered. “I keep praying, Night Mother. Why won’t you answer me?”

She moved out of the shadows and cleared her throat, and Aventus gasped then jumped to his feet, crying, “You came, I knew you would!” He jumped up and down and yelled, “It worked! I knew you’d come, I just knew it! I did the Black Sacrament, over and over, with the body and…and the things…and then you came! An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood!”

Bryn sighed and leaned against the wall, folding her arms as she said, “I’m sorry, but I’m not you who think I am.”

“Of course you are! I prayed, and you came, and now you’ll accept my contract!”

“Contract…yes, about that—“

“You see, my mother, she…she died. I…I’m all alone now. So they sent me to that terrible orphanage in Riften. Honorhall. The headmistress is an evil, cruel woman. They call her Grelod the Kind. But she’s not kind. She’s terrible, to all of us. So I ran away, and came home, and performed the Black Sacrament. Now you’re here! And you can kill Grelod the Kind!”

She said with difficulty, “Well, Grelod… as it turns out, she’s dead. I already killed her, but I didn’t--”

“You did? Really?” He grinned widely. “This is the best news I’ve ever gotten! I mean, I knew the Dark Brotherhood was good, just not that good! You killed the old hag before I even asked you to!”

Exasperated, Bryn said, “You’re not listening to me, boy.”

"When I grow up, I'm going to be an assassin. That way I can help lots of children, just like you." He gasped as Bryn picked him up under his arms and held him at eye level, shaking him so hard his teeth chattered.

“Listen to me!” she barked. He stared at her with huge, dark eyes, a look of fear on his face, but at least he had shut up. She put her face near his and said, “Listen. Carefully. I am not an assassin. I am not part of the Dark Brotherhood. Look at me, at what I’m wearing. Assassins don’t wear shiny green armor and go around showing their faces!”

“O-okay,” he stammered, nodding vigorously. She set him on his feet and he asked in confusion, “But then…who are you?”

“I’m Brynhilde, the Harbinger of the Companions, thane of the Rift and just about everywhere else,” she said tiredly. “I’m the Dragonborn. And yes, I killed Grelod, but it was an accident. All I wanted to do was scare her, to make her leave the children alone. She must have had a bad heart, if she had one at all. She keeled over from fright, and that’s all.”

Aventus stared at her in disbelief, then he blinked and slowly said, “Well, okay. I guess I don’t care how she died, as long as she’s dead.”

“She’s very dead, and Constance Michel is in charge now. The children will never get hit again. They’re getting three full meals a day and then some, and they’re allowed to play outside, and Constance promises that once she has things in order that she’ll start allowing adoptions.”

“Really?” he said in a tone of yearning.

“Yes, really, and you need to go back.”

“To be honest…I’m kind of lonely here. As much as I hated getting sent to Honorhall, I really miss my friends there.”

“They miss you too.” She squatted down to his level, feeling terribly sorry for the child. She said in a kind tone, “Listen Aventus, the Brotherhood is evil to the core. They have no honor. They’re murderers, plain and simple, and they’ve already come after me. If I get the chance, if I find out where they are, I will destroy them, every last one of them.” He nodded, his eyes wide. She put her hands on his shoulders. “I’m going to help you clean up this house. What would your mother think to see what you’ve been doing here?” Aventus swallowed, his eyes shiny. “We’ll get this all cleaned up and put in order, then I’m taking you back to Honorhall, and not one word more about the Dark Brotherhood. If I get my way, there will be no more Dark Brotherhood before long. If you want to help children when you grow up, then you become a good, honorable man, like the Companions, not an assassin.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She smiled at him and ruffled his hair then stood. “When was the last time you had a good meal, little one?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Maybe since Mama died.”

“You start picking up this mess and I’ll get you a big dinner from Candlehearth Hall, all right?”

“All right!” She smiled at him again and he said, “Hey, if you’re the Dragonborn, can you show me a Shout? I’ve heard you can Shout so loud it blows people off their feet!”

Bryn laughed and said, “I’ve got Shouts that are much more fun than that. Watch this. _FEIM!”_

“Whoa!” he yelped. Bryn had become completely transparent, like a ghost. He reached out and put his hand through her then pulled it back, holding it against his chest. “Amazing,” he breathed. “Say, do you think we’ll see any dragons on the way back to Riften? I’d love to see a dragon!”

“Maybe. We’re taking a wagon and dragons seem to avoid the main roads, but we’ll see.” The ethereal effect wore off and the boy’s eyes widened again. “Have the guards come to check on you at all since they found out you’re here?” He shook his head, and it sent hot irritation through Bryn. Yet another sign that Ulfric was not caring properly for his city or its citizens. As Viola Giordano had said, what good was it to win a war if you weren’t taking care of your own? She turned away to go get their meals, saying, “I’m staying here with you tonight, all right?”

“All night?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said with relief. “I mean, I guess that’s okay.”

Bryn nodded seriously, trying not to smile. It had to have been frightening for the boy to stay here alone. Well, no more of that. Bryn would get him safely back to the orphanage and he would live out the rest of his childhood in safety and security, with his friends.  
-  
“Uhhh,” Bryn groaned, nearly retching as she rolled onto her knees. She shook her head to clear it, her vision swimming. She looked around herself and saw that she was in a blood-spattered shack. When she had gone to sleep she had been in a bedroll, camping for the night along the road back to Windhelm after delivering Aventus to Honorhall Orphanage. Constance had eyed her fearfully, still terrified of her, even after Bryn had dumped another sack of gold on the table. She hadn’t rejected it but hadn’t rushed to pick it up either. At the gates of Riften a courier had handed her a letter, brief but to the point: a black handprint with the words “WE KNOW”. She had expected more assassins after that, but she hadn’t expected this.

“Sleep well?”

Bryn struggled to her feet, feeling the poison quickly wearing off. The source of the sultry female voice was perched on an empty bookshelf, idly swinging her leg, wearing assassin’s leathers. This was a new tactic for them. She took stock of her gear and it all was there, piled at her feet, her armor still on. She bent down to strap on her weapons and the woman didn’t try to stop her. Stupid, stupid move. “So, who are you?” she asked in annoyance.

“Does it matter? You’re warm, dry…and still very much alive. That’s more than can be said for old Grelod, hmm?”

“So you know about that, then.”

She laughed. “Half of Skyrim knows. An old hag gets butchered in her own orphanage? Things like that tend to get around.” Bryn closed her eyes, sighing heavily. “Oh, but don’t misunderstand,” she said quickly. “I’m not criticizing. It was a good, clean kill. Old crone had it coming, and you saved a group of urchins to boot. Ah, but there is a slight…problem.”

“First of all, I didn’t butcher her,” Bryn protested.

“I don’t care. You killed her, Dragonborn. Can I call you that? Granted, only we know that, and the ninny that runs the orphanage now, but it doesn’t matter. Like I said, we have a problem.”

“What would that be?”

“You see, that little Aretino boy was looking for the Dark Brotherhood. For me, and my associates. Grelod the Kind was, by all rights, a Dark Brotherhood contract. A kill that you stole. A kill you must repay.”

“I suppose you should’ve gotten to it a bit faster then.” The woman’s eyes narrowed above her mask. “I had no idea he was trying to contact you. The poor child had been at it for weeks by time I showed up at his house. In any case, all he was going to pay you was an old silver plate. Surely you aren’t bought so cheaply?”

“Very funny.”

“I’m rather annoyed right now, and rather confused as to why I was brought here instead of having my throat slit while I was sleeping.”

“As I said, Grelod is a kill that must be repayed.”

“How?”

“Funny you should ask. If you turn around you’ll notice my guests. I’ve ‘collected’ them from…well, that’s not really important. The here and now, that’s what matters.” Bryn turned and looked at three people kneeling on the floor, their hands bound behind them and sacks over their heads. “You see, there’s a contract out on one of them, and that person can’t leave this room alive. But…which one? Go on, see if you can figure it out.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled under the mask. “Make your choice. Make your kill. I just want to observe…and admire.”

Bryn stared at the woman for a moment and her poise didn’t falter, the leg swinging back and forth with maddening calm. She finally asked her, “Are you the head of the Brotherhood?”

“That I am. Astrid, at your service.”

“You clearly didn’t do your homework if you think I’ll have any part of this insanity.”

“Now that is a shame,” Astrid stated, her voice hardening. “But what you fail to realize is that you involved yourself in this ‘insanity’ when you took Grelod’s life. You made your choice, and now it’s time to face the consequences of your actions. You don’t leave this shack until someone dies.”

“It doesn’t matter who?”

“Not at all.”

Bryn nodded slowly and turned away to go look at the captives, a man, a woman and a khajit male. She didn’t care who they were or what they had done. As she pulled out her bow she asked Astrid, “So, how many of you are left? After the three failures you sent after me?”

“That is irrelevant to the matter at hand. Make your choice. Now.”

“I did the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“What!” Astrid hissed.

Bryn smoothly turned while nocking an arrow and sent it sailing across the room and into Astrid’s chest. The assassin slid off the bookcase to the floor, pulling out a dagger as she screamed and struggled to regain her feet. Bryn calmly put another arrow into her, hearing a mumbled “Well done” as the assassin collapsed. She put her bow over her shoulder and freed the captives, waving off their thanks as they sped out the door, leaving it open behind them. She bent down and inspected the dead woman, first taking the wicked looking dagger from her hand. It had an evil look to it but might be worth something. It was still her first instinct to collect and/or sell anything valuable she could get her hands on. She had even considered investing in some businesses lately; there simply wasn’t much of anything left to spend her vast store of coin on. She didn’t bother stripping off the enchanted leather armor, which was now bloody and had two holes in it. She already had a set that was serviceable, if she ever decided to teach Maven Black-Briar a lesson.

She exited the shack, seeing the captives taking the boat out into a marsh that she knew well, in fact she had seen this shack before in her wanderings through Hjaalmarch. She oriented herself south and started walking towards Morthal. If that had been the leader of the Dark Brotherhood then she truly felt sorry for the state they had fallen into. She had to admire their sheer gall for not only kidnapping her but leaving her in full gear and actually expecting her to join them. At least she had cut the head off the snake. All she had to do now was find out where the nest was.


	24. Chapter 24

The sound of someone moving around Kodlak’s bedroom drew Vilkas’ attention as he headed for his room to get clean clothing for a bath, tired and sweaty from a day of running a new recruit through his paces. The redheaded innkeeper’s son from Rorikstead, Erik, needed work, a lot of it, but the lad had fire and spirit, and he had come here at Bryn’s suggestion, though it had taken him many months to act on it. He had tried adventuring on this own and had quickly realized he simply didn’t have the training to do so, and so he had come here after nearly dying in an encounter. The boy had been disappointed that the Dragonborn wasn’t here when he’d arrived two weeks ago but had knuckled down and was trying hard, and that was all Vilkas could ask. They needed more members and he was certainly more promising than most who walked through the door.

When he heard the clank of dragon scale he hurried his steps, disbelieving, though it was easier to believe Bryn was home than to think anyone would violate the sanctity of the Harbinger’s quarters and steal her dragon remains. He walked quickly through the doorway and let out a shaky breath of relief to see Bryn sorting out scales and bones on the bed, her back to him. She was still grimy from the road and whatever she had been up to the last few weeks, but still, it had only been a few weeks. She was back much earlier than anyone had expected, and it worried him. She looked up at his noisy entrance and gave him a sweet smile, and he laughed in relief and crossed the short distance between them to take her into his arms. She put her arms around his neck and they held each other as best they could with armor between them, glass clinking against steel. “Ah dear, it’s so good to see you,” he said happily. “I was afraid something was wrong.”

“Oh no, no. Not anymore. Or yet? No, things are fine right now.”

Vilkas held her out at arms length, using the thumb of one glove to wipe dirt from her forehead, then he began picking grass and bits of dried leaves from her hair, the usual pale gold grimy and unwashed, in fact she was a wee bit fragrant too. He frowned slightly and asked, “What do you mean, not anymore or yet? Was something wrong? Will it be?”

“Well, let’s see…I was kidnapped by the leader of the Dark Brotherhood—“

“Ah gods,” he said in a tight voice, letting go of her to run his fingers back through his hair.

“Luckily for me assassins these days seem to be incredibly stupid. There is no more Dark Brotherhood.”

His hands fell and he stared at her in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

“I don’t joke. I just got back from Dragon Bridge and talking to Commander Maro, the head of the Penitus Oculatus here in Skyrim. Paid me an outrageous sum of money for wiping them out. And guess who I found in the Falkreath Sanctuary? Arnbjorn.”

Vilkas’ eyes nearly came out of his head. “He’d become one of them?”

“Yes, he was Astrid’s husband. Astrid was their leader, the one who kidnapped me. She had some strange fantasy that I was going to join their ranks.” She didn’t tell him about Grelod. She couldn’t. Hopefully he never found out. “She had three poor souls there all tied up and bagged and told me I couldn’t leave without killing someone. So I killed her.” Bryn shrugged and went back to sorting the items on the bed. “This was near Morthal, so I headed there and told a guard what happened, and he pointed me to Commander Maro. He gave me the password to their sanctuary, and I snuck in and spied on them for a while. When I heard the name Arnbjorn I listened to them, and he was worried about his wife Astrid, and it became apparent who he was. I waited until they slept then killed them all in their beds.” With the Blade of Woe, which she had found nicely ironic. Maro had eyed the dagger with loathing but had told her what it was, and she had decided to keep it. It would work much better than potentially wasting an arrow or trying to manage Dawnbreaker when doing a sneak attack from behind. Again, something her beloved just didn’t need to know. She heard a sound of bewilderment from him and went on, “The only thing is that I heard them talking about someone named Cicero, and the Night Mother. I read some books and journals in the sanctuary and I think there might be someone still left out there, with the corpse of the Night Mother—“

“All right, all right,” Vilkas begged. “Gods love, this is too morbid for me. Come take a bath with me and tell me something else. Anything else.”

“All right,” she softly agreed. She left the scales where they were and went to the wardrobe to get clean clothes. “How about I tell you about a conversation I had at the peak of the Throat of the World with a dragon?” She smiled at him over her shoulder and saw a look of wonder on his face. Her smile faded as she said, “I can’t stay long, dearest. A couple days at most. Long enough to forge a new set of armor.”

“I thought as much,” he said in a tone of acceptance. He nodded towards the bed. “So you’re finally going to do the full set?” She and Eorlund had only created a shield, and it had stayed here, since Bryn preferred having a full set of matching armor.

“Yes, I think it’s time. I need something with a bit more…umph to it when I see Ulfric again.”

Vilkas laughed quietly. “Yes, I’d say dragonscale armor has umph.” Bryn laughed in response. It was good to see her spirits were still high, that she wasn’t brooding about anything. Yet. “Did you talk to him?”

“No. I did overhear him and his general talking about attacking Whiterun, which I just passed on to Balgruuf. I think our Jarl is finally going to throw in with the Empire.” Vilkas licked his lips then nodded. “I wish he wouldn’t, and I advised neutrality, but he was so angry about Ulfric that he said he’d had it and was going to send a courier to Solitude. I was barely able to talk him out of it and tell him to wait, to give me a little more time.” It made her almost wish she hadn’t told him.

“Our Jarl does have a temper.”

“Is Lydia still mad at me?”

“She’s no longer boiling, but she is still stewing, yes.” Bryn wrinkled her nose and walked out of the Harbinger’s quarters with him. “She’ll get over it. I wasn’t happy when you left her behind, but it sounds like it might not have been a good thing to have her with you.”

“Definitely not a good thing,” she agreed. Astrid might have simply slit Lydia’s throat in her sleep.

“Are you heading back to Windhelm when you leave?”

“Yes, there have been some murders in the city that the guards aren’t competent to deal with.” Bryn shook her head, her lips pursed. “If the state of Ulfric’s city and hold is any suggestion of how he would run Skyrim, there’s no way in hell I’m allowing him to become High King. I have to admit that I don’t believe he’s just power hungry. The argument I witnessed between him and his housecarl reassured me on that point, and he didn’t know I was there so it was genuine. But this war of his takes all his time and attention and the city is just about falling apart around him. The outer walls are strong, but inside…”

“Quite the metaphor, isn’t it.”

“Yes, quite. And the poor Dunmer.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head as they entered the bathing room, a rare commodity that she enjoyed every time she came here. “Ulfric and the guards allow them to be bullied, in fact the second I walked into the city I had to step between two drunk thugs and a Dunmer woman they were harassing. I ended up having to kick the mouthy one’s ass. He ended up being Galmar’s brother, but even if I’d known it wouldn’t have stopped me. Those poor people have been basically herded into a slum, and the Argonians don’t even have a slum and are stuck on the docks. It just makes me so mad. It doesn’t have to be like that. They all work, in fact they work harder than those two idiots who don’t work at all, and I think that’s why they haven’t been run out of the city. They provide an easy target for the racists to expend their energy on while also providing labor. It’s…ugh.”

“All right,” Vilkas said with kind sternness, closing the door and locking it then taking the clothes from her hands to hang up. “No more talk of negative things tonight. I’m glad you’re here and you’re going to let me get you washed and fed and into a warm bed, and if I happen to make love to you at some point in there then everything is good.”

She smiled brightly at him and leaned up to kiss him. “Yes, everything is good.” And it usually was when he was around, when his charm and handsomeness made leaving him seem an impossible prospect. That day was coming closer all the time. When she was done with the murders in Windhelm she would finally run up to the College of Winterhold and see what the mages knew about finding an Elder Scroll and turn in those pieces of the amulet she had found, which she was really getting sick of carrying around, even as small as they were. Once she had the Scroll there really wasn’t anything stopping her from facing Alduin. 

At least she would have the dragonscale armor to protect her, along with whatever enchantments she decided to add to them. She had a handful of filled black soul gems that she had been waiting to use that would come in very handy, and she was quite proficient in Enchanting at this point and also had a stock of Enchanter’s Elixirs to boost the skill. She was naturally resistant to frost, so a fire resistance enchantment on the shield would be helpful. She was tired of wearing Krosis and thought she could put a much stronger archery enchantment on a circlet than the mask carried; she had an idea for a dragon bone circlet that she wanted to run by Eorlund, along with a nice matched set of perfect diamonds and a large, perfect red ruby that she had been holding onto that would look good on it. An enchantment to boost her light weapons skill would work well on the gauntlets, and she always put a muffling enchantment on any boots she owned. She would finish off the set by enchanting her armor to help her quickly regenerate health when wounded. Once all that was done there wasn’t anything else she could do to be better prepared to fight Alduin. Except finish the business between her and Vilkas.

Vilkas saw a look of sorrow cross her face as he helped her out of her armor and asked, “What’s wrong, love?”

Bryn shook her head and gave him a brief smile, laying her hand on his cheek. His light gray eyes sparkled in the lantern light, framed by war paint, and the look he gave her nearly made her start crying. She just couldn’t see how she would ever find the strength to leave him. She had to give him the chance to marry her, had to propose herself to make absolutely sure he was never going to do it. She was twenty-eight, no blushing girl-child with forever in front of her. She still wanted a husband and children, and if Vilkas didn’t find her fit to marry after all their time together then she had to wash her hands of him when she left to fight Alduin, to make a clean break. She would take her time finding a man after that, and would pray to Mara for guidance in that regard. Frankly Mara owed her. And if Mara didn’t see fit to help her find a good, marriageable man, then maybe she would bestow the same gift on Bryn that she had on Balgruuf and help her never love again.  
-  
Ulfric came out of the war room to see a figure coming out of the side door that led to the upstairs of the Palace of Kings. He paused and frowned, unable to place what kind of armor she was wearing. He had never seen the likes of it, grayish-brown, some kind of scale plate and pebbled leather, and when she passed a sconce on the wall it lit up her pale ash blond hair, which was braided back and bound by a strange circlet. She had nearly reached the doors to leave the palace when he felt a sudden realization and called out, “Hey!” The Dragonborn ignored him and pushed out the doors, seeming to be in a hurry. She had to be ignoring him; sound carried extremely well in this hall, and he had a rather loud voice. He was not used to being ignored, Dragonborn or not. Angry, he strode across the hall to the doors and barked at the guard on the right, “Go after that girl and tell her I want to talk to her.”

“Aye my Jarl!”

As he hurried to do Ulfric’s bidding, the Jarl looked at the other guard, who was standing ramrod straight at attention. He asked her, “Why was she coming from the upstairs?”

“She was talking to Wuunferth the Unliving, my Jarl,” she stated. “About the murders. I think she was just at Hjerim, investigating.”

The other guard burst into the palace, breathlessly saying in dismay, “My Jarl, she won’t come! Says another murder is about to happen and she has to stop it!”

“All right, all right,” Ulfric growled, waving him off. “Back to your post.” He headed upstairs to talk to his court mage, unsettled and aggravated. Jorleif was nowhere to be seen, no doubt making preparations for dinner, and wouldn't have seen the Dragonborn come in. Wuunferth’s door was open, as it usually was, and Ulfric knocked on it impatiently to get the mage’s attention, as the elder was engrossed in a book.

“Jarl Ulfric,” he said in surprise, moving to stand, but Ulfric motioned for him to stay sitting. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” The Jarl rarely came up here, finding the room uncomfortable, for obvious reasons.

“The Dragonborn was just here, I take it?”

“So that’s who she was. Odd girl, isn’t she?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said sourly. “Twice now she has come into my court and not deigned to introduce herself to me.”

“Oh! Well, I didn’t know she was in the city again until she crossed my threshold, my Jarl, or that you wanted to see her. She’s helping Jorleif and the guards solve the murders. By my calculations another may be happening tonight. Necromancy is at work here in our city and must be stopped. She says the womenfolk here are terrified, my Jarl, afraid to set foot outside their homes.”

His anger draining out of him, Ulfric nodded and leaned against the door jamb, crossing his arms. “I am aware of that. Did she have anything else to say while she was here?”

“No, can’t say that she did, but she was in a hurry.” He scowled and said, “That Giordano woman tried to implicate me in the murders, can you believe it? Tried to imply that I dabble in the dark arts. Me, a full member in good standing of the College of Winterhold!”

“I’m sure no one believes that, Wuunferth. Her armor, did you get a good look at it? Last time she was here she was wearing glass.”

“Huh. No my Jarl, didn’t pay attention to its make, sorry. Felt magic crawling all over her, though. Don’t think she was wearing, or carrying, anything that wasn’t enchanted.” He rubbed his chin and said, “She was a strange one. Moved silent as a thief, even in all that gear. Had eyes like an Altmer, though just the irises, and her gaze was…” He shivered slightly. “Like a sabre cat’s. I’m not an easily intimidated man, mind you, but there was something rather unnerving about being stared at like that.”

“She is the ultimate predator,” Ulfric stated and he stood away from the door. “She hunts the hunters. If she comes to you again, tell her I want to see her immediately.”

“I will do so, my Jarl.”

“Thank you.” 

Ulfric went back downstairs and threw himself into his stone throne, where he set to tapping the fingers of one hand on the arms, his chin in the palm of the other hand. The Dragonborn had been on his mind off and on all week, since her first appearance in his city. He had told Jorleif to gather all the information on her activities in Windhelm that he could, and it seemed she had quickly made a name for herself here, especially among the dark Elves with whom she associated freely. She had been seen trading with the khajit caravanners outside the city. She had gone out to the docks to speak with the Argonians there. And of course she had given Galmar’s brother a beating. All of this in the first two days she had been here, and then she had taken the Aretino boy back to the orphanage, whose headmistress had mysteriously died right before the Dragonborn coming here, and wouldn’t you know it, the Dark Brotherhood had been wiped out by her not long after she left the boy in Riften. And now she was back. She was a busy girl.

Dragonborn. Thane of Whiterun, Hjaalmarch, Haafingar, The Reach, The Rift, The Pale, Winterhold, Falkreath. Harbinger of the Companions. Member of the Bards College. Champion of Meridia. Champion of Azura. Destroyer of the Dark Brotherhood. Slayer of the Glenmoril Witches. And those were only the titles and honors that he knew about. He found the young woman fascinating, and he was rarely impressed with anyone or anything. He wasn’t even entirely sure what he was going to say to her when he did finally have the opportunity. He wasn’t about to waste his breath trying to sway her to his view of things. Such a strong-willed person wasn’t one to be swayed by words. No, he was more interested in hearing what she had to say to him, even if he was certain he wasn’t going to like it. He was very certain of that indeed.

Ulfric didn’t have long to wait. He was seated at the head of the long table with his court an hour later when one of the doors was shoved open in a swirl of snow. He stared down the length of the table and the girl stared back, an inch taller than the male Nord guard next to her, her pale hair and the shoulders of her armor dusted with snow. She had a wicked looking dagger on her right hip and the Daedric sword Dawnbreaker on the left. An ebony bow was slung across her back and a bizarre looking shield that matched her equally strange but impressive armor was on her left arm. Ulfric realized with a jolt that the shield and armor were made of dragon scales and bones.

He kicked Jorleif’s foot under the table, and the steward hastily got up and hurried to her, saying, “Dragonborn, what news do you have?”

“The killer is dead,” she stated. “It was Calixto Corrium.”

“I’ll be damned,” Jorleif said in disbelief.

“I saw him in the marketplace, coming up behind Arivanya with a dagger drawn. While, I might add, a guard was not ten feet away as oblivious as a newborn kitten. One wonders just what they think their job is, if not to guard the citizenry. Maybe if it had been Nord woman he might have actually seen something.” Jorleif shrugged and shook his head helplessly. “In any case, Calixto got a dagger in his back instead, and the women of Windhelm are safe again.”

“You’ve done this city a great service, Dragonborn. Here is your reward.” He fished out a bag of coin and handed it to her.

“Thank you. I will put this to good use helping the folk of the Gray Quarter and the Docks.” Jorleif cleared his throat and nodded, looking uncomfortable. Bryn turned her gaze back to the table, where Ulfric and his men sat silently, watching her with varying expressions. All men. Telling. She inclined her head to Ulfric respectfully and bowed slightly, saying, “I’ve interrupted the Jarl’s dinner. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

Ulfric stood and said in a booming voice, “It is no inconvenience, Dragonborn. Please, if you’ve no other plans, would you join us? I am certain you have a great many tales that would enliven our meal.”

“If you and your men find one of my mixed heritage palatable company…”

“You are Dragonborn, and we were at Helgen together. That is all anyone at this table needs to know or care.”

“Then I would be honored, Jarl Ulfric.”

He waited for her to remove her weapons and shield then seat herself, then he sat back down, a bit disgusted with his court for not rising for a lady. Perhaps they didn’t view her as one. Armed and armored as she was, she was still a beautiful young woman, and when she smiled down the table at him with a hint of shyness then looked down again he couldn’t help feeling a rare flutter of attraction. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt it. He avoided the waiting discussion that hung between them and asked instead, “Tell us, is that armor what I think it is? I’ve never seen the like.”

“Yes, Jarl Ulfric. Dragonscale. I made it two days ago, with the help of Eorlund Gray-Mane and my friend Farkas. I’ve harvested the remains of nearly every dragon I’ve killed. I’ve always found it odd… such a huge creature and after a few minutes all that’s left is the skull and a few bones and scales. The skin burns away in a cold fire, and the majority of the skeleton turns to ash and crumbles.” There were sounds of amazement from the men at the table. “I have seen Alduin raising them from their graves several times now, but once their souls have been taken there is nothing left to raise again.”

Yrsarald asked, “So lass, how many dragons have you taken?”

“Hm, I’m not sure. Around fifty. I wish I had kept track.”

Galmar asked in a growl, “And how many Thalmor have you sent back to their maker?”

“That is a number that unfortunately I have not kept track of either. Over twenty, easily. Closer to thirty, most likely, with the death squads they’ve sent after me.” She accepted a platter of venison from the priest Lortheim next to her and softly thanked him.

“Death squads,” the housecarl grunted.

“Yes, Elenwen sent them after me. Not very deadly, were they?” She placed two slices of roast on her plate and said in a thoughtful tone, “I’ve considered going back up to the Embassy and disposing of her, then Ondolemar in Markarth and Ancano in Winterhold, but I’d rather not be responsible for an incident of that order.”

Ulfric resisted the urge to lick his lips as her golden eyes lifted to his. He could hear the unspoken _Yet_ at the end of her statement. He wondered what the girl knew that was making her look at him like that, with that sudden intense attention that Wuunferth had previously mentioned. He motioned with his fork towards her Amulet of Talos and asked, “Has that caused you trouble?”

“Only with the Thalmor. People all across the country still worship Talos,” she stated, lowering her eyes to her plate again as she sliced her meat. “If chasing me about Skyrim keeps the Thalmor occupied and away from our people, I’ll gladly deal with the occasional annoyance of the squads. Though I haven’t seen any for a month or so. I’ve considered sneaking into the Embassy again to see what they’re up to, but I don’t get up to Haafingar and Solitude as often as I would like.”

Galmar said tersely, “Why go there at all? It’s a nest of Imperial snakes.”

“Yes, and this is a den of Stormcloak bears,” she said with a shrug, hoping her tone was as full of unconcern as she thought it was. She had expected that if anyone started something it would be him. He had eyed her with distrust the entire time. “I spend a great deal of time in dens of all sorts, General Stone-Fist. One is much like another; only the flavor changes slightly.”

Yrsarald snorted and said in amusement, “General Stone-Fist.” The older man cuffed him on the back of the head, making him laugh.

“It is what I am,” Galmar said in irritation, “and it is good that the lass does not forget that.” He looked at her pointedly.

“Solitude is a beautiful city,” Bryn continued without apology. “I have as many friends there as anywhere, except Whiterun. Whiterun is the home of my heart. Folk there had faith in me when I had none in myself, and made me what I am today. I’ll always be grateful to them for that, no matter what else happens.” It was silent at the table as the men all looked at each other warily. She shrugged and stated, “It’s all right. We all do what we feel we must, what we’re compelled to do, whether by our own consciences or in reaction to the unconscious prodding of things we experienced in the past.” Her eyes moved to Ulfric and he frowned slightly, staring back with narrowed light blue eyes touched with green. She could see he was troubled by her statement. She smiled sweetly at him, her voice tinged with regret. _“Krosis, kodaav jun,”_ she murmured, the words rolling out of their own accord. It happened more and more often lately. _Apologies, bear king._ Ulfric swallowed and blinked, as affected by the words as she’d hoped he would be. “We all know I heard your plans for Whiterun. Attack it if you must, but I wish you wouldn’t. I would have to be there to defend the home of my heart, to defend those I consider my family. I can do truly terrible things, and it would haunt me, beyond the sheer waste of it. I would destroy whatever army you sent and you would accomplish nothing other than throwing away the lives of your fine young men and women. I haven’t joined either side in hopes of avoiding spilling human blood when I would rather be spilling the Thalmor’s.” Her brow crinkled as she added, “I had hoped to speak to you in private, Jarl Ulfric. I certainly didn’t plan on making dinner awkward.”

Galmar said in his gravelly voice, “Whatever you have to say to Ulfric you can say to us. You have no need to speak to him in private.”

“That would be an inaccurate statement.” He sneered at her, and she smiled coolly. “Surely you don’t fear for the Jarl’s safety in my company. If I intended him any harm it would have happened long ago.”

He slammed his fist down on the table as he stood. “I don’t take well to threats, girl!”

Bryn frowned and said in an innocent tone, “Only the fearful see threat where none is intended. I am simply making a statement of fact, in all honesty. I will never be less than completely honest, I promise you that.”

“Then what the hell do you need a private audience for?”

“Why the hell does the thought of it worry you so?” His eyes widened at her impertinence. She smiled at him and went on, “I have no ulterior motives. I have no secret weapon at my disposal that will suddenly make Jarl Ulfric agree to put a stop to all this…waste, just as there is nothing he could say to me that would sway me from the path of neutrality. I certainly haven’t sat down to have dinner with General Tullius, and I really did intend just to have dinner and tell a few stories. I certainly never intended to discuss politics.”

Galmar seethed as he started at the girl, and Yrsarald said with disquiet, “You truly think you can destroy an army.”

Bryn sighed and nodded, looking back down at her plate. “Yes, at this point I’m afraid I probably could. A small one, anyway.” She began eating, her food growing cold. “What did Tiber Septim do in his prime, before he lost his Voice, with no dragon souls to harvest, no word walls to learn from as I have?”

The priest Lortheim said in annoyance, “That is dangerously close to blasphemy, lass.”

“What a very Thalmor-like thing to say.” She chewed her food then swallowed. “We have a priest of Talos in Whiterun, Heimskr, who is fond of screaming at everyone all day, every day, about how _he_ is the chosen of Talos and only _he_ can show everyone the path to true enlightenment. He’s a bit mad, I think, but his is the kind of dangerous arrogance that should be shown no patience, and yet Balgruuf does, because he knows the people need an outlet.” She looked at the priest and said, “I am the daughter of Akatosh, Dragonborn, Dovahkiin, as Tiber Septim was. That you dare to accuse one such as me of blasphemy is…well, funny.” The priest stared at her with his mouth hanging open, offended.

Galmar still stood, staring furiously at her, and he leaned on his hands on the table and said to her in an intense, lowered voice, “You have some nerve, coming here like this—“

“I’m just trying to have a nice dinner, Galmar.” She heard a muffled snort of laughter from up the table, but whether it was from Jorleif or Ulfric she didn’t know. Ulfric had been extremely quiet through all this, but maybe he was just enjoying the show, waiting to see who won.

“I meant this game you’ve been playing with us. Telling that bard to tell Ulfric hello for you. Sending the men you rescued back here to tell Ulfric you wouldn’t join his cause and that he could damn well wait to find out why.”

“I told them both why. Not my fault if they failed to convey that properly.”

“So tell us, why are you here?”

“I will tell Jarl Ulfric, in private, if he sees fit to grant me such an audience.”

He slammed his fist on the table again and barked, “No, you will tell us now!”

Bryn carefully set down her knife and fork and raised her eyes to his. “And I say I will not.” She rose smoothly from the table, saying, “You have violated the rules of hospitality, Galmar. A very un-Nord-like thing to do. Even I know that.” 

The older man sputtered, and when she started putting back on her gear he demanded, “You will sit back down and answer my question, wench!”

“Ah, sexism and racism, all in one tidy package. Unattractive. And very counter-productive.” She slung the bow on her back and said to the older man, “Truly, who do you think you are to talk to me like a serving girl?”

“Who do _you_ think—“

_“I AM DOVAHKIIN!”_ she shouted. The sound cracked around them like a whip, making the dishes and goblets on the table rattle as the men gasped or cried out in shock. All but Ulfric. She admired that. Thunder rolled then faded, and Bryn calmly said to Galmar, “Something about me offends you, sir. Perhaps my mixed blood. Perhaps you finally heard that I handed your brother his ass. Either way, I didn’t come here to deal with you. I came here to speak to the master, not the servant.” Galmar’s eyes bugged out as his face turned red with rage. Bryn turned her gaze to Ulfric, who was still watching silently, leaning back in his chair at the head of the table, slowly running his fingers over his beard. She inclined her head to him with a slight bow, saying, “I will await your summons, Jarl Ulfric.” He nodded, his expression unreadable. “Thank you for your hospitality.” He nodded again.

The Jarl’s eyes widened in surprise as the girl shouted _“TIID!”_ and the world around them all slowed to the pace of dripping honey. He watched helplessly as the Dragonborn leapt over the dinner table in slow motion, drawing her dagger as she went. He felt his heart go into his throat as she went for Galmar, then there was a slow clanking sound and she was running for the door. Time reverted to normal as the men gasped, and Bryn was gone from the palace before anyone could react.

Galmar stared in shock at the doors, his heart hammering. He had been sure he was a dead man when he had seen the girl coming after him with a wicked smirk on her face and that evil dagger in her hand. He wiped his sweating brow with his hand then looked down at his plate, and he cried out in offended fury to see the claws of his bear cloak lying there. All of them. He heard a smothered guffaw from next to him and cuffed Yrsarald, yelling, “It isn’t funny, damn you!”

“Like hell it isn’t,” the younger man said with a grin. “The old bear has been declawed!” The other men burst into laughter, even Ulfric.

Jorleif laughed, “Eh Galmar, at least she didn’t neuter you!”

Ulfric covered his mouth, biting his lip, unable to help a snort from escaping. Galmar glared at him and said, “You could have put a stop to his, Ulfric!”

“Yes, I could have, and so could you,” he said, sitting up to return to the meal. “I wanted to see who would come out on top.”

Yrsarald wiggled his eyebrows and said, “She strikes me as a woman who ends up on top quite often.” The men at the table laughed, except for Galmar, though he was lowering himself into his seat, grumbling. He poured himself another mead and went on, “Ah, the world is unfair. Such power and brains and beauty. What a conquest she would be!”

Jorleif rolled his eyes and said, “She is already taken, fool. Vilkas of the Companions warms her bed.”

“Oh, I know. Everyone in Skyrim knows that, and if anyone could be a match for her it is that worthy warrior, but a man can daydream.”

Galmar growled at him, “Don’t let your woman catch you dreaming, boy.”

“Ah, I love my Ingie,” Yrsarald assured him. “She would be first to say that I wouldn’t be a man if I didn’t look.”

Lortheim said, “Yes, this Dragonborn is beautiful, and that she is powerful goes without saying. But I find her loose talk of Talos troubling.”

Ulfric told him, “You must look at this from her point of view. For being Dragonborn I found her lack of arrogance refreshing.”

“Lack of arrogance!” Galmar exclaimed. “After what that bitch did to me!”

“You had it coming, old friend. You sullied my offer of hospitality. You challenged and insulted a guest, an esteemed guest, at my table.” His housecarl instantly went silent, contrite, and looked away, nodding. Ulfric waved his knife at his steward. “Jorleif, I will take dinner with her tomorrow in the small dining room upstairs. Alone.”

“Aye, my Jarl,” he answered with a nod. “But if I can’t find her?”

“She’ll let herself be found,” he said with confidence. 

“Aye.”

As they all continued eating Ulfric mulled over every moment the Dragonborn had been there, going over every nuance in her words and gestures. _Krosis, kodaav jun._ How it had wounded him to hear those words. He doubted her intent had been hurt, but it had hurt all the same. He had learned the dragon tongue as a boy from the Greybeards, and once he had learned it that was all they had conversed in, for the glory of Kynareth. Such peaceful years…and once he had left High Hrothgar he had never known peace again. Even now he sometimes wondered if he had made a mistake, leaving there. He rarely allowed himself the luxury of self-doubt, but the Dragonborn was nurturing the seeds of it that had lain there dormant for so long. Of course she would help defend Whiterun, and of course she would decimate any army he sent against it. Balgruuf was not just her Jarl but her friend; it was known that she lunched with him in private at least once during her time in Whiterun and treated him with not just respect but genuine affection. He knew from the Jarls allied to him and his clandestine contacts in the other holds that she was respectful to all the Jarls she answered to, and that they trusted her, but she honestly liked Balgruuf and was loyal to him. He would be interested in knowing what her ultimate objective was, why she had gone to the time and effort of becoming a thane to every Jarl but him, and why she had saved him for last. No doubt if he asked her she would simply tell him. And so he would. The hours until he spoke to her at dinner tomorrow would seem interminable.


	25. Chapter 25

Ulfric stopped his pacing at the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, though he heard only one set, a man’s. Still, it wouldn’t do to be seen pacing by anyone. He waited by the fire and looked up as Jorleif entered, followed by the Dragonborn. The steward bowed slightly to Ulfric then backed out of the room, closing the door behind him, but Ulfric barely noticed, his eyes riveted to the young woman. He had expected her to show up dressed in armor as she had been yesterday, armed to the teeth, ready to flex her power and impress on him once again just who and what she was. Instead there stood a beautiful pink-cheeked girl with her pale blond hair loose on her shoulders, wearing a fine embroidered gown of pale green and yellow overlaid by an impressive cloak of snowy sabre cat fur, armed only with a dagger as any sensible lady would be, though it was that evil-looking black dagger. He didn’t doubt that every possible thing she was wearing was enchanted, and certainly the gold circlet, rings and necklace she wore. She looked as fine as any female Jarl could possibly look, and he found it completely disarming. And bewildering. As she had no doubt intended. She smiled shyly at him and he was completely thrown by it all, and didn’t know whether to find the novelty of it thrilling or disturbing. She was breathtaking though. Utterly breathtaking.

He came to his senses and went to her, holding out his hand as he said, “Your cloak, Dragonborn?”

“Brynhilde, please,” she murmured.

“If you will call me Ulfric. In private, of course.”

“Oh, of course. I will do my utmost to guard your dignity, my Jarl.”

Her wry tone made him laugh quietly as he carefully laid the cloak over a chair nearby. “Ah, that is more what I was expecting.” He gazed at her for a moment, only a few feet away, and she gazed back with perfect calm. It was odd being able to look straight into a woman’s eyes. And what eyes.

“You’re looking for it, aren’t you,” she murmured.

“What would that be?”

“The mer blood.” He frowned slightly, the lines in his face accentuating his expression. He wasn’t a young man, was old enough to be her father at forty-nine. He wasn’t anywhere near as handsome as Vilkas, was not really what she considered handsome at all, but he was a very striking man, strong featured, with lovely expressive eyes, and his voice…ah, such a voice. She couldn’t help wondering what it sounded like in the bedroom, murmuring sweet nothings, maybe in the dragon tongue. He wasn’t wearing his usual fur and chainmail coat and steel cuirass, instead wearing a fine silver-trimmed tunic and vest of blue, a few shades darker than his eyes, and dark gray pants and black boots, along with an Amulet of Talos. A very striking man indeed. It felt strange to finally be so close to her target. To think she could end the war right here and now… If she had any sense she would.

Ulfric laughed shortly, feeling a thrill of mixed amusement and anxiety. “You’re thinking about killing me, aren’t you!” he whispered. Her eyes had focused on him with a sudden intensity that made him have to stifle a shiver. He imagined it must be the feeling a rabbit has when it realizes that the whisper in the grass that he heard a minute ago was now the sabre cat that had snuck up on him and was only inches away.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t.”

“Well. I…am glad.” He didn’t know what else to say. The girl was so damn bizarre. Trying to calm his nerves he said, “To your earlier question…yes, I was looking for it. I have never met a half-Elf, that I know of. As you can imagine the Altmer frown upon race mixing, even the most egalitarian of them.” To be honest, he saw very few signs of it in her, only the color of her eyes and hair and her height. He had spent enough time staring at Altmer that she hardly looked Elven at all.

“Have you ever met the more egalitarian of them? Or only the sadists among them?” The muscles along his jaw twitched. She said with regret, “Before you ask, no, this isn’t what I came here for. I didn’t come here to wound you. I knew I would, unfortunately, but that isn’t why I’m here, now, talking to you in private. I wanted you away from your men, and Galmar especially, because I wanted to see and evaluate the real you, with fewer walls in the way. I wanted to see if it was worth my time and effort.”

“You mean you want to see if _I_ am worth your time and effort,” he said in irritation. “Is that what you’re getting at?”

“I wanted to see if letting you live was worth my time and effort, yes.” Ulfric blinked but didn’t take his gaze off her. She had to admire his courage; most men wouldn’t take a statement like that so calmly. “I listened to you and Galmar arguing that day, and your speech about why you fight was rousing, I’ll admit. Of course I wasn’t there, seeing an entire generation of Nords being slaughtered by the Altmer, like my parents were, and I can’t possibly know or understand what that does to a person. This is a good thing, because I am hovering up here,” she said, putting her hand at their eye level, “seeing the different players, watching the pieces move on the game board, seeing things from a perspective that the pieces themselves simply cannot see. I’ve had the benefit of listening to every single side of this conflict, even the most distasteful side, and all I can see the way things are going now is yet another generation of Nord dead, and Imperial dead, while the Thalmor sit back and rub their hands cackling gleefully as the silly, stupid humans slaughter each other and weaken themselves. This time we’re killing each other instead of them having to waste the resources to do it. After all, we breed so much more quickly than they do, so it’s best if they sit back and let their numbers rebuild while waiting for ours to fall, without risking any more precious Elven lives.”

Ulfric listened to all this with a sick ball of dread twisting in his stomach. He knew all this. The girl was a fool if she thought he didn’t know all this, and yet her words made him deeply uneasy. He said in a tone of disgust, “So, you think the simple answer to all this is for me to lay down arms and let the Empire and their Elven masters tell us how to live our lives?”

“Not at all, and it didn’t have to be that way. People here were living their lives as they always had. Yes, the worship of Talos had to be done less openly, and that is distasteful, especially to Nords, but until the incident at Markarth the Empire was too lazy to do anything about it. They were too distracted by keeping the Aldmeri Dominion in check to come up here and harass anyone, and wouldn’t you know, the Thalmor forced them to send troops up here to quell the ‘blasphemy’, dividing the Imperial forces quite nicely. The Empire doesn’t care who worships Talos. The Thalmor do, and they knew that forbidding the worship of Talos was the thing that would push Nords over the edge. Skyrim is the backbone of the Empire, the birthplace of the Empire, and by breaking Skyrim they take away the single largest threat to them.”

“Again, I ask you, do you expect me to lay down arms and let Elven rule continue? I am not an idiot, girl. The Thalmor are at the root of it all, sowing discontent among Men everywhere they go, but I will not stand idly by while the Empire allows those goldskins to dictate to us. I will never lie down before Elves!”

“But you see, you already have. You’ve been dancing to their tune all along.”

Ulfric’s eyes widened in fury as his nostrils flared. “I should kill you,” he hissed. She didn't realize what she was saying, but her words sent a hot flush of rage through him that took all his willpower to control.

“It’s a good thing that you already know that you can’t. And really, would you? Would you kill the Dragonborn if you could? What would the Nord people think of you if you murdered me the way you murdered the High King?”

“That was fair and honorable combat in the old Nord way!” he shouted. “I am sick of the lies. I did not murder the boy, I used the _thu’um _, yes, and I am not proud of that, but all it did was knock him down, and I ran him through with my sword. I challenged him, man to man, as is our custom!"__

“That hasn’t been our custom in a very long time and you know it. Does might make right? Is that all it takes to be High King, simple brute strength? We would be constantly ruled by thugs and warlords if that still held true. The Moot is necessary because it guarantees we don’t end up with a tyrant on the throne.” 

__“And that is one of the reasons you do not support me,” Ulfric said with resentment. “You believe I would become a tyrant.”_ _

__“I believe that Windhelm is an example what Skyrim would become. I see other races bullied and harassed, I see murderers freely roaming the streets while the guards plead helplessness, as if the war is more important than protecting their own citizens. I see women living in fear while men swagger around. I see ridiculous amounts of coin spent on war rather than to fix crumbling walls and feed hungry people. I see Stormcloaks acting like the Thalmor. I see a High King who believes he is King of only the Nords and everyone else can go to hell.”_ _

__He sneered, “And you think we would be better off if that milk-drinking boy was left on the throne?”_ _

__“That ‘milk-drinking boy’ bravely faced you in combat, knowing you were going to kill him. That boy worshiped Talos in private. That boy admired you and would have listened to you, and I have that from the court wizard’s own mouth, but instead of talking to him you just _removed_ him. You gave him no chance at all to discuss your concerns.”_ _

__“I should sit and talk to some child?”_ _

__“Does it make you more of a man that you just killed a child instead? You made an example of him, just as you said. You showed all of Skyrim how you would rule: by brute force. I don’t find that reassuring. A great many people don’t. Even some of the Jarls under your own banner think you’re in this only for yourself, for personal glory and power, and no, I won’t tell you who they are, because maybe you’ll just kill them too.” She could tell that didn’t sit well with Ulfric at all. But he was listening. It was more than she had expected._ _

__“And who would you have on the throne now, Torygg’s woman? Some soft, brainless girl-child who does everything Tullius tells her to?”_ _

__“No, actually, I wouldn’t. Elisif can’t be High Queen. I like her well enough, I suppose, and she cares deeply about her people, but she’s very young, and she doesn’t exactly engender respect in people, and she does rely too heavily on General Tullius’ advice. Eventually she might be a good Jarl of Haafingar, maybe, but nothing more.”_ _

__“So who then? If not me, who? You?” He laughed shortly and said in a tone of sudden realization, “ _That’s_ why you’ve ingratiated yourself to all the Jarls. So when it comes time to make peace, and the red and blue can’t agree, you can hold yourself up as the neutral option. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before this.” It was appalling, and yet he had to admire. It was brilliant._ _

__Bryn said in a thoughtful tone, “No, that wasn’t my intent, but it does make sense, doesn’t it? A High Queen who is beholden to all, and none. A High Queen who puts the good of the people before her own hunger for vengeance.” Honestly she hadn't even thought about it before now, and the idea made the domineering, ambitious dragon in her very happy indeed, while also horrifying her. No way in hell she wanted to be Queen. She would rather put Balgruuf on the throne as High King, someone nearly as neutral as she was, but she feared if he was put forward as the candidate that it would make him miserable, and there was no guarantee the Moot would choose him. It was highly likely that the two sides would continue arguing and fighting and the civil war would never end._ _

__“You think that’s all this is for me? I’m lashing out at the Empire instead of the Thalmor, because they’re all I can get my hands on, is that it? Do I strike you as that…that stupid? I fought and bled for the Empire! If I thought the Empire could make this right I would make peace. I will never give myself up to the headsman’s axe, but I would make peace. You heard me tell Galmar so. But you and I both know that the Empire can’t fix this.”_ _

__“Yes, I know, and they will be even less able to after both the Empire and Skyrim have been decimated by civil war. Do you really think Skyrim could hold off the Dominion once you’re on the throne?”_ _

__“Can it with you on the throne?” he countered. It wasn't as if her question hadn't kept him awake more nights than he could count._ _

__“No, but it can with me on the battlefield, backed by a combined Nord and Imperial army. We’ve had nearly thirty years to build back up our populations. How many mer do you think have been born in that time, especially since the Altmer are so picky in their breeding habits?” Ulfric stared at her, still angry but seeming to consider her words. She said in a careful tone, “I have had more than one Thalmor agent tell me that the Empire exists because they allow it to. They don’t call the Great War by that name. They call it the First War with the Empire. When do you think the Second might take place, and will we be able to defend ourselves when the time comes?” She turned away, hungry, and went to her cloak, fishing around for one of the internal pockets lining it. She pulled out a worn leather binder and held it to her chest, feeling more nervous than she had expected to be, and a little reluctant to part with something she had carried for so long. “I would like to have something to eat, Jarl Ulfric, though dinner is no doubt cold by now. I’m heading to Winterhold tomorrow, so it will be a long day. I would like you to read this while I eat, if you can. Can you read Altmeris?”_ _

__“Yes,” he said in distaste. He read and spoke it fluently. He had learned to speak it while a Thalmor prisoner, and had made a point of learning to read it as well once he was free, to know his enemy as best he could. Bryn held the binder out to him, looking worried, and the change in her expression made him uneasy. “What is it?” he asked warily as he took it from her._ _

__“I found this in the Thalmor Embassy, in a chest in Elenwen’s Solar. I’ve been carrying it everywhere I’ve gone, for nearly a year now, which is why it’s a bit battered. I’ve read and re-read it, for the final time last night. To keep my objective clear. Perhaps it will help clarify yours.”_ _

Ulfric waited until the Dragonborn sat down and was serving herself. He noted with disquiet that she had seated herself facing away from him. As if she didn’t want to see his expression as he read it. Or to give him privacy. He said to her, “You didn’t tell me what it is.” His voice didn’t sound as steady as he would have liked. 

__“It’s about you. You know that.” She heard him swallow even from as far away as she was. She gently offered, “If you’d like to wait until I leave to read it, fine, but I would like you to promise on your honor that you will read it tonight.” He didn’t answer, and she heard the creak of leather as he opened it. She served herself cold meat and vegetables and began to eat, hearing Ulfric’s breathing grow uneven, then almost labored. As if he were having a panic attack. Then she heard the dossier thrown across the room. She continued eating, having to nearly choke the food down. She couldn’t even imagine what he was thinking, what he was feeling, any more than she could have when Vilkas described being a captive of necromancers. She was nearly done with her meal and pouring herself some mead when she finally heard him move._ _

__Ulfric sat down hard in the chair opposite Bryn, the roaring in his ears finally starting to subside, his racing heart slowing. It was frightening how close he had come to completely breaking down. He’d felt for just a moment that he was in serious danger of losing his mind. And then he had seen the girl from behind, seen that bright, silken Altmer hair, and had felt like strangling her. Except she wasn’t Altmer, couldn’t even really stand in for one, and certainly not the one he wanted so badly to have in front of him right now. Then he had felt a surge of rage against the girl, wondering what kind of twisted game she was playing with him, wondering if she was a Thalmor agent, holding loyalty to her father’s people, trying to make him doubt himself. Then he had reminded himself that she was Dragonborn, Nord by virtue of her mother’s blood, that her Altmer father had died fighting the Dominion, that she had done nothing but harry the Thalmor, had killed them every chance she had gotten. If she were a Thalmor agent she would have watched his reaction and gloated, just as Elenwen had so many, many times._ _

__Bryn kept her eyes on her empty plate and gently said, “I never wanted to hurt you, Ulfric. I'm sorry.”_ _

He huffed and said in a rough voice, “And there is your true reason for coming here, for not killing me. You feel sorry for me. You _pity_ me.” She shrugged one shoulder and sipped her mead, not denying it. He sat back in the chair and rubbed his eyes, feeling drained and ill, not knowing what to think or feel, about the girl or any of the rest of it. He wanted to hate her for this. This had wounded him, terribly, and he could only hope that he would eventually be grateful that she had given the dossier to him in private, to leave him his dignity. To safeguard it just as she had joked she would. Well, he supposed if anyone could it was her. Nearly a year she had carried around that dossier, reading it over and over, and for what? 

__When he said nothing more, Bryn stated, “If it’s any consolation, I will kill Elenwen one day. I’ll even bring you her head if you’d like.”_ _

__“You would do me a greater service by delivering her to me alive, gagged and bound.”_ _

__“Yes, I’m sure that’s something you’ve fantasized about plenty over the years, however that I will not do. You would poison your soul if you inflicted on her whatever she did to you.”_ _

__He said with extreme bitterness, “Would you like to know the things she did to me, Dragonborn? The things she told others to do to me, while she watched? Would you like to know why I’ve hardly touched a woman in thirty years? Would you like to see the scars I still carry?”_ _

__Her heart aching, she murmured, “I will if you think it would help.” She finally raised her eyes to his and he stared back with haunted eyes, his jaw clenched. Such pain in those eyes, which were actually quite beautiful. She had never seen such a wounded look in anyone's eyes, so much suffering. “I’ve seen many, many torture chambers over the last year. I stand there in the middle of them and look at all the… things, and my mind can’t begin to comprehend their purpose. I was never struck as a child, never even a single swat on the bottom. I came to Skyrim a virgin and have known only love and gentleness in a man’s arms. Enlighten me, if you must, about what Elenwen did to you, but only if you’re doing it to unburden yourself, to help yourself heal, and not just to traumatize me. I’m the Agent of Mara, and Dibella, and I’ll listen if it will help you.” He made a sound of pain and looked away, blinking, his eyes shining. “Have you ever told anyone everything that happened?”_ _

__“No, and I never will,” he whispered. “What is the point?” Galmar knew most of it, but not all of it, though he most likely suspected it. Galmar would listen, if he wanted to talk about it. Galmar had tried endlessly to get him to talk about it after they came back, and he had, only once, and still hadn't been able to get it all out. He sure as hell wasn't going to tell this girl._ _

Bryn didn’t answer, taking another drink of mead, then she set hers down and got up to pour him a mug, coming around to his side of the table to do so. She set the mug in front of him and he didn’t move to take it. The look on his face was absolutely heart-wrenching and it made her writhe with guilt. This wasn't at all what she had wanted to happen, and naively hadn't really expected the strength of his reaction. She picked up the drink again and knelt in front of him, and Ulfric glared at her as she took his hands and wrapped them around the mug, but he didn’t pull away. “Please,” she begged. “I know you won’t give in to the Empire, but all I ask is some time. A truce, something, anything. Stop the fighting for just a little while.” _Please don't make me kill you!_ Now that she had seen him up close, talked to him, seen the torment in his eyes, the thought of having to basically assassinate him turned her stomach. 

__“And then what?” he responded just as quietly. “Wait for Tullius’ forces to close in on me? Wait for him to string up my corpse on the battlements of Castle Dour for the crows to pick at, as a lesson to others about obedience?”_ _

__“I wouldn’t allow him to kill you, any more than I would do so.”_ _

__Ulfric snorted a laugh of disbelief, stunned. “You think to protect me, Dragonborn? That is…” He couldn’t help laughing again, bemused, at the absurdity of all this. The girl’s warm hands were still wrapped around his, surprisingly soft even with a warrior’s calluses, and he could smell the scent of lavender rising from her hair, feel the warmth rising from her body. He tried to remember the last time he had been this close to a woman and couldn’t quite recall. He hadn’t lain with a woman in well over a year, some random tumble with a nameless female Stormcloak soldier who had sneaked into his tent while on campaign. She had gotten what she wanted and left again, which had been perfectly fine with him, and he’d never known who it was, hadn’t seen her face in the dark and hadn’t bothered to find out._ _

This though…this was something strange to him, something completely foreign. A beautiful girl who was strong enough to kill him, holding his hands and vowing to protect him. Gods, she was beautiful, her skin like cream, her cheeks faintly pink, like apple blossoms. He had thought her eyes would repel him, but they were not any more tilted than some Nord women’s he had seen, and not all Altmer had golden eyes. Her hair fell in loose blond waves around her face and over her shoulders, soft and silken, begging him to wind his fingers in it. She looked the epitome of fresh young Nordic womanhood. And then her words came back to him: _I came to Skyrim a virgin._ The thought sent a sudden sharp pang of lust through him that took his breath away, it was so completely unexpected and intense. An Agent of Mara and Dibella, Dragonborn, and...by the Nine, she was beautiful... 

__Bryn sat back on her heels and shivered as Ulfric’s gaze traveled over her, and when she took her hands away from his he caught her wrist. He took a drink of mead, his eyes never leaving her, and when he licked his lips and set down the mug she whispered, “I um, I should…go. I need to go.” He laughed quietly, the deep sound making goose bumps rise on her skin. Such a voice!_ _

__“What’s wrong, Dragonborn? Ah, Brynhilde,” he corrected. He drew out the name and saw her swallow and look away, blushing. “So innocent, and yet so deadly. Have you truly only ever been with that Companion of yours?” he murmured, keeping hold of her wrist as he put his finger under her chin to turn her face back to him. She stared at him with dilated eyes, her pale pink lips parting as if to either speak or accept a kiss, and when he lightly ran his thumb over them she finally pulled away and stood, backing away from him. He was shocked to see tears rising in her eyes. He hadn’t expected that at all. He sighed and picked up the mug again, trying to ignore the hard ache he so rarely felt. “I apologize,” he muttered. He really wasn’t sure what had come over him. Well, it wasn't as if he was practiced in the art of dealing with women. She shook her head, biting her lip and twining her fingers together in front of her like a young maiden, and it made him feel like a beast, but then that was exactly what he was, or so Elenwen had often told him. It was a rather bewildering feeling to see the girl acting so shy, setting him off balance all over again. How could the Dragonborn, someone so powerful, be so girlish and maidenly? She certainly hadn’t been when she had launched herself over the table at Galmar._ _

__“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I was too familiar, and I’m sorry,” she said brokenly. “I do things like that and…and…I didn’t think. I just…I only wanted to help.” She had _needed_ to help, and it made her wish she had never become an Agent of Mara. She swallowed hard again, a tear slipping down her cheek, suddenly feeling like bawling. She scrubbed it away and bowed slightly to him, avoiding his eyes, then turned on her heel and moved to pick up her cloak. “Thank you for your hospitality,” she whispered._ _

“Wait.” She shook her head, fumbling to put the cloak on. Ulfric crossed the room and stopped her, putting his hands on her shoulders, and she sighed heavily and sniffed, looking past him at the fire. He quietly repeated, “I apologize. You did nothing wrong. You sought to provide comfort with no intent.” Which he was still having trouble coming to grips with. _Agent of Mara and Dibella_...the whisper wouldn't leave the back of his mind. She was an Agent of the goddesses of compassion and love, and Dragonborn. If only she weren't with the Companion, she might... Well, it was no use thinking about it. She was with the Companion, and she deserved better than to get into bed with an old man with a past like his. It turned his stomach to think of subjecting so fine a creature to his mental and emotional wounds. No woman should have to deal with them, or any man either for that matter. 

“I should have known better. I still…even now I still don’t understand sometimes how things work. Between people. Human people. I’m so… ignorant,” she said angrily. She felt like an idiot for not expecting that being close to Ulfric in a deeply emotional state might cause something like that to happen. And she had responded to it. She had wanted someone other than Vilkas, because someone else had finally wanted her and had shown it, and it had to be him of all people. The man that by all rights she should just kill right now and thereby put an end to all the strife. But those eyes…after seeing the painful depths in them she didn’t think she could ever bring herself to do it. The wounded look there had drawn her like a moth to a candle. 

__Bewildered by her statement, Ulfric said, “You were raised by Altmer, and I can only guess at what that was like, but you did nothing wrong. If anything it was wrong of me to lay hands on a woman who belongs to another.” She gave a bitter laugh at that and shook her head, and he let his hands fall away. He still ached with longing, but it was more in his chest than his groin at this point. The girl had him completely turned around. He knew that had been her intent in coming here but surely it hadn’t been in this way. He surely hadn’t expected it to happen, and with such suddenness._ _

__“Belong to him,” she muttered. “Wouldn’t that be nice. Goodnight, Ulfric.”_ _

__“Goodnight,” he stammered, taken off guard by her sudden departure. He stared at the door, hints of lavender in the air. So there was discord between her and the Companion. Interesting. It was odd that they had been together so long without marrying. That wasn’t how it was done up here, but the Companions weren’t generally the marrying kind, though the other twin had reportedly done so and was studying with the Master Smith, whose sons were now among Ulfric’s soldiers. The Dragonborn clearly felt she didn’t belong to Vilkas, perhaps because the warrior wouldn’t marry her. Before tonight he would have found it laughable that the Dragonborn would want something so ordinary, so settled. Wanted to belong to a man. Wanted marriage._ _

__Ulfric sighed and returned to the table to pick at the remains of dinner. So Brynhilde was heading to Winterhold tomorrow. He couldn’t help wondering why. She was already thane of that hold. Perhaps it had something to do with her recent visit to High Hrothgar. He wished things hadn’t gone south, two nights in a row, so that he could ask her about the Greybeards, about her adventures. Perhaps next time she returned to Windhelm they could try dinner again, see if they could have a normal conversation about the places she had been, the things she had seen and done. He tired sometimes of constantly living and breathing war. Constantly being surrounded by men, and male things._ _

He briefly envied her ability to simply pick up and leave when she wished. Since he couldn’t do so, maybe he could live vicariously through her. Her presence here enlivened what he admitted was a cold, overly masculine place. The only female company he was used to were his female soldiers, and even they were always at a distance, reporting to Galmar instead. Of course many of them looked at him with stars in their eyes, but none caught his interest. This girl though…his interest was certainly caught. And he had not the slightest idea what to do about it. He didn’t know if he even should. She was another man’s woman, even if she wasn’t his wife. But then again, there was discord there. If the Companion hadn't married her by now, he most likely never would. If that truly was the case, he was a fool. 

As he stood to leave the room the dossier in the corner caught his eye, making his jaw clench. He stared at it, tempted to throw it in the fire. He had to do something with it. He couldn’t leave it lying around for a servant to find, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to burn it either. The Dragonborn had thought it important enough to carry it with her for the last year, everywhere she went. Ulfric hesitated then picked it up, forcing himself to open it and read it once more. Sweat broke out all over his body as he saw the word _asset_ over and over again. He was an asset to the Thalmor. _You’ve been dancing to their tune all along._

He shut the cover and impulsively threw the dossier in the fire, but every word of it was now etched into his brain. _Asset._ Allowed to escape. _Asset._ Indirect aid to the Stormcloaks. _Asset. Asset..._ He felt a hot surge of resentment go through him towards Bryn, wanted to hate her for doing this to him, but he couldn’t. It was always better to know the truth than to hide from it like some milk-drinker. She had given it to him reluctantly, knowing it would hurt him, regretting that it would, wanting to comfort him afterward, and she didn’t even know him. The only comfort he really had at this point was the knowledge that he wasn’t the reason the White-Gold Tower fell. By time they had finally broken him the city had already been taken. He had always tormented himself over that, blamed himself, though he had been little more than a boy at the time. Younger than Torygg. 

Ulfric stood there until the dossier was completely consumed, stirring the remains to break it up completely. He left the room, leaving the door open for the servants, and went straight to his private quarters, ignoring Galmar’s calls asking what happened, why the Dragonborn was gone so soon. He would tell his oldest and closest friend tomorrow, and he couldn’t honestly say how Galmar would react. The housecarl’s first instinct would probably be to suggest it was a trick, that the girl was playing games with him, trying to make him doubt his course. Well, he doubted. The seeds had always lay there, but now they had firmly taken root.


	26. Chapter 26

Vilkas ran down the steps of Jorrvaskr then sprinted in front of a startled Heimskr and up the steps to Dragonsreach, trying desperately to catch up with Bryn. She had been gone for nearly seven weeks this time, and this time… The entire city had run to the eastern and southern walls three nights ago, crowding to watch the fire raining down on the peak of the Throat of the World, to listen to the thunder and roaring that echoed even this far away. Two specks had circled the peak of the mountain, and every so often the black one would light up in blue then fall. Vilkas had watched in terror and anxiety, knowing what had to be happening, though Bryn hadn’t told him it would be happening then. He hadn’t seen her since she had set off again for Windhelm, after dealing with the Dark Brotherhood. He hadn’t heard from her since either, and after the battle at the Throat of the World he had feared she was dead, while unable to bring himself to truly believe it. And now little Mila Valentia had run up to Jorrvaskr to tell them that the Dragonborn was back, that she was acting funny and wouldn’t talk to anyone other than to say she needed to see the Jarl.

Vilkas caught up with Bryn on the walkway, and when he called her name she ignored him. He ran and resisted the urge to grab her arm, instead dashing around in front of her and putting his hands on her shoulders. She seemed to almost look through him and kept walking, and he was bewildered by how hard it was to stop her, how strong she was. Her face was dirty and her dragonscale armor scorched and dented, and she was splattered with dried blood, though she seemed unharmed otherwise. “Stop, damn it!” he shouted, giving her a shake, and she gasped and blinked, seeming to finally see him.

“Vilkas!”

“Yes, Vilkas,” he said in a tone of disquiet. Her eyes fixed on him for only a few seconds before they started to lose focus again. “No no no,” he said hastily, worried to death, and when he gave her another shake she lifted her hands and ground the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Did you do it? Is Alduin gone?”

“No. I fought him and he flew away. I have to catch a dragon in the palace to tell me how to get to where he went.”

“What?” he whispered fearfully.

“He can’t be killed here, on Nirn, by me or anyone else. He told me so. He said he’s been feeding on the souls of Nord dead. Where would one do that?” Vilkas stared at her with horror in his gray eyes, his hands falling away. “Paarthurnax told me that I’m doom-driven. Alduin nearly killed me up there, but then I nearly killed him. I need to finish this. I need to go to Sovngarde.”

He stood numbly as she walked around him and into the palace, then he shook himself and went after her. Alduin had nearly killed her. He caught up to her as she strode through the main hall, the guards and servants going silent as they watched her pass. The smell of sweat and sulfur trailed after her. Her hair was braided haphazardly and nearly brown with filth. He had no idea at all what she had been up to for the last nearly two months, and had to wonder if he would ever find out. _Doom-driven._ It made his heart feel like it was going to beat its way out of his chest. She was so driven by it that she barely acknowledged him, or anyone else. It was as if her eyes could no longer focus completely on anyone around her.

Vilkas stayed back by the fire as Bryn strode up the steps of the dais, where Balgruuf stood in alarm at the sight of her. Irileth was tense, watching Bryn with narrowed eyes, her hand on her sword, something Vilkas would have found laughable under different circumstances. The hard, stony strength he had felt in Bryn’s body came back to him, and he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Any of it.

“Great Divines,” Jarl Balgruuf breathed as he looked Bryn over. “Where have you been?” She looked like hell. She looked worse than she had after that first dragon she had fought, and that was saying a lot.

“I need your help,” she stated. “I need to trap a dragon in your palace.”

He stared at her in shock as his court gasped, then he said in disbelief, “I must have misheard you, friend. I thought you asked me to help you trap a dragon in my palace?”

“No, you didn’t mishear me. If I’m going to stop the dragons for good, I need to catch one and question it.”

Balgruuf shook his head and sank back down onto his throne. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do it. I can’t risk it. We’ll just have to keep fighting the dragons as best we can.”

“We? Where is the we in all this?” He stared at her, his eyes narrowing. “You know I wouldn’t ask this if it wasn’t important, if it wasn’t necessary. I would never put Whiterun, its citizens, or you at risk if I didn’t have to.”

He sighed heavily and leaned his elbow on the arm of the throne, saying, “You have to see where I’m coming from, my friend. How can I let a dragon into the heart of my city, with the threat of war on my doorstep?”

“It’s the only way to stop the dragon attacks, permanently. It’s the only way to stop Alduin. I fought him to a standstill up there, at the Throat of the World. I had him on the ground, I had him beaten, and I still couldn’t kill him.” She kept the knowledge of Paarthurnax to herself, for now. It was no one else’s business, and she felt strangely protective of the ancient creature. Vilkas had sworn to keep it to himself, and Ulfric obviously knew, and that was enough.

“So…that is what we all heard and saw up there. You truly fought the World-Eater?” If so, that really meant that these were the end times. It made him want to weep with the hopelessness of it all.

“Yes. I found an Elder Scroll and read it up there, to learn the Shout to ground a dragon. I think I might be slightly mad now because of it, but collateral damage I suppose.” She still had the Scroll, in the pack currently on her back, afraid to let it out of her sight. The very bones of the earth are at your disposal, Paarthurnax had said. That was a power she really didn’t want. She didn’t want the responsibility of carrying this thing around. Maybe someone at the College of Winterhold would know what to do with it, possibly Urag gro-Shub. The Orc librarian had been very grave on the matter and would know what she should do with it, or at least point her in the right direction. She supposed he would have to, since she was the damn Archmage of the College now. How the hell that had happened when she could cast only about half a dozen spells was beyond her. She actually knew dozens of spells but hadn’t used magic enough to have the skill or enough magicka for the vast majority of them. She couldn't figure out how she kept getting caught up in this kind of crap.

Balgruuf looked at her in alarm, trying not to show it, then his gaze went past her to the Companion, who was staring at her back, his entire body stiff, his fists clenched, his expression a mirror of Balgruuf’s own. Vilkas met the Jarl’s eyes and Balgruuf tore his gaze away from the Companion’s haunted one. He said to Bryn, “There must be another way. The risk is too great. To Whiterun and to you.”

“The risk to me is irrelevant.” The Jarl made a sound of dismay and shook his head, his expression tense. “I’m Dragonborn. It’s my destiny to stop him. I nearly did. He fears me. He flew away. I need to follow and finish him.” He licked his lips, hesitant. She moved closer to the throne, making Irileth tense. “Please, my Jarl. This is the only way. The Greybeards themselves, their leader…they say it’s the only way.”

Feeling a wave of despair come over him, he quietly said, “I don’t know about such things, but you have the ear of the Greybeards, and you’re Dragonborn, and…you’re my friend. That’s good enough for me.” Bryn let out a long breath of relief, her eyes looking a little less wild. “Now, about this nonsense of trapping a dragon in my palace. I want to help you, Dragonborn, and I will. But I need your help first. Ulfric and General Tullius both are just waiting for me to make a wrong move. Do you think they will sit idle while a dragon is slaughtering my men and burning my city? No, they will not. I can’t risk weakening the city while we are under the threat of enemy attack. I’m sorry.”

Bryn nodded, feeling the tension she had been holding inside start to ease up a bit. In a strange way Balgruuf’s firm stance reassured her. This was a man who never rushed into anything, who always put the good of his people and his city and hold first. “I understand, my Jarl. But what if you didn’t have to worry about an enemy attack?”

He stared at her for a moment then said, “Go on.”

“I think I can arrange a truce, at least long enough to get this done.”

“Well then, if you can pull that off I would be glad to help you with your mad dragon-trapping scheme.” He smiled slightly at her and added, “I would hate to leave you alone in your madness, eh?” She laughed, her eyes shining, still a sight in her filth and damaged armor, maybe even more so because of it. His smile faded as he went on, “But getting both sides to agree to a truce will be difficult at this point. The bitterness has gone too deep.”

“I haven’t met General Tullius yet, but I’ve heard he’s a reasonable man, not ruled by his passions, if he even has any.”

“Yes, he is a reasonable man, and I think he will listen to you. Ulfric however…those waters run deep, and dark. He will not stop this war of his so easily.”

“I’ve already spoken to Jarl Ulfric. I had dinner with him several weeks ago, before I set out to retrieve the Scroll. I believe I may have some…influence with him. I certainly left him with plenty to think about while I was away.” It had given her plenty to think about as well, little of it comfortable. She had certainly had plenty of time to think while lost for a week in that wretched Blackreach, and its connected Dwemer cities. The place had left her awestruck with its otherworldly beauty at first, but by time she had made her way out of the Tower of Mzark she had hated it for all she was worth. It had taken hours for her eyes to fully readjust to sunlight. She was glad that she had gathered all thirty of the crimson nirnroots for Avrusa Sarethi, because nothing could make her go back.

Balgruuf glanced at Vilkas, and he could tell that tidbit didn’t sit well with the Companion. Vilkas was a very handsome man, one of the most handsome he had ever seen, but Ulfric wasn’t without formidable charisma. The Jarl nodded to Bryn and said, “All right then, if you think you can do it. You’ll need someplace to hold the talks, to broker the truce. Maybe…hmm.” He stroked his beard. “What of the Greybeards? They are respected by all Nords, Ulfric especially for obvious reasons. High Hrothgar is neutral territory. If the Greybeards were willing to host a peace council, Ulfric and Tullius would have to listen.”

“Leave that to me. I’ll talk to Master Arngeir and see if he’s willing to host it.”

“Aye, Dragonborn. Maybe you can stop the dragons, and this war into the bargain.”

“I will do everything in my power to accomplish both, my Jarl.”

“That power is considerable, my friend. Gods go with you. In the meantime, we’ll start preparing here. My men will be ready when you are.”

Bryn bowed to him then turned away and went down the steps, and as she passed Vilkas she gave him a small smile. She had that much sense at least. He let out a shuddering breath and fell into step beside her, and as they left Dragonsreach she wrinkled her nose and said, “You’re still wearing that wolf armor.”

“Yes.” Vilkas hesitated then asked, “You’re not leaving again right away are you?”

“No, in the morning. After I repair my armor. For now I just want a bath and food and sleep, in that order.”

“Can I at least talk to you while you do the first two?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t you be able to?”

“Because…you’re…never mind. I’m sorry.” He had no right to pull any kind of attitude with her, not after what he had seen just from a distance the other night, and her right at the center of it. He had no idea how she was still alive.

Bryn said with regret, “Well, I’m sorry too. I’m a bit off right now. You can’t even imagine the sheer… _shit_ I’ve been through lately. I can’t honestly say I’m ever going to be the same, but…” She laughed, the sound slightly hysterical even to her ears. “I was going to say give me time, but I can’t really say I have it. I carry Time on my back, an object outside of Time, and yet none for me.”

“Mighty Akatosh,” Vilkas choked in horror. “You still have that…thing with you?”

“Oh yes. I still see its patterns moving across my vision when I close my eyes, but not as bad as it was even yesterday. At least I didn’t lose my eyesight for long after I read it. Can’t really do my job blind, can I?” Vilkas made a sound of dismay and stopped her on the landing above the pools. She gazed at him, trying to keep her eyes from looking crazy, wondering if the attempt was only making it worse. “I’m going to take it to the College of Winterhold on my way from Tullius to Ulfric. The librarian there is an expert on the Scrolls, as expert as one can be on something so esoteric. He’ll know what to do with it. I don’t dare take it with me where I think I’m going. With my luck the universe will implode on itself or something.” She rubbed her nose, her skin itching all over. She couldn’t remember the last time she had bathed properly, or at all. “When was it?” she whispered, her eyes losing focus.

“When was what?” he replied in kind, terrified for her, close to tears and not caring who saw it.

“The last bath. The last food…I think the Greybeards made me eat, after I came down from the peak. After Alduin scampered away.”

“That was three days ago.”

“Oh. I’m sure…well surely I’ve eaten since then.” She closed her eyes, murmuring, “Maybe not. Am I even hungry? Or tired? I don’t think I’ve slept since I left High Hrothgar. There’s knowing a thing, then feeling that thing. I know it but can’t feel it. I can’t say I feel much of anything at all right now. But maybe that’s good. Maybe it’s…better this way. Maybe…”

Bryn swayed on her feet and Vilkas gasped, reaching out to catch her. Her eyes fluttered open again and she pushed away from him, but he grabbed her arm and said, “Come on, now. Down to Jorrvaskr. Home.”

“Your home.”

“Our home,” he corrected, his voice breaking. She shrugged and let him lead her to the mead hall, his expression telling everyone they passed to leave them alone. He saw his twin up at the Skyforge, watching with concern, and he motioned with his head for Farkas’ help. Bryn responded to Farkas in a way she did to no other, and he needed his brother’s strength, both physical and emotional. As he entered the front doors he heard the jingle of armor as Farkas ran up, his brother having switched to short-sleeved steel and fur armor long ago; he’d helped his mentor melt down the wolf armor, in honor of Kodlak’s final wishes. Vilkas hadn’t yet. He simply couldn’t bring himself to do it. Eorlund kept eyeing him with disapproval, and he kept ignoring it. He would get around to it one of these days.

Bryn didn’t say another word as the twins got her downstairs, seeming lost in some internal world and unaware of what they were doing, as if now that she was home and safe she could let her mind go. Farkas didn’t protest helping get Bryn out of her armor and into the bath, and held her up out of the water for Vilkas to wash when she nearly let herself slide into it, still staring at something neither of them could see. The water was cloudy when they finished and they had to stand her up to rinse her completely clean. Vilkas didn’t bother calling Tilma for food; Bryn was clearly in no state to eat it. They got her dried and into Vilkas’ bed, not bothering to dress her either, and she lazily grabbed the pack out of Farkas’ hands then rolled over and went to sleep with it clutched in her arms.

“What the hell,” Farkas whispered, his jaw clenched. This was just about the most disturbing thing he had ever seen.

Vilkas choked, “I think she’s gone a little mad. I don’t know what to do.”

“How!”

“She has an Elder Scroll in that bag. It’s…I don’t know how to explain it, I don’t even know what they are myself. She read it, and she thinks it’s driven her mad. She fought Alduin on the mountain. That’s what we saw the other night.”

“So what tells me it isn’t over yet?”

“Alduin fled. She wants to use the Great Porch to trap a dragon, to find out where he went, but… she keeps implying he went to Sovngarde. She can’t go to Sovngarde, she isn’t…” Dead. Surely she couldn’t go there if she was alive. But surely she wouldn’t die simply so she could go there and fight Alduin!

“I’m going to go get Danica,” Farkas stated firmly. “Stay here and stay calm, all right?”

Vilkas nodded and his twin hurried out of the room. He began to pace, to give himself something to do, his heart beating so hard and fast again that he felt close to passing out. Surely she wasn’t going to die in order to finish off Alduin. If she had fought Alduin to near defeat at the Throat of the World and lived, she could do it again. If Alduin was going to Sovngarde to feast on souls, there had to be a portal he was using. Alduin was a physical creature. He didn’t need to die to access that place, so why would Bryn? He kept telling himself that while he waited for his brother to fetch the healer.

While he waited he heard soft footsteps and the door pushed open. Aela let herself in, coming around the screen to look at the sleeping form on the bed. Vilkas said, “You can talk. I doubt anything will wake her at this point.”

“The whole city is in an uproar,” she stated, being quiet anyway. She scratched the side of her growing belly and went on, “The guards say the Jarl is clearing out the Great Porch and getting ready to test the trap. To catch a dragon.” Vilkas nodded. “Where has she been this whole time?”

“Gods only know,” he said with tired anxiety. “Windhelm, for a bit. Winterhold. She says she has an Elder Scroll in that bag, but I don’t know where she found it. She said she read it and it drove her a little mad.”

Aela gazed at him with worry then asked, “Was it only a little?”

“I can’t tell yet, but yes, definitely a little, at the least.”

“If her mind doesn’t recover, or if she doesn’t live—“

“Don’t talk like that!”

“—you’re going to have to take the reins,” she finished without pausing. Vilkas made a sputtering sound of denial and threw himself into a chair. “You’ve been doing it every time she leaves. She laid the groundwork and you’ve been following it. You’ve been running Jorrvaskr for the last few months, not her.” Aela had to admit that if Vilkas hadn’t purged himself of the beastblood that he would have been completely incapable of leadership. As it was now everyone was starting to truly respect him, even Aela. Well, at least with regard to running the Companions. The way he was managing his relationship with Bryn still left a lot to be desired. Aela still couldn't quite figure out what the hell he thought he was doing. It seemed there was a strong bond there and yet he wasn't making it permanent. It made no sense.

“I know,” he muttered, leaning an elbow on the table to rub his eyes.

“We all knew she wasn't going to stay Harbinger forever.” He didn’t answer, his eyes closed. “Did she say anything to you?”

“Only that she has to find Alduin. She defeated him on the mountain and he escaped. She has to finish it.”

“Are you finally going to propose to her?” He growled and quickly rose from the seat. Aela said angrily, “It’s what she wants, damn it! Will you not give her at least that peace of mind before she goes?”

“Peace of mind? How can she have peace of mind now? You want me to pledge my troth to a crazy woman who might die?”

Her eyes narrowed, she said in contempt, “So you’re a fair-weather lover, is that it? You’re the reason she won’t stay, Vilkas!”

“That is a lie,” he said furiously. “She doesn’t stay because she is trying to save us all.”

“I mean after that. When she’s done saving us all, what does she have to come back to? What hope does she have? Why even come back at all?”

Vilkas stared at her with wild eyes, his nostrils flared. “Is this what you came here for? To verbally assault me?”

“No, I came here to check on her. I want what’s best for her. Well, maybe you’re not it. Not anymore.”

He sneered at her, saying, “And who do you think would be? You?”

“I’ve already told you I would have her in a heartbeat, but she doesn’t go that way.” She was also waiting to see how her relationship with Mjoll was going to work out. They had only been able to meet a few more times since Farkas’ wedding, and the Lioness didn’t yet know Aela was a werewolf, though she knew about the pregnancy. Aela wasn’t about to tell Mjoll about her nature until it seemed it was going to be serious, but for now it couldn’t be; Aela would never leave the Companions, and Mjoll couldn’t yet leave Riften, especially with Bryn not there. Mjoll’s nightly patrols were the only thing keeping the Thieves Guild in check. Her times with Mjoll were good times though. Warm and comfortable. It would be nice to have something like that permanently, have a partner to help her raise Skjorta. Farkas had already offered to be a father figure to the baby, as much as he could, which Aela appreciated. He was a good man, and understood fidelity and loyalty in a mating, unlike the cad in front of her. Aela wasn't quite sure who Vilkas thought he was, that he could have a woman like that and treat her like a convenience.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Vilkas pressed. “If not me, who?”

“I didn’t answer your question because maybe it doesn’t have an answer. It’s up to Bryn. If she’s happy with how things are, fine. If not, then she has a choice to make, doesn’t she?” And they both knew Bryn was not happy with how things were. She hadn’t been for a long time. Maybe since nearly the beginning.

“Get out,” he demanded.

Farkas walked in with the priestess Danica Pure-Spring, and he looked between the two glaring at each other and put his hands on his hips. “Great, arguing,” he said in disapproval. “While she’s trying to sleep too.”

Aela said to him, “I was just leaving. Let me know when she wakes up.”

“Sure thing.” After the Huntress left he eyed his brother, who was as angry as he had seen in a very long time. He left the matter alone and motioned to the priestess, saying to Vilkas, “Start from the beginning. I don’t think I told it right.”

Vilkas did so, feeling his spirits sink as Danica’s expression went from worry to one that was clearly being controlled. He said helplessly, “I don’t know what to do, Master Healer. Do you think it’s permanent? The… the madness?”

Danica asked rhetorically, “Is it true madness, or is it that she’s completely and utterly overwhelmed?” The Companion’s worry seemed to lighten at that. “What she’s been through that we know of is only part of it, surely. And that is only in the last two months. Think of everything she has been forced to deal with in the last year, starting as a sheltered, unworldly, insecure girl betrayed by the one she considered a brother. How well would any of us have coped with such things, with so many changes? I think she is simply tired and at a breaking point, and probably quite frightened, yet she is Dragonborn and the world as we know it depends on her, not only to deal with Alduin but to be strong, to be a hero.” She waved her hand at Bryn, continuing, “That terrible burden she carries… it is one few mortals are prepared for. There is a cult of priests in the Imperial City whose entire purpose is to use the Elder Scrolls for prophecy, indeed they were the ones who foretold the current prophecy we are now caught in the middle of. The adherents spend years preparing themselves to read and interpret the Scrolls. She had no such preparation, in fact no preparation at all, and only her nature allowed her to come through as well as she has.”

Vilkas took that in, feeling a weight lift from him. “That all makes a great deal of sense.”

“She is a resilient girl. She only needs to rest, but that is the problem. She cannot rest for the time needed to fully recuperate. She hasn’t since she came to Skyrim. Always it has been one crisis after another, always her who is the only one who can handle it, always her everyone looks to, and I have been guilty of this myself with the Gildergreen.” The priestess shook her head and said sadly, “She takes great joy from helping others. However the joy is always going to be short-lived, because, well…” She looked at Vilkas and added in an awkward tone, “I think that is all I should say. I am a priestess of Kynareth, not Mara.”

His face growing hot, Vilkas said in annoyance, “Does everyone know about that? Is nothing private?”

“She has never spoken about your relationship to me directly, or anyone else that I know of, however…well, you’ve been together a year and have not seen fit to marry each other or create a home together in the old way. That is simple observation, Companion.” He grunted and looked away, folding his arms. “It is none of my business, but I was asked here to help her. I think she is exhausted and hopeless. I think she feels like she is living for everyone but herself. Maybe that’s only because I am projecting how I would feel onto the situation. When she awakens, she needs to rest. I doubt she will be able to, but she desperately needs rest.”

“I will do what I can, but…she said she’s leaving tomorrow for High Hrothgar. To broker a truce, after she repairs her armor.”

“That can be taken care of,” Farkas stated, and he left Danica’s side to gather up Bryn’s dragonscale armor. “Eorlund can have this fixed before sundown.” It was still far beyond Farkas’ skill, but he could certainly assist, and learn from it. It would take him years to reach old Gray-Mane’s proficiency, or Bryn’s, but at least the old smith no longer vocally doubted that he would ever get there.

“Yes, thank you, brother,” Vilkas said with relief. It was one less thing Bryn would have to do worry about. As his twin left he said to Danica, “Thank you for your advice. I’m still not sure what to do, but I feel a little less hopeless.”

“You’re welcome,” she answered. “Let’s pray that she can be made to feel less hopeless as well. I will entreat the goddess Kynareth on her behalf, to help bear up her spirits on the goddess’ gentle winds.” And perhaps say a little side prayer to Mara that the man in front of her would come to his senses.

“That would be appreciated.”

“I’ll show myself out.”

Vilkas nodded, and once Danica was gone he closed the door, staying there for several minutes, tired and worried. He knew it was unwarranted; Bryn was a hundred times more tired, carried many more burdens, truly terrible ones. A knock against the door behind him made him jump, and he opened the door to see Lydia there. The sight of her sent an almost dizzying wave of relief through him.

“She’s not leaving here without me,” Lydia stated, her eyes blazing. “Not unless she knocks me out.” Vilkas nodded, smiling gratefully at her. Lydia still wished Vilkas would pull his head out of his ass and marry Bryn, but she and Farkas had sworn to stay out of it, and Vilkas had really grown on her in the last few months. He had dinner at their house at least once a week, and she was often up at Jorrvaskr helping Tilma, who had taken a fall down the stairs about five weeks ago and had broken a hip. She had immediately been healed, but at her advanced age healing spells and potions didn’t take quite as well, and she had grown increasingly frail lately. Vilkas did his job well, and he was a pleasant, likable brother-in-law, and someday he would be a loving uncle to her and Farkas’ children. She just wished that his own and Bryn’s could have grown up alongside.  
-  
“I can’t believe you let me sleep this long,” Bryn fumed as she climbed out of bed over Vilkas, her entire body aching. She didn’t think she had moved a muscle all night and felt incredibly stiff. The last she remembered was Farkas helping Vilkas bathe her, and being too out of it to care. That had been a good fifteen hours ago.

“It was necessary,” Vilkas said in his defense, “and Danica can vouch for that. Eorlund repaired your armor yesterday afternoon so no time lost there. It’s in Kodlak’s quarters. Do you feel better, at least?”

“Yes,” she grumbled. She still felt exhausted in spirit, but no longer borderline crazy, and the stiff achiness was already fading. She rotated her neck and shoulders then did some slow stretches, and when she heard a sound of desire from Vilkas she realized what it must look like, and realized how long they had been apart. She stood straight, suddenly self-conscious in her nudity, and turned away to get clean clothes out of her pack, then realized in frustration that she had none and would have to go down the hall to the Harbinger’s quarters.

Vilkas pleaded in anguish, “Please love, get back into bed—“

“I’m fertile.” Making the anti-fertility potion hadn’t even entered her mind lately, and she was halfway through her cycle. Prime time to make a child, something she couldn’t allow. Something she probably could never allow.

“Fine, we won’t make love, but just…don’t leave already.” She sighed heavily, staring at the dragon skull on the opposite wall, her expression bleak. She rubbed her eyes and her entire body nearly rippled, more lean and toned than he had ever seen it, still free of scars for the most part, her pale blond hair having gotten long enough to spill over her shoulders. She glanced at him as her hands fell and her chin tilted up, and at that moment she looked so regal, so beautiful and powerful, that it made his heart ache with longing. And he still felt so unworthy of that proud regard. _You’re still wearing that wolf armor_ , she had said, slightly wrinkling her nose. The dragon in a woman’s form had found his clinging to it confusing and pitiful, surely. She sighed again and sat down on the edge of the bed, and as he hesitantly reached out to rub her back she leaned down to check her pack next to the bed. “I’m sure it’s still there. No one has touched the pack, and I only did to set it on the floor, and the door is still locked.”

“You never know,” she murmured. “The Scrolls have a tendency to move themselves.” He made a sound of fearful interest at that. She glanced inside and it was still there, wrapped heavily in leather.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes, very.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Vilkas got up and went out into the hall in his nightclothes, and Bryn kept staring into the pack. The Amulet of Mara was right there. She was sure she hadn’t left it lying on top like that, in fact she knew that she had kept this one stowed in the very bottom of the bag, her reward for helping Dinya Balu spread the gospel of Mara. Well, no time like the present. She already knew what his answer would be, though clearly Mara wasn’t getting the message after all this time. She was heartily tired of the Divines messing in her affairs, especially two certain Divines. It was almost as if they were in a contest over her. She was quite sure after all the ‘letters from a friend’ she had received that Talos himself was the one sending them; they were all the same in wording, all sent from impossible locations, all by a middle-aged man who was either Nord or Imperial. Eeriest of all, the writing was _exactly_ the same on all of them; she had laid them side by side and every stroke of ink was exactly the same. She had read in Winterhold that Talos had appeared to the Nerevarine centuries ago in avatar form, so the letters were well within his capability. Bryn slipped the amulet over her head then slid into bed under the covers, feeling only slightly nervous, just wanting to get it over and done with so she could move on with what was left of her life. As Vilkas came back into the room with a plate and a mug Bryn felt a surge of anxiety, and when he sat down on the bed she clutched the covers to her chin.

“Here love, eat up,” Vilkas urged, balancing the full plate of food on his knees while trying not to spill the water. Bryn sat up, the blankets still pulled up, and began to eat, looking almost ill, as if she were choking the food down. He quietly said to her, “I wish you’d had the chance to send a letter.”

“I’m sorry if I worried everyone. It’s…been interesting.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Have you ever heard of Blackreach?” Vilkas frowned and shook his head. “It’s an unbelievably vast cavern system that connects at least three different Dwemer cities, between The Pale and Winterhold. Wonderfully beautiful, or it was for the first few days I was lost in it. Glowing mushrooms hundreds of feet high, swaying in the moist air. Glowing geode veins that I was able to mine for soul gems. Glowing water. Glowing red nirnroot. Glowing, glowing, everything glowed in the dark. Nothing could ever make me go back to that godforsaken place. It was impossible to find my bearings. I would go up a lift thinking I was going up into another city to search, only to come out into the cold wind of the surface, so I’d have to go back down again. Falmer everywhere. Centurions and Dwemer spheres. Even a dragon, who had been down there…who knows how long. I found one area where humans and orsimer were functioning as slaves to the Falmer. If there is a hell on Nirn, Blackreach is my hell.” She wasn’t even going to get into everything that had gone on with the Mage’s College. It never ceased to amaze her how she got caught up in things like that. Well, everyone would hear about it before too much longer, and she had made some good friends there.

“Ah gods, love,” Vilkas whispered. She chewed her food slowly, staring at nothing, but at least she seemed normal this morning.

“I gave Ulfric the dossier. It got to him. Let’s hope in the way I wanted it to.”

“What was he like? I’ve never seen him up close.” Jergen, then Kodlak, had taken him and Farkas to Windhelm every year for the Feast of the Dead and the reading of the names of the Five Hundred Companions of Ysgramor, but the event had fallen by the wayside under Ulfric's rule.

Bryn shrugged one shoulder and picked a chunk off a sweetroll. “Honorable. Troubled, but not beyond hope. His city is a mess, but less of one than when I first got there. He’s racist, but how much of that is really him and how much programmed into him by Elenwen’s torture I can’t say. Whatever she did to him, it was much more horrible than I can even begin to guess. The things he said, no details, but… well, it isn’t my place to say. I wouldn’t betray his trust any more than anyone else’s.” Reading the dossier, she had imagined physical and psychological torture, but his comment about hardly being able to be with a woman because of it…that had weighed heavily on her mind since the moment he had said it. Using sex to torture someone had never, ever entered her mind. She hadn’t realized it was possible until then, and still didn’t know how it could even be done. Vilkas could be aggressive in bed, even after losing the beastblood, but he had never hurt her, had never been cruel or domineering. Feeling a painful swell of love for him, Bryn lifted her eyes to him and found him watching her intently, his pale eyes studying her with a hint of worry. She smiled slightly and touched his cheek, and he relaxed and smiled brightly at her. “I love you,” she murmured.

“Nowhere near as much as I love you,” he replied, relieved. He kissed her tenderly, smelling clean soap and Bryn’s own unique scent. He ran his fingers through her hair, watching it shimmer.

“I’m sorry Farkas had to help you wash me.”

He laughed, “Well, I’m not so sure Farkas is sorry.” She laughed at that, but it was a tired laugh. He put his hand to the back of her neck to kiss her again, and when he pulled away he kept his hand back there, feeling a braided leather cord. She hadn’t been wearing a necklace when he left the room. He felt her tense as he pulled down the blanket that she had covering it, and when he saw what she was wearing he felt his heart start to pound in his chest loud enough that he could hear his pulse between his ears. He swallowed hard and opened his mouth to say something, then realized he couldn’t even think of what to say and snapped it shut again. He stared at the amulet, unable to tear his eyes away from it until Bryn put her hand on his cheek and turned his gaze up to her.

“Please marry me, beloved,” she whispered, tears rising in her eyes. Vilkas bit his lip, not answering, then he shook his head. “Vilkas, please!” she begged. If he turned her down now, if he actually said no--

“No.”

“But…but I faced Alduin and—“

“And it still isn’t done. You…you’re going to Sovngarde.” Her expression fell as the tears slid onto her cheeks, and he looked away from the hurt and betrayal there to set down the plate and mug, feeling like a pig. When he turned back to her she was taking off the amulet in stiff movements, and he nearly stopped her, feeling a sudden deep dread, but it only lasted a second. She had known how he felt about all this. She knew and had pressed the matter anyway.

“Well, I had to try.”

The emotionless sound to her voice made him sigh, “Come on now, you know I love you. I would die for you—“

“You would give your life _for_ me, but not _to_ me? Strange.” He didn’t answer. She stared at the amulet, feeling betrayed, hating Mara with a passion. All she had done for the goddess and she still couldn’t have this one thing. It looked like Talos was the winner in the tug-of-war. “Well, all right then. Guess it’s time to go.”

As she threw the blankets back and got out of bed he asked with worry, “Where are you going?”

“High Hrothgar, you know that.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Every day Alduin spends eating souls makes him stronger, leaves more of our people with no hope of reaching Shor’s Hall.” She reached down and grabbed up the pack then strode out of the room, not bothering to put anything on and not really caring who saw. She heard Vilkas make a choking sound of shock then hurry after her. She went into the Harbingers quarters and dumped her pack out on the bed to sort it out then turned to the wardrobe to get clean clothing. She had plenty of things stored away in all her houses, so she wouldn’t need to come back here. If she survived she could have Lydia come get the dragon bones and scales. As she got dressed she looked around the room and murmured, “I hope I see Kodlak there. Maybe I’ll even see my mother.” Vilkas said nothing but she sensed him in the doorway, hearing his breathing, uneven and stressed. “You do realize that you’re going to have to be Harbinger. You practically are.” He still said nothing. She shrugged and continued dressing, going silent herself. If she kept talking she’d end up making them part in anger, or start bawling, and she didn’t want that. He probably didn’t even realize that they were parting. Better that he didn’t until she was gone.

Bryn restocked her pack with clean clothing, only taking a few potions for curing diseases and restoring magicka, her healing skill more than adequate to deal with any wound on herself or others. She still had dozens of filled soul gems to keep her sword and bow charged; she carried Azura’s Star, but it only carried one soul at a time. She would buy trail rations from Carlotta on the way out. She moved the Elder Scroll over to the side and got everything neatly packed away, and still Vilkas said nothing. She wasn’t sure what she expected him to say, but she had expected something. He always had something to say. As she checked the pocket with her journal she saw a folded up piece of paper, stained and worn, and nearly took it out and ripped it up. Her one and only love letter from Vilkas, read and re-read dozens of times, comforting her on the road, giving her hope. She decided to leave it there, shoving it inside the journal. She couldn’t quite bring herself to get rid of it yet.

“I thought I told one of you to get me when she woke up!”

Vilkas tore his eyes away from watching Bryn to see Aela coming towards them, and he said in an uneven voice, “She just did.” The way Bryn was going about packing, the way she kept looking around the room as if she wasn’t ever coming in here again…it had him sick with nerves. It felt like she was leaving him. He couldn’t bring himself to believe that she was. Surely she would tell him if she was. He refused to believe that she would just leave him guessing. She was better than that. She was just upset right now, that was all. Anyone would be. Maybe with some time on the road she would realize why the timing was bad. It wasn’t as if he was completely against marrying her someday. Just not now. He couldn't understand why she had chosen now of all times to push the matter. At least she hadn't completely dissolved. That might have made him break. What they had was good enough, certainly more than he had ever wanted out of a relationship. He had never wanted one at all, but he enjoyed what they had, and it was enough. It should have been enough for her too.

Aela brushed past him and put her arm around Bryn’s shoulders, and the girl gave her a brief smile, her eyes red. Then Aela’s eyes saw the Amulet of Mara lying on the bed. She looked at Vilkas and demanded coldly, “Leave.”

“No, I will not,” he stated.

Bryn stated, “I’ll meet you upstairs, dearest.”

“Are you sure?” She was still calling him dearest. She wouldn’t do that if she was leaving him. Well, she wasn't. She had promised she never would.

“Yes. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Aela stared at Vilkas, and he glared at her then turned and left. Aela slammed the door shut after him and locked it. She said in a low, disbelieving voice, “You asked him to marry you and he said no.”

“Yes,” Bryn whispered.

Aela growled furiously. “That…that bastard…”

“Well, I’m making him Harbinger before I leave today, so don’t get too mad at him.”

“He doesn’t deserve the honor, and you’d only be saying that if you were leaving, for good.”

“That I am.” Aela made a sound of hurt, and Bryn sighed, “I don’t want to, but I have to. I’m leaving _him_. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

“If you told him so he might change his mind.”

“That’s why I’m not telling him. I don’t want a man agreeing to marry me under duress. I would always have that in the back of my mind, that he had to be threatened into marrying me. I deserve better than that. Don’t I?”

“Yes, of course you do.” The sad answer made Bryn turn around and look at Aela. The Huntress said, “I would marry you.”

“I know, and I appreciate that. I wish I could. I’ll never have children of my own, but I wanted to be around to help you with Skjorta and watch her grow up.”

“You can have children of your own. You’re still young and there are men in every town who would marry you. Not just men either,” Aela said, going to her and putting her hands on her shoulders. “Just put that amulet on and walk down any street and you’ll see.”

“I know, but I wanted this one.” Aela sighed and nodded. Bryn knew she could marry and have children easily; the only reason men (and women) never approached her was because she was Dragonborn, because she intimidated them. Ulfric hadn’t been intimidated though. She supposed only a strong man like that wouldn’t be. A man who could also use the _thu’um._ A man who had nearly become a Greybeard, a man who fully understood what she was and didn’t fear it. He had known she was considering killing him and hadn’t flinched from it. And yet he was a damaged man who knew less about love than Vilkas did. He was much older than her too, and he wasn’t particularly handsome either, though he was striking, and his voice was mesmerizing. No, she had to put all thought of marriage and family aside for now and focus on finishing her business with Alduin. She had to live through that first before she worried about marrying and having children. She lowered her eyes to Aela’s belly, and the Huntress took her hands and placed them there.

“She’s only been moving for a few weeks,” Aela murmured. “There, did you feel that?” Bryn nodded, a look of pain crossing her face. She put her hands on Bryn’s shoulders and said, “I’ll miss you, Sister.”

“And I you,” she replied quietly. She felt a tiny bump under her hands as the baby moved. She couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to Aela, having a tiny living being inside her. Envious, she took her hands away and put them on her friend’s shoulders, saying, “Maybe someday Mjoll could come here.”

“That would be nice, but she doesn’t feel she can leave Riften. Not as long as the Thieves Guild is operating and Maven is running the show.”

“Well then, if I live I just may need to go do something about that like I did the Dark Brotherhood.”

“Better if I don’t know.”

“All right. So what is the deal with Aerin? Honestly, I thought they were a couple, the way he follows her around.”

“No, they aren’t. He idolizes her, but she views him as a little brother. I do like her though. We’ll see how it works out. We could certainly use more numbers here. That Erik lad seems promising. He’s got fire the others lack.”

Bryn sighed, “I hope so. I know I’m leaving us short, when we already were…”

“You do what you have to,” Aela said firmly. “You can’t come back from saving the world to have Vilkas string you along forever. I think he still doesn’t quite grasp what you are. Neither can I, really, but I respect it anyway. Not that he disrespects, but…” She shook her head. “Something just isn’t connecting for him. Something holds him back and always has. Kodlak would have been able to see to the heart of it.” Kodlak had never had any real relationships with women, most of the Circle wary of such attachments for obvious reasons, but he knew people. Vilkas seemed to truly love Bryn, seemed attached to her well enough, and yet not as much as he should have been. Maybe the bond simply hadn't formed for him, the way it had for her and Skjor. Ah, how she wished she had told him that it had before it was too late! Well, now it was too late for Vilkas too, but at least he was alive.

“Maybe I can ask him when I see him in Sovngarde.” Aela nodded, looking sad. Bryn kissed her forehead then stroked her cheek. “If I live, you can be sure to find me or leave me a message in Riften. I don’t think I’ll be able to come back here, at least not for a long time.”

“I understand.” She threw her arms around Bryn and the two women held each other, and after a minute Aela took a deep breath and let go, standing up straight. “You’ve made the Companions proud, Shield-Sister. You’ve made me proud.”

“I’ve done my best.”

“More than enough. If, after…if you find any promising young women and men, send them our way, would you? Erik was a good start.”

“Of course.” She turned away to start putting on her armor. “I’ll come back to Whiterun, when it’s time to catch the dragon, so maybe I’ll see you then, but it will be a long time before I set foot in Jorrvaskr again.”

“All right. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Sister.”

Aela left, leaving the door open, and Bryn finished gearing up in silence, feeling calm descend over her. She could do this. She was glad that she had been unable to make love with Vilkas this morning or it would have been hard if not impossible. She still loved him, desperately, but she knew if she didn’t make a break now that she would end up deeply resenting him one day, especially when she hit her mid-thirties and her fertility started its inevitable decline. She couldn’t stand the thought of resenting him like that, or the thought of him resenting her one day if he felt forced to marry her, so better to end it. Maybe with time and space between them she could come back here someday to visit the ones she loved, but she didn’t think she would ever be able to look at Vilkas without hurting.

When she was ready to leave, she left the Amulet of Mara where she had thrown it on Kodlak’s bed, and didn’t look back. Vilkas waited for her at the end of the hall, looking anxious, and she gave him a brief smile. She turned and looked down the hall, taking it in one last time, then she took a deep breath and went up the stairs.

Vilkas followed, feeling sick with nerves. He hadn’t missed the look. She was looking at everything as if it were the last time. He said to her, “I should warn you, Lydia is waiting by the Gildergreen.”

“That’s all right,” she said calmly. “I’m just going to be doing a lot of running around, nothing dangerous.”

“She wouldn’t care if it was.”

“I would. I won’t risk Farkas’ wife. I won’t risk their future.” _Even if I don’t have one,_ she nearly added, but she didn’t want to prompt any more awkward discussions. The hall was empty, which was a relief. No long, sad goodbyes. As they went out the front doors she said, “It’s all right, Vilkas. No need to walk me out. You aren’t dressed for it.” He was still in his nightclothes, shoeless. He made a sound of exasperation and she paused outside the doors to look at him. His dark hair was still mussed, the dark shadow of beard on his face. Vilkas hesitated then leaned close to kiss her, and she responded as best she could, feeling her resolve waver. _Mara grant me peace,_ she begged silently. _You owe me that much!_ She pulled away and patted his cheek. “Take care, Vilkas.”

He frowned, not liking how she kept saying his name, in that detached tone of voice. “I’ll see you soon, love.”

“Will you? Next time I come to Whiterun it will be to catch a dragon, not sit around and visit.” She turned away from his hurt expression and saw Lydia below, watching. “You’re Harbinger now, Vilkas. You’ve earned it.”

“No I am not,” he protested, feeling sudden panic rush through him.

“Yes, you are. I already told Aela. I don’t have time for anything more formal.”

“I don’t want anything formal! I don’t want it at all!”

“All right, then you work out amongst yourselves who’s going to do it, because I can’t. I’m never here. I got the Companions straightened out and did my part, and I’m done. I probably won’t live past defeating Alduin. How can I go to Sovngarde and come back? It just doesn’t happen.” She saw Lydia watching them from the Gildergreen, ready for the road, wearing the enchanted steel plate armor she had on so many of their adventures. Bryn smiled at her and gave her a little wave, and her friend relaxed and smiled back. “It’ll be good to have Lydia with me one last time,” she murmured.

“You’re coming back.”

“For the dragon, yes.”

“No, after that. After Alduin.” Bryn didn’t answer, and Vilkas grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around, giving her a shake, or he tried to, her body like stone. “Please love, come back to me. I’m begging you.”

“It isn’t as if I want to die. I guess we’ll see what happens.” She gave him a brief, cool smile then stepped away from him. “Goodbye, Vilkas.”

“No, this isn’t goodbye.”

“Call it whatever you want, Harbinger.” He made a sound of anguish as tears rose in his eyes, a horrified expression on his face. So he was finally getting it. This really wasn’t where or when she had wanted that to happen. Bryn quietly said, “I tried, Vilkas. I didn’t want to go without at least trying.”

“I’ll marry you,” he said in a choked rush. “I’ll do anything you want.”

“It’s too late, I’m sorry.”

“You can’t leave me!” Vilkas cried. “How the hell can you leave me like this!”

“I don’t know any other way to do it. I was hoping to go without--”

“What, you were going to just leave!?” he shouted. “Just walk away without even telling me it was over?”

“Yes.”

“But I said I would marry you!”

“Under duress. Is that what I’m worth, having to threaten a man into marrying me? That would always be between us, that I had to bully you to get you to marry me. You told me straight out in Riften that you just don’t want to get married and that was all there was to it, but I wanted to at least give you the chance to change your mind.”

“But I am changing my mind,” he said, his voice breaking as a tear slid down his cheek. “Please, don’t leave me. I love you.”

“I love you too, but I can’t keep going like this, and I don’t want to get married if you’re doing it under coercion. I don’t want you resenting me someday for forcing you into it, or resenting whatever children came of it.” He choked and rubbed his eyes, and she was grateful for the numbness that was keeping her heart from breaking. This wasn’t at all what she wanted, to wound him like this so terribly, in a not very private setting. She murmured, “Well, all right then.” He said nothing, turning away from her with a strangled growl and throwing the door to Jorrvaskr open and going inside. She sighed and started down the stairs, seeing Lydia motioning to someone above her. She didn’t need to look to know it was Farkas. She felt strong hands on her shoulders, stopping her.

“Come on, little bird,” Farkas pleaded. “Not like this.” It had been awful to see his brother in tears, what was going on obvious. She wasn’t just leaving, or Vilkas wouldn’t have been shouting.

“I asked him to marry me, big bear,” she said quietly. “He said no.”

“What?” he whispered in shock.

“I asked him to marry me this morning, not even an hour ago, and he wouldn’t do it. I asked twice and he said no. I gave him a chance, Farkas. I didn’t want to go without giving him the chance to make things right. He didn’t, so it’s over. I didn’t want it to be like this, I really didn’t.” He didn’t protest any further, a look of deep sorrow on his handsome face. She stroked his cheek and said, “I’ll be back, to catch the dragon, but I won’t be coming back to Jorrvaskr. Not for a very long time. Maybe never.”

“I understand,” he said sadly. He was furious with his twin for this; he had hoped that Vilkas would come to his senses with the threat of Bryn possibly dying, but that he had not only not asked Bryn to marry him but had refused when she asked was beyond what Farkas could accept. He’d wait though to start tearing into his brother, who needed his comfort and understanding more than a swift kick in the ass right now. “I…well, I guess I should go see him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything dumb.”

“Yes, I think so. I told him and Aela that he’s Harbinger now. If he won’t do it, I’m not sure who will. Vignar maybe, but it should be Vilkas.”

“He’ll do it or I’ll punch him.”

“Good.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you when it’s time to catch the dragon, big brother.”

“You’d better. Take care of my wife for me.”

“Very good care.” Farkas nodded, then he blew a kiss to Lydia and went inside the mead hall after his brother. Bryn sighed and went down the steps, sad but still numb, glad for it. Mara had better do right by her and keep it this way or she was going to Riften and burning her temple down. She might even go all the way to Bravil and tear that chapel down too.

When she reached the Gildergreen Lydia said sadly, “So, you really did it. You left him.” It had been terrible watching it happen, but Lydia hadn’t been able to look away. Watching someone being devastated was never easy, but Bryn had to have a good reason for it.

“Yes.” As they fell into step with each other she stated, “I asked him to marry me this morning. He didn’t accept. In fact he flat out said no.”

“Ah gods, Bryn. I’m so sorry.” She and Farkas both had believed that Vilkas was just being a coward and couldn’t bring himself to ask, but would say yes if Bryn did. She couldn’t imagine the feeling of betrayal Bryn was feeling right now. Still, if Bryn lived past Sovngarde, which Lydia fully believed she would, they could find some way to work things out. Lydia firmly believed that.

“So am I. He tried to make it up at the last second. As if I’m going to marry someone who felt forced into it. No thank you.”

“I understand.”

“Everyone has so far. I’m not sure he ever will.” She put her arm around Lydia’s shoulders and hugged her to her. “Thank you for coming with me. You always did know what’s best for me.”

“You’re my thane and always will be. I am your sword and your shield, always.”

“I’ll always be glad of that, as long as I live.” However long that was.


	27. Chapter 27

Tullius glanced up from the map as someone entered the war room, and when he saw two young Nord women standing there he said dryly, “Are my men now giving free reign to anyone who wanders into the castle? You had better have a good reason for being here, citizens.”

“I believe we’ve already met,” Bryn quietly stated. “A little over a year ago.” She was surprised by how small the man was. All men but Nords were shorter than her, but it was still surprising.

“Have we? Oh. Of course, you were at Helgen. One of the prisoners, if I recall correctly. Brynhilde, is it? The one who helped Legionnaire Hadvar escape.”

“Yes,” Bryn said slowly. She glanced at Lydia, who was frowning at the older man, a look of offense on her face. It didn’t seem possible that he didn’t know who she really was.

“Well, he said he would vouch for you if you ever came in. I’m sure your being imprisoned was all a terrible misunderstanding.” He waved her off and bent back down to the table. “Speak with Legate Rikke. She will determine if you’re Legion material.” Bryn laughed, and the General looked sideways at her and said, “Is there something you find amusing in all this, young lady?”

Rikke quietly said, “Ah, General Tullius sir—“

“I’m not here to join the Legion,” Bryn stated. “I would never join the Legion.”

“Then quit wasting my time,” Tullius said in clipped tones.

“Sir!” Rikke said insistently, and he stood up again, staring at her, waiting. “Sir, I believe this is the Dragonborn.”

“Not with that nonsense again!”

“Nonsense!” Lydia exclaimed. “Don’t get out much, do you!”

“Maybe you should wait outside,” Bryn told her. Lydia turned on her heel and stalked out of the castle. Bryn folded her arms and said to the General, “I’m not really used to being dismissed as nonsense, General. I killed a dragon outside the city gates about six months ago. I assume you didn’t hear about that, then. Or the fifty-odd other dragons that I’ve killed, whose souls I’ve taken.”

“I pay little attention to Nord superstitions,” he said irritably. “I don’t have the time or patience for it.”

“Why on Nirn would you accept a commission to a land whose legends and customs you have a seemingly willful disregard for? I assure you, I am very real.”

“I see you standing in front of me, yes. Last time I saw you, you had your head on the chopping block.”

“Only because of that Redguard Captain of yours. Is that the Empire I was raised in, sending people to their death for no reason at all?”

“You were captured trying to join the Stormcloaks,” he retorted. “A Thalmor agent near the gate said you attacked him in the Pale Pass and he turned you in to us, right after we caught up to Ulfric and his men.”

“Ah, so that’s how it was,” she said with interest, trying to contain her temper. “This Thalmor agent, did he give his name as Yancarro? Was he wearing the proper clothing? Have you seen or heard from him since?”

“Yes, that was his name, and no, actually, he didn’t seem legitimate, and we did look into it. Seems he was a complete fraud and the Thalmor have no record of him among their ranks, which is the only reason you aren’t under arrest right now.”

“The _only_ reason!” She couldn’t help bursting into laughter at that and looked at Rikke, who was pale under her helmet, her eyes wide.

“Sir, please,” Rikke said with worry. “I’ve been trying to explain this to you for the last year. This is deadly serious.”

“Yes, I’m well aware,” he said in aggravation. “I’m the one who had to run interference when Elenwen came here yowling for this woman’s blood. This ‘Dragonborn’ has caused me a world of trouble, and I haven’t put out a warrant for her because I know it would offend Nord sensibilities and inflame an already volatile situation.”

“Is that really why, General?” Bryn said softly. “Or did some part of you giggle a little bit at the thought of Thalmor being slaughtered?” To his credit he didn’t react all that much to the suggestion. “I would hope that Elenwen realizes that if the Thalmor can’t get rid of me that there isn’t a large enough regiment of Imperial soldiers left in Skyrim that could do the job.”

“Yes, she does, and that’s what I told her to get her to back off.”

“Still, it’s surprising that she did. One would think she would be glad to see an already volatile situation inflamed. Or maybe it’s only that she didn’t want to lose face.” Tullius didn’t answer, staring at her with a calm she found enviable. Not much at all would rattle this man. Nerves of steel. “Tell me General, just how many Thalmor are left here in Skyrim? Have they sent replacements for the, oh, near thirty I’ve disposed of? Elves certainly don’t replace themselves quickly, do they?”

“What are you here for, Dragonborn?” Tullius asked. “I’m a busy man and don’t have time to play games.”

“I have a message from the Greybeards.” He finally looked a bit surprised. Well, at least he was acknowledging what she was now.

“The Greybeards? What do those old hermits want with me?”

“They’re convening a peace council at High Hrothgar.”

“Why? There’s nothing to discuss as long as that traitor Ulfric is in arms against his rightful Emperor and still wearing his head.”

“That is debatable, however we need a truce until the dragons are dealt with.”

“They are getting to be a problem,” he admitted. “But I wasn’t sent to Skyrim to fight dragons. My job is to quell this rebellion, and I intend to do just that, dragons or no dragons.”

“Don’t you think the dragons are a bigger problem than the Stormcloaks right now?” she countered. “Do you think the beasts will be content to stay here in Skyrim? They can fly, you know.”

The General grunted and rubbed his chin. “You may have a point. And it’s getting difficult to move troops around without attracting a dragon attack. By all accounts, the Stormcloaks are suffering just as badly. Even Ulfric might see the sense of a truce under these conditions.”

“I believe he will.” She kept her reasons for that to herself. Ulfric she could speak to freely, for the most part, could appeal to his emotions. She had to wonder if this man had any other than a sense of duty. “Will you come to the peace council, then? One week from today?”

“Yes, yes, fine,” he sighed, “I’ll come to this Greybeard council, for all the good it will do.” He went back to the map. “You may go.”

Bryn’s nostrils flared at the dismissal, and Rikke said to Tullius, “Sir, if I may step away for a few minutes…” He nodded and waved her off. She hurried to the Dragonborn, who was watching the General with intent eyes, as if she were moments away from Shouting him into the wall. She quietly said, “Please, Dragonborn. I would like a few words with you, if I may have the honor.”

“Of course,” she murmured, recognizing conciliation when she saw it. Rikke was a Nord, and maybe she had some influence with her superior. She was simply amazed at the man’s lack of understanding of his situation, and his seeming refusal to understand it. Or understand what she was. She hadn’t once since it became known she was Dragonborn been simply…dismissed. Treated with such a blatant lack of respect. Even the non-Nords in Skyrim treated her with respect.

Rikke led her into the outer room then up some stairs to a private room, silent the entire way, and once she closed the door she said, “You’ll have to excuse General Tullius—“

“No, I don't have to, actually. But I’m listening. Please do me the courtesy of being frank.”

“Well, yes,” she stammered. She cleared her throat and said, “Tullius is a good man. He wants what’s best for Skyrim.”

“No, he wants what’s best for the Empire. However letting the Thalmor drag innocent folk away to be tortured isn’t in anyone’s best interest, Legate.”

“Yes, we all know that, and no one is happy about it, least of all General Tullius. Nords aren’t the only folk who worshiped Talos, Dragonborn. Talos was the Legionnaire’s God. We all prayed to him before battle. We still do, most of us. But for now there’s nothing we can do.”

“There’s something _I_ can do, and I’m doing it, every chance I get.”

“Yes, and the Thalmor keep implying to Tullius that you’re doing it at Ulfric’s behest.”

“Interesting, since I spoke to him for the first time only about a month ago.”

“Tullius doesn’t believe it, I assure you. Neither does Elenwen.”

“I do very little at the behest of others. I do what I feel is necessary and right, as my conscience guides me. Regardless of the piss poor way he’s gone about things, so does Ulfric.”

Rikke’s expression hardened as she said, “He’s a traitor, Dragonborn. I don’t know what he told you, but he’s a murderer.” It wasn’t as if she didn’t sympathize with Ulfric’s cause, or feel his frustration, but he had gone about everything in just about the most wrong way possible.

“He told me he challenged Torygg to a duel, Torygg accepted, and he knocked Torygg down with the _thu’um_." 

"He Shouted him apart!"

Bryn gazed at her for a long moment, and when the older woman fidgeted she said, “Being somewhat of an expert on the _thu’um_ , I can assure you that no Shout exists that can tear a person apart.” Rikke blinked, taken aback by that. “Of course, that won’t matter to Tullius. Neither will my assurances that Ulfric isn’t in this for the power. At this point I don’t care. I just want the fighting to stop, long enough for tempers to cool, long enough for me to get my job done.” Long enough for people to experience peace and get used to how it felt again.

“And just how will you manage that?”

“I’m going to Sovngarde to fight Alduin.” Rikke gasped, nearly taking a step backwards in sheer horror. Bryn shrugged. “I already faced him once, at the top of the Throat of the World, and I’m still here to talk about it. Have anyone you want me to pass a message along to?”

“How…how can you be so flippant about it!” the older woman said through gritted teeth. “Shor’s bones, girl!”

“Because I think I’m probably going to die. Isn’t that how Nords are supposed to face death? With a song on their lips?” Rikke stared at her. “No? Well, I’m still working on the whole Nord thing. Anyway, I would like to face the afterlife with some certainty that Skyrim won’t all fall apart while I’m gone. I want to trust that Tullius won’t rally the troops the moment Alduin is destroyed. I want the truce to hold.”

“Tullius will hold if Ulfric does.”

“Well then, I had better make sure Ulfric does.”

“How will you do that?”

Rikke’s tone made Bryn tilt her head and eye her narrowly. “And just what are you implying, Legate?”

“Ulfric is a very charismatic man.”

“Ah yes, and I’m a young, innocent little snowberry who is so very easily swayed by powerful men and their charms, is that it?”

Alarmed by the sudden edge to the girl’s voice, Rikke said, “No, not at all. I apologize if it came across that way. That isn’t what I meant.”

“You’re a poor liar. I’m very good at detecting lies, you know. I heard none from Ulfric. He was nothing but straight with me. I went to Windhelm expecting to detest him, while pitying him—“

“Pitying him! Why on Nirn would you pity that beast!”

“Because he is what the Thalmor made him. Don’t disparage the other puppets when your own strings are there for all to see.”

“Yes, but we know the strings are there and are simply waiting for the right time to cut them.”

“Well, he knows they’re there now too. When I was sacking the Thalmor Embassy I found a dossier they created on him, written in Altmeris, about how he was tortured and then allowed to escape with the express purpose of eventually destabilizing Skyrim.” The older woman took a shaky breath, looking horrified, then she rubbed her eyes. “I gave it to Ulfric and he read it in front of me. What do you think that does to a person, to a young man, spending a year of his life being tortured, in ways that I think even you might have trouble grasping? What do you think they had to do to him to finally break him, to make him say anything to make it stop? And then to spend the next nearly thirty years with that pain festering inside him, seeing the Empire he suffered for betray his people at every turn? And then, _then_ , to find out that so many of the things he has done over those decades turn out to be something that was programmed into him, something that was subtly manipulated by the very people who tortured him? Can you imagine all that, Legate Rikke? How would you function with that kind of poison burning inside you?”

Feeling ill and near tears, something she was very much not used to, Rikke whispered, “Honestly, I can’t imagine. We didn’t know. He was a prisoner of war, and yes we thought they probably used some…some interrogation techniques on him—“ Bryn made a scoffing sound. “I know, it’s a euphemism, I’m sorry. I was friends with Ulfric once, good friends. With Galmar too. I don’t like seeing what he’s become. He was always a serious lad, back when we were young. Maybe it was the Greybeard training, spending most of his teens with hermits instead of friends his age. His father, Fjonnar...he was a lively man, a well-loved man, who dominated any room he was in. Larger than life, I suppose. Ulfric is too, but…gods, I wish you hadn’t told me all this.” It was painful to hear, to remember the young man Ulfric once was, the sturdy, loyal friend he had once been, always slow to laugh but always quick to lend an ear or a shoulder. And Galmar…ah, those had been good days, early on. She had spent the last year dreading the day she faced them on the battlefield.

“You at least will listen. I have the feeling anything I say to Tullius will be a waste of my time. Maybe you have the patience and influence to get through to him. I don’t. It’s not every day that I have my very existence brushed off. It offends.”

“Yes Dragonborn,” she said hastily. “I’ll try, when the time is right, but you have to understand that General Tullius is an Imperial, a Colovian, through and through. There’s no…no passion in the man. He sees his duty and he does it. It won’t matter to him what was done to Ulfric. He doesn’t, he can’t, empathize the way you want him to.”

“He doesn’t have to. He just needs to keep his eye on the prize and realize his objective in whatever way it comes about. He’s here to quell the uprising. What does he think will happen if he makes a martyr out of Ulfric?”

“He’s considered that and is willing to take the risk.”

“Thereby weakening Skyrim and the Empire further? Foolish, when I can provide a different option.”

“As long as it doesn’t entail putting Ulfric on the throne he will listen, I promise you.”

“Ulfric will never set foot anywhere near the High Kingship. I’ve already told him that. I don’t think he particularly wants it, but he wants the Thalmor out of Skyrim.”

“That might never happen.” Rikke felt a thrill of mixed fear and wonder as a slow smile spread over the young woman’s pretty face, her golden eyes glistening.

“Ah Rikke, that _will_ happen, if I survive Sovngarde. The Thalmor had better hope I don’t. Do you know how I can get an audience with the Emperor?”

“What?” Rikke squawked. The abrupt change in subject had her completely disoriented.

Bryn waved her off and shook her head as she went towards the door. “Never mind. Maybe I’ll ask Vittoria Vici. She’s his cousin, correct?”

“Well, yes, but—“

“Goodbye.”

“Dragonborn!” Rikke protested, but the door closed in her face. She yanked it back open and hurried after the young woman. “Dragonborn, please, wait!” The girl stopped abruptly and turned to look at her, her eyes nearly glowing in the darker hallway. She quietly said, “Dragonborn, I beg of you, don’t make a terrible situation worse.”

“I don’t plan to. That’s why Elenwen still has her head, for now.” The older woman made a sound of worry, and Bryn moved close to her, putting her hands on her shoulders, the steel armor cold under her hands. “Rikke.”

“Yes?” she whispered, bewildered by the familiarity. Rikke herself was tall, but Bryn was even taller, as tall as an Altmer woman and many Nord men. Rikke knew why, having done the research that Tullius didn’t have the time or interest for. Rikke was afraid however that Elenwen had also done that research. Well, of course she had.

“Rikke, if I survive Sovngarde, which is not yet a sure thing…I want to see the Emperor.”

“That is an extremely difficult thing to do.”

“But not impossible. The commander of the Penitus Oculatus, Maro…”

“Yes, I know him.”

“He said he would make sure that the Emperor heard of me and what I’ve done. I assumed he meant just the Dark Brotherhood. Do you know that they were thinking of assassinating poor Vittoria on her wedding day?”

“Good gods,” Rikke whispered.

“Yes, I found the contract while I was cleaning out the Falkreath Sanctuary. It didn’t say who the contract was from, but the only reason I can think of to kill the Emperor’s cousin is to further destabilize Skyrim. Maybe try to make it look like the Stormcloaks were behind it, though anyone with brains would realize that isn’t how they or Ulfric work. I gave Commander Maro the contract. He said he would pass it along to the Emperor personally, and I hope he did.” She gave the older woman a gentle shake and softly said, “I like you, Rikke. I appreciate you coming after me. It’s improved my opinion of the Legion. Not of Tullius, of course. He needs to understand that I’m not about to let him chop off Ulfric’s head.”

“I ah…think that’s something he doesn’t need to understand quite yet. It might be counterproductive.” Bryn smiled brightly at her and Rikke couldn’t help but respond, finding the girl’s charisma impossible to resist. Then she smelled the gauntlets on either side of her face, the slightest hint of sulfur and a strange metallic tang she couldn’t place. She blinked and whispered, “Mighty Akatosh, you’re wearing armor made of dragon scales!” She was appalled that she hadn’t noticed until just this moment.

“Fancy, isn’t it.” She had enough bones and scales saved up to make many, many more sets. Maybe even some weapons, an idea she had been bouncing around lately.

“Well, yes, very.”

Bryn patted her on the shoulder then turned away. “See you at the peace council, Rikke.”

“Yes, Dragonborn.” She trailed after the other woman, watching her leave the castle to rejoin her companion, then she gathered herself and returned to Tullius. The other Legate was there, Adventus Caesennius, standing at rest against one wall.

“So?” Tullius asked casually. “How did it go?”

“It’s a Nord thing, sir. I doubt you would understand.” Rikke was going to think about it for days though. To have actually met the Dragonborn! To have that terrible, beautiful regard turned on her, with that intent focus she had heard so much about…

“Try me. And this time I will make sure I listen.”

Rikke let out a sigh of relief. “Yes sir. Thank you.”

“I just need to know one thing: is she a Stormcloak sympathizer?”

“No sir. She told me flat out that Ulfric will never become High King and that she told him so.” Tullius nodded slowly. “She does sympathize with him, personally. She…well sir, this can’t leave this room.”

“Understood.” Neither of them bothered glancing at Adventus; his loyalty and discretion were unquestionable.

“She found a Thalmor dossier on Ulfric. It implied…” She snorted a bitter laugh. “Well, it was more than implication, that the Elves tortured Ulfric while he was a POW, with the eventual goal of destabilizing Skyrim. That the actions he has taken against the Empire were due to their manipulations.”

“Unfortunate, but that changes nothing.”

“Yes sir.” Well, she had expected as much. Tullius didn't care much for the why of things.

“I know you two were friends once.”

“Yes sir. A long time ago.” She paused then added, “She swears to me that Ulfric didn’t use the Voice to kill Torygg. She says there is no Shout that can take a man apart.”

“The whole ‘shouted him apart’ nonsense is irrelevant. Ulfric killed the High King.”

“The Dragonborn says that Ulfric told her that he challenged Torygg to a duel, and Torygg accepted.”

“I’m sure she believes that.”

“Sir,” she said in a tone of warning, “please don’t see a young, pretty face and make the same mistake I did. She is extremely strong-willed and extremely dangerous. She wasn’t lying when she said no Legion could take her down. You can’t imagine what those with the dragon blood are capable of. Whether you think she was sent by the Divines or not, she can do everything you’ve heard she can do and more. The Thalmor are right to be afraid of her. She asked how to get an audience with the Emperor—“

“That will _never_ happen,” Tullius said forcefully, finally showing real emotion.

“Sir, if we play our cards right…if we can get Skyrim put back together and the Dragonborn gets the dragon problem under control…she would be a very, very powerful ally. The Nords would rally around her. The Empire could rally around her—“

“As a new Tiber Septim. I swore my loyalty to Titus Mede II. We both did, Legate.”

Rikke gazed at him for a moment then quietly said, “I’m glad you finally understand the gravity of her position, sir.” Those who were Dragonborn were made to rule. It was simply their nature to do so.

“That I do. I don’t want her setting foot in Cyrodiil again. I don’t want her anywhere near the Emperor.”

“Commander Maro already told the Emperor about her, sir, I’m sure of it. When she destroyed the Dark Brotherhood, she found a contract on the Emperor’s cousin Vittoria, and Maro said he would personally make sure that the Emperor heard about it, and her.” Tullius rubbed his chin, frowning. Rikke quietly told him, “She would never assassinate the Emperor, sir. She strikes me as very ethical.”

“If she was so ethical, she could have ended this war months ago by getting rid of Ulfric.”

“She already had the dossier by then. She’s had it for a year now. She hates the Thalmor with a passion, sir, the same passion we all have, no matter her upbringing.”

“Yes, that. I’m afraid I didn’t pay as much attention to that matter as I should have.”

“She’s half-Altmer, sir. She takes after her mother as all half-bloods do, and the folk consider her a Nord, but she was raised by Altmer. Her parents were Legionnaires. Her mother Heska was a Praefect under Legate Caelius. Her father Ennescar was a battlemage in the same unit, as her aunt Elluhrine was before she retired to care for Brynhilde. Elluhrine was not as gifted a mage or warrior as Ennescar and didn’t want the girl’s parents to give up their careers when the war was at such a critical point. Her parents were lost guarding the Emperor’s retreat from the Imperial City. Her aunt was caring for her in Bruma at the time. She took her back to the Imperial City a couple years later when it was back under our control and she took a husband of her own. She raised Brynhilde as her own, alongside her son, Yancarro.”

“The one who allegedly betrayed her.”

“Yes sir. I haven’t been able to track him down past when he turned her over to us. She had a serious head wound at the time. In the back of the head. Not where it would be if she were attacking someone.”

“Agreed. Hadvar never believed she was in with that lot, and he has good instincts.”

“Yes sir. Her aunt and uncle and paternal grandmother still live in the Imperial City, in the Elven Quarter. My sources were unable to speak at any length with any of them. They seem rather afraid to admit any connection whatsoever with the Dragonborn and barely leave their houses.”

“With good reason.” He wouldn’t like to see what the Thalmor would do with that sort of leverage, and they would not hesitate to use it. The family’s location in the Imperial City might be the only thing keeping them alive at this point.

“Sources here in Skyrim say she originally intended to come here to find out more about her Nord heritage, to marry and have a family. Of course Helgen changed everything.”

“It did for a lot of us.”  
-  
Bryn left Lydia at Candlehearth Hall and headed to the Palace of Kings, feeling ridiculously nervous about seeing Ulfric again. She wanted to believe he would agree to a truce. She wanted to believe that he had thought hard about the dossier and their last encounter and would see reason. She wanted to believe his attraction to her hadn’t been a fluke. If it hadn’t been, if he really did want her… She shook her head, angry with herself. She had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t get involved with any other men for a while. She shouldn’t go turning her attention from one man straight to another. She didn’t need that right now. She had more important things to worry about than man problems. And this man...well, he would be _nothing_ but problems.

“Hail, Dragonborn,” one of the guards said. “Is it true that Vilkas of the Companions is now Harbinger?”

“As far as I know, yes.” She swallowed down the pang of grief the sound of his name caused. So he had decided to take the job after all. “I didn’t have time for it, and he earned it.”

“Aye, a worthy warrior that one.”

Bryn nodded and went inside the palace, seeing Ulfric sitting on his throne arguing with Galmar about a crypt called Korvanjund and a crown. Bryn crept along the side of the hall in the slight shadows, listening, unable to help finding it amusing to spy on Ulfric and how easy it was. It seemed Galmar thought the crown would further legitimize Ulfric’s claim to the High Kingship and wanted to send some men after it, but the Imperials had gotten wind of it as well and might be mounting their own expedition for it, for Elisif. Ulfric didn’t seem particularly interested in diverting the people necessary to secure it and Galmar let the matter drop and walked off grumbling. Bryn had never heard of the Jagged Crown, though she had received the last of her mysterious ‘letters from a friend’ about the location of a Word of Power in Korvanjund, but a rockfall blocked the way in and she hadn’t been able to get past it. She probably could have Shouted the blockage out of the way, but at risk of bringing the whole place down on her head. Better to let some Imperial engineers have a crack at it first. If the crown was needed to make either Ulfric or Elisif’s claim legitimate, something she found rather silly, then she might have to make sure that neither side got it, granted she survived Sovngarde.

When it seemed Ulfric had no other business, Bryn came up behind Jorleif and tapped him on the shoulder, making him cry out and jump. “Damn it, girl! What in Oblivion are you trying to do, kill me?” he exclaimed.

“No, that isn’t how I usually go about killing people,” she stated wryly.

“What the hell do you want, then? Sneaking around like a thief or an assassin in Ulfric’s hall. You have some nerve!”

Bryn laughed gaily and glanced at Ulfric, who was watching the scene with his chin on his hand, one eyebrow lifted. She bowed slightly to him and he languidly waved her over. She patted Jorleif on the shoulder, making him sputter, and walked over to the Jarl. She bowed to him again and said in greeting, “I’m back, Jarl Ulfric.”

“So it would seem, Dragonborn,” he said in a tone of amusement. “Should we check your pockets for the good silverware?” She laughed again at that, another full-throated laugh that made her absolutely radiant. She was wearing armor and not the rich dress of the last time he had seen her, but she was no less beautiful. Ah, but it was good to see her again. It made some tension in him relax a little to see her here, alive and whole. “Did you find what you were looking for in Winterhold?”

“Yes I did.” She had disposed of the Elder Scroll there just yesterday. The College librarian had been beyond eager to get his hands on it, and get it securely locked away as soon as possible. She had made a tidy sum of two thousand septims, not that she needed it. She had noticed when she was last here however that the roofs in the Gray Quarter needed major repairs; the amount she had just made should cover it and then some. She had left it with Brunwulf Free-Winter before coming here. Everything was nicely squared away. She had made sure before she left Winterhold to pass the title of Archmage to Tolfdir, which had seemed to relieve everyone. The mages had been willing to let her keep the title, but everyone had known it was ridiculous to ever give it to her in the first place. She was fairly certain that with some more practice and tutoring that she actually could learn magic fairly well, but at this point there really wasn’t a reason to. She continued to hone her skills in the Restoration arts, but that was all she was interested in. Her _thu’um_ did everything else she needed.

“And was that you making all that noise at the Throat of the World that the folk of Ivarstead are still losing sleep over?” At that her cheerful expression faded, replaced by a troubled one. “People are saying you fought the World Eater there, Dragonborn. Is this true?” If so, it was astonishing. He hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to believe it. Rumor had it that two dragons had been seen and heard roaring about the mountain that night; Paarthurnax must have assisted her in the fight. The next rumors had said that when she came down off the mountain she looked like she had been dragged down every one of the Seven Thousand Steps, her eyes unable to focus on anyone or anything, and everyone had given her a wide berth, terrified of her.

“That is so, yes.”

Ulfric blew out a long breath, seeing the guards looking at each other and shaking their heads in amazement. “People also say that you are no longer Harbinger of the Companions.”

“That is also true.” She saw him gnaw at his bottom lip for a second, frowning, as if debating whether to ask her something else. Maybe even ask if it was true that she had split with the man who was now Harbinger. Well, he would have to ask her some other time; her private business didn’t need to be aired here, and she had more important things to deal with right now.

“So what brings you to me?” he finally asked. The wary look in her eyes had made him think better of asking if it was also true that she was no longer with Vilkas. Folk in Whiterun had seen Bryn having a confrontation with him at the doors of Jorrvaskr, and it had been fairly obvious that the relationship was ending, and on Bryn’s terms if she had been calm and Vilkas had stormed inside. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It was unfortunate, but he couldn’t help feeling the faintest spark of hope either. Their last meeting had weighed heavily on him for weeks, with the occasional dream about the scent of lavender and the feel of soft pink lips.

“Alduin got away. I took him to the ground and had him beaten, but he flew away. The Greybeards and their leader say he flew to Sovngarde. So that is where I am going.”

“You must be joking,” Ulfric said gravely. She slowly shook her head. “How do you plan on doing that?”

“By trapping a dragon in Jarl Balgruuf’s palace and making it tell me how to get there.”

“By Akatosh,” he breathed in disbelief. Of course that was what Dragonsreach had been designed for, but to actually do it! What was even more amazing was that the ever-cautious Balgruuf would agree to it. Ulfric couldn’t help being envious of Balgruuf at that moment. What he wouldn’t give to be present when it happened!

“But first, I have a message from the Greybeards. For you.”

“It’s about time they turned their gaze from the heavens, back to our bleeding homeland. What do they want?”

“To negotiate a truce at High Hrothgar between you and Tullius, until the dragon menace is dealt with. Jarl Balgruuf won’t let me use his dragon trap until he has an assurance that his city won’t be attacked while we’re doing it.”

Ulfric stared at her as he stroked his beard, and Bryn gazed back, unflinching. He finally said, “I have the greatest respect for the Greybeards, of course, for obvious reasons. And the dragon attacks have been a plague on both sides. However the political situation is still delicate. I don’t have the support of all the Jarls and cannot afford to appear weak. I can’t agree to this unless Tullius himself will be there.”

“General Tullius has already agreed to attend. I made sure of that first, Jarl Ulfric.”

“Ah, of course you did, Dragonborn,” he said quietly. She glanced away, her cheeks turning slightly pink. It was charming, if disconcerting. He had to wonder why she had gone to Tullius first, when it seemed he would be the harder one to convince of the need for a truce. That was going to roll around in his mind for a while. “Well then, good. We still hold half of Skyrim despite everything the Empire could throw at us. I doubt the Empire has the stomach for much more bloodletting.”

Bryn frowned and murmured, “I would hope neither side does. It isn’t a healthy appetite to have.” He grunted in a noncommittal fashion, his blue-green eyes showing only hints of the distress that she had seen last time they had talked. “Will you come to the peace council, Jarl Ulfric?”

“Yes. I’ll give Tullius one more chance to quit Skyrim with his tail between his legs.” Bryn looked at him with disapproval but he didn’t rise to the bait. “When does this conference take place?”

“Four days, at three in the afternoon.”

“Galmar and I will be there.” When Bryn said nothing, staring flatly at him, he asked with a hint of irritation, “Is there a problem, Dragonborn?”

“Yes. I’m starting to wonder just what it is that I’m potentially killing myself for,” she stated, then she bowed and strode out of the palace. She hoped he would call her back but he didn’t, and she felt a surge of hopeless rage that made her want to scream. It seemed nothing had changed after all. She’d be damned if she let the man fluster her after this with that voice of his and those soulful eyes.

Instead of going back to Candlehearth Hall, Bryn turned down into the Gray Quarter, half hoping that Galmar’s worthless brother Rolff would be there and give her an excuse to hurt someone, but all was quiet and to her surprise a Windhelm guard was passing through. Her anger drained out of her as she nodded to him and he murmured greetings to her. So, it seemed Ulfric had bent at least that much. She went into the New Gnisis Cornerclub, the heart of the Dunmer community, and the folk inside sent up a quiet hello. Bryn went to the bar and leaned on it, asking the barkeep, “How goes it, Ambarys?”

“Well, muthsera, thank you for asking,” he answered.

“I saw a guard on patrol. Is that recent?”

“Started right after you left. Seems someone finally got through to the Jarl.” Bryn shrugged and looked innocent. “We all wanted to let you know that we appreciate what you’ve done for us. Things have been a bit more… comfortable lately.”

“It was a wrong that needed to be made right. It still isn’t right.”

“True, but better.” He reached under the counter and pulled out a bottle of wine and a glass. “On the house, muthsera.”

“Surilie Brothers!” she said in delight. “I haven’t had this since leaving Cyrodiil!” He pushed the glass to her and she breathed in the aroma then took a sip. She wished she had the palate and education to fully appreciate wine, but it was good all the same. “This is wonderful, thank you sera.”

“You’re quite welcome. What are you back in town for?”

“Just dropping off a message for the Jarl, trying to see if I can get the fighting to stop for a little while and get both sides to talk.”

“Well…huh. Good luck with that.”

“Thanks,” she said with a smile at his dry tone. She took another drink then motioned at the ceiling. “I left some coin with Brunwulf Free-Winter, to do something about the roofs down here—“

“Dragonborn,” he chided quietly as the club went silent. “You’ve done more than enough.”

“Think of it as an investment.” She smiled slyly. “Think of it as a way to publicly shame Ulfric. How embarrassing that the Dragonborn must come here and fix his broken city.” There were calls of _hear hear_ at that, and when Ambarys proposed a toast she lifted her glass to it. If Ulfric was going to keep talking tough and still act like it was just a matter of time before he became High King, then she was going to keep making him look bad, keep making it apparent to the population of Skyrim at large and the Jarls that putting him on the throne would be a very bad idea. There was no way she would allow it to happen regardless, but she would rather she wasn’t forced to kill Ulfric to keep it from happening. She really, really hoped it never came to that.  
-  
Bryn pulled out clean socks from her pack and pulled them on, feeling tired and a tiny bit hung over, wishing she’d had the brains to not stay at the Cornerclub drinking with the Dunmer. Others had come to join in the impromptu gathering and before she knew it, it was midnight and she was dancing and laughing and the Elves had loosened up considerably, letting her see a side of them she never really had before. It had been flattering that they had allowed her to be a part of it, but she was paying the price now. She would have to stop by the White Phial and take something for this or it was going to be a somewhat unpleasant morning.

A knock sounded on the door and she sighed, “Come in.” Lydia was going to give her hell for being so foolish, though it never hurt to foster good relations with people. As the door closed she bent over and pulled on the silk pants that went under her armor and said, “I’m sorry, I know, we’re late. I just couldn’t get away. The Dunmer were being so hospitable and Ambarys kept serving me that wonderful Surilie Brothers wine, and then the others heard about it and everyone who could fit in the Cornerclub was in there, and everyone was singing and dancing and…” She laughed and stretched her arms over her head, rotating her waist to get the kinks out. “Okay, well, I’m not sorry. It was fun and the Dunmer were too. I’m sorry I didn’t come back and get you when I realized it was turning into a party, but I was already a bit drunk by then.”

“It isn’t my habit to go to Dunmer parties, Dragonborn, but the thought is considerate.”

Bryn gasped at the deep voice, feeling her heart skip a beat. She clutched her hands to her chest, standing there in only pants and the bandeau that secured her breasts under her clothes, her hair a mess. She whispered, “I thought you were Lydia!”

“Obviously.” Ulfric stared at the girl’s back, watching the muscles play under her white skin, which was surprisingly marked with only a single puckered scar on her left shoulderblade and a few smaller ones here and there. The pants hung low on her hips, and his hands itched to grab onto those curves, to feel that pale skin under his hands, to wrap that glistening hair around his fingers. He had seen her in only her underclothes as he had come in, and the sight of long, leanly muscled legs and a tight, round backside bent over in front of him was burned into his brain. He couldn’t turn away, couldn’t look away, painfully hard. She pulled on a silk doublet in jerky movements, and he murmured, “I apologize, Brynhilde. I am…gods, you’re beautiful!” Dibella help him, he’d had no idea she had a body like that, and he had to say it. She made a sound of embarrassment, not looking at him. More than slightly embarrassed himself, he said in a tone of amusement, “I would leave, but frankly I am a bit…indisposed. You did promise to help safeguard my dignity, did you not?”

“You’re…you’re despicable!”

Ulfric laughed and finally forced himself to turn away, sitting down in the single chair. He leaned his elbow on the small table and said, “Yes, and I’m usually not. I apologize. I should have said who I was, but frankly I didn’t expect to see what I did, though I can’t be sorry for it. I think your housecarl is rather angry with me for telling her to wait downstairs, and this certainly won’t help.”

“Well I’m angry with you too.”

“Ah, well having the Dragonborn angry at you is always something to be avoided, of course.” Her doublet fastened up, Bryn finally turned to look at him, her cheeks adorably pink. She glared at him and he couldn’t help laughing again, making her clench her fists furiously. Her eyes flicked to his lap then they widened at what they saw there and she quickly turned back around to pick up her armor, her hands shaking. He chose to find it flattering. Her girlish reactions only served to inflame him further. What he wouldn’t give to push her into that bed! He said in a husky voice, “I still find it hard to believe that you have only ever been with that Companion.”

“He was the only one who ever…” She trailed off, feeling a pang of grief. She didn’t need the reminder. She did all right as long as nothing made her think about it. About him. “What the hell are you doing here, anyway?”

“My entourage is leaving for Ivarstead today. I thought it would be courteous to ask if you and your housecarl would travel with us.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“I know no such thing. If I did I wouldn’t have asked.”

“If I travel to High Hrothgar with you it will make it look as if I favor you.”

“Don’t you?” he asked suggestively, and when she turned to glare at him with her cuirass in her hands he smiled at her and said, “Thinking about throwing that at me?”

“I’m thinking about shouting _IIZ SLEN NUS_ at you then leaving. You should be thawed out by time I hit Kynesgrove.”

Ulfric laughed loudly at that, delighted by the threat and the hilarious mental image it created. By Talos, she was a fascinating woman! Beautiful and deadly and charming…the combination was enticing as hell, and the good view he had gotten of her today was going to haunt his dreams and his waking moments alone. “That would serve me right, wouldn’t it?” She didn’t answer, turning away to pull the armor over her head. He got up from the chair, his little problem resolving itself on its own, and she tensed as he neared her. He held the cuirass from behind for her so she could more easily tighten the straps, and after a brief hesitation she began to do so. He quietly said, “Rumor has it that you’re no longer with Vilkas.” Bryn shook her head. Her hair was caught under the armor and he gently pulled it out for her. He licked his lips at the sight of bare white neck, and he quickly let her hair fall and stepped back. If he didn’t he was going to grab her, and she just might make good on her threat to freeze him solid.

“I asked him to marry me last week,” she quietly stated. “He said no.”

Stunned, Ulfric said, “You can’t be serious.” 

“I am.”

“Well…why? Surely…” He fell silent, feeling awkward, something he was very unused to. So that was the root of the problems between them that he had gotten a glimpse of: she wanted marriage and Vilkas didn’t. It was mind boggling. Surely the Companion wasn’t so enamored of his independence or his own reflection that he would refuse marriage to the Dragonborn. He had only seen the man and his twin from a distance, and he admitted with only a little envy that they were both incredibly handsome, both extremely accomplished warriors, an attractive catch for any woman, but this wasn’t any woman.

“Because he thinks I’m going to die in Sovngarde.”

“Would that not be an incentive to marry then?” he asked in confusion.

“That’s what everyone says.”

The forlorn whisper saddened him, and he said, “Then he is a fool. I’m truly sorry. Any man in Skyrim should count himself lucky to have your attentions and the chance at your hand in marriage.” Her shoulders fell as she rubbed her eyes. Ulfric was at a loss as to what to do, instinct and his attraction telling him to comfort her, but common sense told him she might not appreciate the gesture. Offering comfort to women wasn’t exactly something he was used to doing. How he wanted to comfort this one though!

“You would marry me then, if I asked?”

“Well…yes,” he stammered, bewildered by the question. “If you asked, if you wore the amulet. But we both know you would not. I’m not a young man, nor would marriage to me be all that enjoyable for you, I think. You deserve better than someone who will die well before you, and you shouldn’t have to tolerate trying to heal the wounds of a damaged man. No, I am not meant for marriage, but if you ever asked I wouldn’t be able to help saying yes.” The thought of cursing any woman to being wed to him was impossible to bear. But the Dragonborn…maybe she was the only woman in all of Tamriel who was strong enough to…ah, it didn’t bear thinking about.

Bryn whispered, “But you don’t even know me!” And then there was the glaring fact that she was half-Altmer.

“You’re Dragonborn and beautiful. What more would I need to know?” He snorted and shook his head, leaning against the nearest wall. “You still think like an Altmer. Life in Skyrim is hard, and often short. One must live while one can, and if you’re looking for a mate and a likely prospect is interested, then you do it. A person of my rank has to be more careful in making a match, but…you’re Dragonborn, the only Dragonborn, the last Dragonborn. You could easily become High Queen…perhaps even Empress. What man in his right mind would turn that down?” He folded his arms, and when she sighed heavily and continued putting on her armor he went on, “It’s offensive that the Companion refused you, and I can’t fathom his reasons for it. It isn’t that he’s afraid you will die. That is nothing but an excuse. There is more there than that. If anything I would think he is afraid that he pales in comparison to you, that next to you he seems insignificant. He refuses to marry you because he then retains the upper hand. He doesn’t risk that someday you will outgrow him and wonder what you were thinking to marry some mercenary.”

She turned to look at him in surprise. “You really think so?”

Ulfric shrugged. “I don’t know the man, but yes, that is what I think. I think he refuses to marry you because he refuses to truly understand what you are, because he is afraid to do so. I think he doesn’t truly respect you either because of this, because he doesn’t dare. For all my teasing and posturing, I do respect you. I understand perfectly what you are. I spent ten years of my life studying the Way of the Voice, the lore of the _Dovahkiinne_ , while I was with the Greybeards. Their teachings have never left me, regardless of how far I’ve strayed from the Way of the Voice.” Bryn nodded slowly and sat down on the bed to pull on her boots. “Frankly, it probably would have been a good match. I don’t see how he is unworthy of you. He follows an honorable path, and all respect the Companions. I don’t doubt that he will make a fine Harbinger, eventually.”

“I hope so.” She had taken a risk naming him Harbinger, when Vignar would have made a better one, but the man was so old that it simply wouldn’t work. Vilkas could grow into the position. He was one of the greatest warriors she had ever encountered, and he was fiercely intelligent, and Jorrvaskr was his entire life and had been since he was little more than a babe. He had the potential to be one of the truly great Harbingers, if he let himself.

“You never know, he may come to his senses someday. Perhaps when you return from Sovngarde he will change his tune.”

“He already tried that. When he realized I was leaving him he scrambled to say yes. I told him it was too late. I have never felt that he was unworthy of me, ever, not once, but I deserve not to have a man marry me under pressure. If I wasn’t good enough to marry before…” She shook her head vigorously. “Forget it. It’s over. A year I waited. His twin brother is married to Lydia, did you know that?”

“I had heard.”

She stood and began looking through her pack for her comb. “After I go to Sovngarde, if I make it back from there…I don’t see myself going back to Whiterun again. Not openly. I want Lydia and Farkas to have a life together, without her feeling obligated to wait on me and follow me everywhere. I’ll never have what I want, so I might as well make sure others get it. They deserve each other. They’re like a brother and sister to me. They’re what held me together in the early days. I think Lydia has all along.”

“And what will hold you together now?”

“Duty. The same as you or Tullius, I suppose.”

Ulfric said in derision, “Duty may be what guides Tullius, but love is what drives me. Love of my country, love of my god, love of my people.”

As she began to comb out her hair she said, “Love, duty…what is duty but a kind of love? If I hadn’t come to love Skyrim and her people, all of them, this would be a lot harder. I’m not afraid of dying in Sovngarde. In fact maybe it will be a bit of a relief if I do.”

“Because you feel you have nothing to come back to?” he scoffed as he went to her. “Now you are just being morose. Here, give me that.”

Bryn stood still in shock as Ulfric took the comb from her hand then began gently combing out her hair from behind. She stared at the wall and tried to relax, but it was impossible. This was just all too strange. After a few minutes he began braiding her hair back from her face, and she finally asked in a near whisper, “Why are you doing this? Why are you really here?”

“I’m not quite sure. On either count.”

The troubled sound of his voice reassured her that this wasn’t all a trick, a way to seduce her into joining Ulfric’s cause, or barring that make Skyrim at large think that she sympathized with it. She refused to do the first, or let the second happen. “My aunt and grandmother both loved brushing and braiding and playing with my hair. I think that was the only thing of mine that they envied. Elves’ hair rarely grows past their shoulders, but mine was down to my waist most of my life. When I was little they were always fussing with my hair and dressing me up, as if I were a doll.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They were heartbroken when I hit puberty and started getting big boned. It was almost as if they really expected the Altmer blood to win out.”

“Big boned,” he said in derision. “That seems the sort of thing they would say. Now my mother, she was a big boned girl. You are not.” Bryn was strong, but her body was lean and graceful. He would give almost anything to see it spread out before him, but that wasn’t likely to ever happen, something that grieved him.

“I’ve never heard much about your mother. Everyone talks about your father Fjonnar, the Bear of Eastmarch, but never her.”

“She died when I was very young. A boating accident, on the river here. Freida, her name was. She grew up in a fishing village in The Rift, so she loved to fish. Father found it a bit embarrassing I think, but he said the people found it charming. I don’t remember much about her, but she was kind. Red-haired. Very soft, plump, perfect for cuddling a child. Father loved her so much he never remarried, though he had his women now and then. He found a good nanny for me, to provide mothering for me. It was a happy childhood, other than always missing Mother.”

“Still, how sad. Vilkas and Farkas don’t even know who their parents were. They were found in a necromancers’ cave somewhere here in Eastmarch, on the border. One of the Companions found them on his way back from Morrowind, barely three years old and Farkas nearly dead. They had been terribly abused, it was… I probably shouldn’t have said, it isn’t my place to tell.”

“No one will hear it from me.” He put the final twist in her hair and held his hand out for a piece of leather to bind it, and as he tied it off he murmured, “All of us orphans, in a way, but such is often the way of the world.” He hadn’t known that about the twin Companions, only that they had been raised within the order. It was terribly tragic. What had happened to him was beyond excusable, barbaric, but to inflict anything of the sort on a child was the greatest kind of evil.

“My childhood was good enough, other than dealing with my aunt’s fussing, and my uncle’s sneers and my cousin’s rivalry. I wonder sometimes what it would have been like, being raised by my real parents. I wonder what it would have done to my father to watch us grow old. He was only in his fifties when I was born, still young for mer. My mother was younger than me when she died. Do you think I will see her in Sovngarde?”

“I see no reason you wouldn’t.” Done with her hair, he let his hands fall and said, “I envy you, in a way. To think you may end up seeing so many legends there…Jurgen Windcaller, Ysgramor, King Harald.”

“I suppose we all end up meeting them eventually. Though maybe I’ll get there and they’ll kick me right out again for being a half-breed.”

Ulfric frowned, and when Bryn bent down to get her pack in order he said, “The mother’s blood always wins out. Always.”

She straightened up and gazed directly at him, saying, “Look at me. Look at my eyes, my height, my hair that you so kindly fixed for me. All Elven.”

“Yes, I realize that,” he said uncomfortably. “However I look at you and see a Nord woman, a beautiful one. I can’t help that.”

“I’m flattered that you find me attractive. I find you attractive too, and I hadn’t expected that. However I still do not approve of how you operate. I don’t like having to make you look bad by having to help the Gray Quarter, no, the Snow Quarter, as much as I have. I refuse to keep calling it that.”

“Yes, that was rather embarrassing to hear that you gave Brunwulf two thousand gold to make repairs. He made sure I got an earful about it this morning.”

Bryn picked up her belt and put it on, saying, “I appreciate that the guards are patrolling there now. One step at a time, I suppose.”

“He also told me you gave Torbjorn Shatter-Shield your own coin to make up the Argonian’s wages, the last time you were here.”

“Yes I did.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“They aren’t our people.”

“They’re _people_ ,” she stated. “They’re citizens of your city, your hold, so I’m sorry but that does make them your people. If you’d rather they weren’t, then throw them out. All of them. All the Argonian dock workers. All the Dunmer merchants and farmers. The Altmer merchant. The Altmer stable masters. I won’t even get into all the other people of different races I’ve met in Eastmarch, all of them pulling their own weight even if they aren’t wearing a Stormcloak uniform. You see how well your city and hold would run with only Nords here. How well Skyrim would run.” Ulfric said nothing, frowning deeply as he stared at her. “Unless you realize that they do work, and you think they should only be kept around for what amounts to slave labor, because they’re worth less than Nords, and in that case how does that make you any better than the Thalmor?”

Ulfric gazed at her, not answering, then she rolled her eyes and turned away to continue strapping on her weapons and gear. After a minute, when she glanced at him again, he quietly said, “Perhaps this is why I am here. Why I came today.”

“To have me nag at you?” she said incredulously.

“To be fair, you only started doing so a moment ago.” She laughed at that. “You speak to me as you would anyone. You treat everyone you talk to with equal respect, whether they are a Jarl or a beggar on the street, and it endears folk to you. I am afraid I don’t have that in me.”

“You don’t have to. All you have to do is be fair.”

“You really won’t let me become High King, will you?” It was more a statement than a question. Of course she wouldn’t allow it. Every time the thought came to him it sent a rush of frustrated offense through him, and then it was followed by guilty relief.

“No, I will not,” she stated without malice. “But then I’ll have to live past Sovngarde for that to matter.” She hitched her pack onto her shoulder and said, “I told that first fellow I rescued from the Thalmor that you can either be High King or we can have peace in Skyrim. There is no way for both to happen. This war is weakening us. I wonder how many Stormcloak soldiers I’ll see Alduin feasting on in Sovngarde? How many Nord Legionnaires? Fighting on opposite sides over an idea, and ending up just as dead in the same place, hoisting mugs together in Shor’s Hall.” Ulfric licked his lips and looked away. She paused then said, “I asked Legate Rikke how I could get an audience with the Emperor. I think I nearly gave her a heart attack. I will get an audience with him eventually, if I live, and I’ll see if he is worth my time and effort.”

“Have I been?”

Bryn tilted her head and gazed at him thoughtfully, and she saw him bite back a smile at her inspection. There was a scar along his left cheek and jaw that she hadn’t noticed before, lost in the lines of his face. No, he was not what she considered handsome, with that enormous nose of his, but his face had a great deal of character, and his eyes were sweet, a light blue-green, like the sun on the sea, fringed with dark blond lashes. He was a good four inches shorter than Vilkas, who was very tall even for a Nord, but he was solidly built. She couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to make love with someone her height.

She finally answered, “I’m still undecided.”

He laughed at her answer and replied wryly, “Well then, you had better get back to me when you do.” She nodded and headed for the door, and he gently took her arm and stopped her. He kept his hand there as he moved close to her, and that girlish shyness returned with flushed cheeks and eyes that avoided his. “You _will_ live,” he stated. “I have no fears in that regard.”

Bryn quietly said, “Of course I’ll live. And then what?” She had never really thought she was doomed to die. Being doomed to live seemed so much worse. If she died it would be so simple. Her worries would end. She would no longer have the weight of the world on her shoulders. Defeating Alduin was only the start.

“And then you will continue fulfilling your destiny. And when it is time you’ll find a man who will be strong enough to follow it with you.”

“But I wanted that one,” she said sadly. “It was all so perfect. We were so…” She fell silent, seeing Ulfric frown. She didn’t dare think about Vilkas. She didn’t dare have second thoughts. Thoughts that maybe she had acted too rashly, that maybe she should have given him more of a chance. If she started thinking about Vilkas, about never seeing him again, never sharing his bed again, she would start weeping and never stop.

“He may come to his senses someday,” Ulfric stated, feeling a bit jealous, and feeling rather foolish for it. He wasn’t even sure at first what he was feeling; he had never had a reason to be jealous of anyone or anything, not since he was a child. “Whether it be a month from now or a year from now. I know you refused him when he tried to make amends, but with time you both might find a way to work it out. If not, well, it is a wide world with a large number of men in it, and in the meantime…” He raised his other hand, hesitating before running his bent finger under her chin. She bit her lip as her eyes dilated slightly, invitingly. He murmured, “I would very much like to further our acquaintance, if you are willing.”

Bryn whispered, “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can. I…I don’t want it to happen again.”

“I’m not the kind of man you would fall in love with,” he said with faint regret. “I would ask no exclusivity from you, nor would I make any promises of my own. But you and I…I think we could be friends, if you continue to be honest with me, to be patient with me.” The thought of going to his grave without feeling that body beneath him just once made him want to weep.

“I’m half-Elven, Ulfric,” she reminded him. “Half Altmer.”

“Yes, and maybe…maybe that is a good thing, and maybe that is part of the reason I want to try this,” he said with some difficulty. “The things you’ve said to me, and my men, the dossier you gave me… It has all weighed rather heavily on my mind. You cannot imagine what I felt when I heard that the Dragonborn was a half-Elf, of Altmer stock at that. I felt the gods had betrayed us Nords. I was angry. Disgusted. The Divines were supposed to send us another Tiber Septim, another Talos, to deliver us from the Elves, and instead they sent us one who shared Elven blood. Then I heard about the Embassy. Then the Thalmor patrols you killed. Then Northwatch. I kept waiting for you to join the Legion, to approach Tullius, and it never happened until this peace conference. You ran here and there, all over Skyrim, helping her people with little thought for yourself, and then you show up here, and I couldn’t help but start to think, to hope, that maybe…maybe there is another way than mine.”

Feeling a spark of hopefulness, Bryn grabbed his shoulder and said fervently, “There is, Ulfric, I swear it. Give this a chance. Me, the peace conference…give it a chance to work. Give me a chance to take the fight to the Thalmor. Like I told Tullius, we’ve had thirty years to build up our forces. Elves don’t replace themselves quickly. I told him that. I also told Rikke that I had no intention of letting Tullius chop off your head. She took it rather well.”

He snorted a sad laugh and let his hand fall. “Ah, Rikke. She was a good friend once. We served in the same unit, when we were young. With Galmar.”

“She told me. I think I gave her every bit as much to ponder as I did you.”

“That’s good, however it isn’t her you need to convince that I should live. She is not the one in charge.”

“Tullius needs to decide if he wants peace in Skyrim, or you dead. It’s one or the other.”

Ulfric gazed into those intense golden eyes for a long moment, their faces barely a foot apart, and he finally said, “I will hold the peace as long as Tullius does. If he deals fairly, so will I.” The sweet smile of approval that spread over her face nearly made him close the distance between them, but there was no time for that, and he wasn’t about to tryst in an inn in his own city. Because if he touched her again it would happen.

“Good. I…I’ll have to stay neutral, in any negotiations.”

“I would expect no less.” In fact he would lose a great deal of respect for her if she did let the attraction between them sway her in any way. He knew she wouldn’t allow it. And the attraction between them was little more than that, nothing like the love she still obviously had for the Companion. Ulfric wasn’t fooling himself that having an affair with the Dragonborn would amount to anything in the end other than satisfied mutual curiosity and hopefully a lasting friendship. He wasn’t a selfish or devious man and wasn’t in this to get her to join his rebellion. He simply wanted her, and he enjoyed her company, and knew she wanted nothing from him except for him to make peace. It wasn’t as if he was never flirted with or approached by women, but they always had some ulterior motive. This one only wanted to save him, from himself and Tullius, and he couldn’t do any less than let her try.


	28. Chapter 28

Vilkas growled at Farkas, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His brother was lugging two large and obviously extremely heavy sacks out of the Harbinger’s quarters. He looked like a thief. A large, very noisy thief.

“Cleaning out your room, what’s it look like?”

“It isn’t my room, damn you! How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“You’re the Harbinger. You’ve been the Harbinger for a week now. You’re going to be Harbinger for the next twenty, forty, who knows how many years. Get used to it.”

“I shouldn’t have to!” Farkas set the sacks down with a clanking thump and glared at him, and he realized it was all Bryn’s dragon bones and scales. He was taking all Bryn’s things, probably to Breezehome to store for her. The look Farkas gave him made a twinge of nervousness go through him. His twin had been extremely patient with him, all the Companions had been, but he had the feeling that was coming to an end.

Farkas said, “All right, who’s it going to be?” Vilkas didn’t answer. “Yeah, I thought so. We all knew she wasn’t going to keep the job forever. You have it, and everyone thinks you earned it. No one here wants you to step down, but we all want you to stop whining about it and just move into your quarters.”

“They’re Kodlak’s.”

“Yeah, and they were Askar’s before that. Kodlak’s been dead for months, Vilkas. How long are you going to hold out?” His brother didn’t answer, his eyes drifting down to the sacks. Vilkas’ expression hardened then he looked down the hall to the Harbinger’s quarters.

“All right then,” he said bitterly. “At least _she_ never slept in that bed.” Every night he spent in his bed left him alternately furious and on the edge of bawling. He swore sometimes he could still smell lavender on his pillow. He couldn’t go anywhere without thinking of her, or hearing about her. Heimskr the priest had mixed up his sermons lately, saying how the Dragonborn was going to save them all from Thalmor tyranny, in view of the flourishing young Gildergreen that he and Bryn had brought back to Whiterun together, after killing a dragon together, whose skull adorned his wall. He couldn’t away from the memory of her and it was driving him mad. It simply didn’t seem possible that she was gone, for good. He simply couldn't comprehend that she had left him, or that she had been able to.

Farkas sighed, “Come on. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Like hell she didn’t!” he shouted. “She left me, damn it!”

“Why, she doesn’t have the right? She asked you to marry her and you turned her down. How the hell do you think that feels?”

“I know exactly how it feels, you stupid bastard—“ Farkas took a swing at him, and he danced back as he countered it with his hand and yelled, “She left me and you think I don’t know how that feels? All I did was say no, I didn’t leave her!”

“No, you just made her feel like shit,” he retorted furiously. “Everything she’s been through, all the stuff she still has to go through, and she’s still not good enough for you. The goddamn Dragonborn is worth about as much as a tavern whore to you!”

“Bullshit,” Vilkas said in disbelief. “That is such utter bullshit! I would have died for that woman—“

“That would be easier, huh? Then you wouldn’t be stuck with her forever, because you’d be dead. Well good work, now she’s going off to maybe die, and when she’s dying she can think about how the man she loved rejected her.”

“And she loved me _sooo_ much, didn’t she? How the hell could she claim to love me so much then leave me? How can you ask someone to marry you, to spend the rest of their life with you, then leave when you don’t get the answer you want? She wanted to be with me forever, and I said no, so now she doesn’t have me at all? That makes no fucking sense!” Farkas stared at him, his tongue in his cheek, and he nearly barked at him to ask what his problem was, then he suddenly realized what he had said. _She wanted to be with me forever, and I said no._ It sent a chill through him along with intense loss. Of course that’s what Bryn had inferred from his refusal. But it wasn’t what he had meant at all! All he had needed was more time, to get used to the idea. He hadn't entered into their relationship with the intent of it being permanent and had ended up loving her anyway, but it wasn't as if he was against marrying her someday.

“So you didn’t want to be with her forever then. Okay. You know what, I’m glad she left you. She deserves better. I just hope she lives long enough to find it.” Farkas hoisted the sacks and walked away. From the look on Vilkas’ face he had realized what a stupid, and revealing, thing he had said. It made Farkas hurt for Bryn’s sake, finding it impossible to really understand how much it must have wounded her to put her heart on the line and have it stepped on like that. It made him glad for Lydia and her calm, dependable love, and it made him miss her all over again. They at least had the comfort of knowing that no matter how often or how long they were apart, they would always be together again. Bryn had no comfort at all.

Vilkas huffed and walked the opposite direction to the Harbinger’s quarters. “Fine, whatever,” he whispered past the lump in his throat. He made a choking sound of grief at the sight of the Amulet of Mara on the bed, still where Bryn had tossed it after he had…rejected her. Implied to her that their relationship wasn’t and would never be permanent. “Idiot,” he mumbled, swallowing down the lump that was threatening to strangle him. He should have said yes right away. He should have seen the signs, seen that something was different when she came back from fighting Alduin on the mountain. She hadn’t expected to face the World Eater then, but she had and lived, and so of course she had wanted to talk about marriage again, just as he had said they would, and he had said no. And if he had said no then, she had no reason to think he wouldn’t say no forever.

He picked up the amulet as a pang of anguish stabbed through him. He had fucked up, just as he had always feared he would, and in the worst possible way. There was no way he could ever fix it, either. If he went after her now and begged her to marry him she would think he was still doing it under pressure. The thing was she would be right; he still didn’t want to get married, but he couldn’t stand living without Bryn, feeling like half of his soul was missing. And he still couldn’t really explain why he didn’t want to marry. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to figure it out. “Brains of Ysgramor, my ass,” he muttered, borrowing Farkas’ favorite insult. It was completely deserved.

He heard the shuffle of slippered feet on the stone floor behind him, and when he heard the familiar cluck of a tongue he quietly said, “Hello, Tilma.”

“Hello dear,” she said in her thin, reedy voice. “Finally going to take the plunge?” Vilkas dropped the amulet like it was on fire, and she chuckled. “Oh no dear, I meant the room.”

“Yes, I… It seemed time.” She joined him and he gently put his arm around her frail shoulders, as thin as bird bones.

“I’m so proud of you. Kodlak would be too. Both you boys. That girl got you both straightened out just as he hoped she would.” Vilkas sighed heavily. She patted his hand, both of them gazing at the amulet. “Did you ever read his journal?”

“No, I never found the courage. Did you?”

“Oh no. I don’t need to. I see everything, hear everything and know everything. You know that.”

“Aye, and I would love to know how.” Tilma always knew what was going on around and inside the walls of Jorrvaskr, sometimes things that she had absolutely no way of knowing. It was spooky, though they had all gotten used to it and didn’t question it. They all assumed it was a sort of motherly intuition.

“Well, seeing as how you’re Harbinger, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. I never got the chance to tell Brynhilde before she left. But you have to keep this to yourself, dear.”

Vilkas blinked in shock. “You’re joking. There actually is something?” He was completely floored, and when Tilma reached into her pocket and drew out a small pendant of carved crystal he couldn’t believe his eyes. There really was a reason for Tilma’s uncanny knowledge. She held it up so the light caught it but didn’t offer it to him. The crystal seemed to be in two halves, more like a locket, bound closed with gold wire, and when he looked more closely at it he could see something small and dark inside.

“This is the Heart of Jeek of the River. Or what’s left of it.”

“No!” he whispered in awe. His hands itched to touch it but Tilma still didn’t offer it to him. To think that it was a piece of an actual original Companion, the Captain of the ship Jorrvaskr, the founder of Whiterun! It was unbelievable, and yet at least it was an explanation.

“Oh yes. His body is buried under Jorrvaskr. He loved his ship so much his spirit stayed behind instead of going to Sovngarde, or at least that’s what I was told when I took over from my grandmother. Now it’s my turn to pass it on. I could never have children, you know, and I certainly had enough fun with the warriors here when I was young to know.” Vilkas’ eyes widened as his cheeks flushed, then he cleared his throat. “I like that young lady of Farkas’. She has a good head on her shoulders, and she’s a warrior herself. I’m going to sit and have a chat with her when she gets back and tell her about the Heart. It will tell her everything she needs to know, when I pass, just as it has to me all these years.”

Vilkas nodded and said in sad agreement, “She would be a good fit, but no one can take your place, Tilma.” Lydia really had very little to do with her time when Bryn was gone, and since she had married Farkas she spent a great deal of time at Jorrvaskr. She mixed well with the rough and tumble warriors here, and they all had the highest respect for her as not only Farkas’ wife but the Dragonborn’s most trusted companion. She wouldn’t fill quite the spot Tilma did, though perhaps they could get her some help. Tilma had always seemed content to rarely leave Jorrvaskr and spend all her time cooking and cleaning; Lydia would not be. And there would be children eventually, not only hers with Farkas but Aela’s daughter as well. He sighed, “Everything is changing so quickly lately. Kodlak and Skjor gone, little ones soon to be running around underfoot… I don’t know if I have what it takes, Tilma. I really don’t.”

“Well, you’d be a bit of a fool if you thought you did. A good Harbinger doubts himself, at least sometimes. I’ve seen nine Harbingers come and go in my lifetime. Gran raised me here after my mam died birthing me, so Jorrvaskr is all I’ve ever known, just like you, dear. Skjor often said that we’re a family. A rather messy one, at times, but a family regardless. I like the idea of having children raised here. I’m glad I’ll live long enough to see Aela’s babe born, but I don’t think I’ve quite got the time to wait for Farkas.” Vilkas made a sound of pain, and she put away the pendant then smiled and held her arms open, and he quickly moved to gently hug her, mindful of his armor. “Oh, my boy,” she said sadly. “There there. It’s the way of things. The old always have to make way for the new. To Farkas and Aela’s little ones, you’re going to be the only Harbinger they know, and Lydia the only mistress of the hall, and it will seem the most natural thing in the world to them, just as everyone couldn’t imagine Jorrvaskr without my Gran once upon a time. I’ve had a good life here, and you boys were a big part of that. You two brought joy into this house, and so will the new little ones. You’ve become Harbinger at such an exciting time, dear. You really have.”

“Will you tell me one thing at least?”

“Of course dear.”

“Was Jergen our father?”

“Oh no,” she said with a shake of her head. “Of course he wasn’t. You two already knew that. But he tried to be. He risked his life to save you two. He was never cut out to be a father, but I think he did a good job with what little he knew. I wish I could tell you who your real parents were, but he never knew either. But he made sure you would be taken care of before he left. He could have taken you two to that orphanage the way Askar wanted, but he couldn’t tolerate the thought of it. He couldn’t keep doing it himself so he made sure Kodlak would, and when Kodlak knew he was nearing the end and Bryn came along he made sure she would see us through the crisis, and when Bryn knew she had to go and things here were well in hand, she passed it off to you, to see us through all the years after that.”

“She didn’t have to go,” Vilkas said with sorrowful resentment.

“Come now, you know better,” she kindly scolded as she let go of him. “She couldn’t stay in a place that caused her constant pain. It would be like leaving an arrowhead in a wound. Of course you could live with it, but you would never be right inside. Better to suffer the quick, hard pain and then leave the wound to heal cleanly. The scar will always be there, but it will fade a bit over time.”

“Will it?”

“Well, let’s hope so.” She reached up to pat his cheek, saying sadly, “Honestly dear, what do you think it would do to her to be here watching Aela’s baby at her breast? Seeing Farkas and Lydia together, happily married, and whatever children come of that? It would torture her. She came to Skyrim with the sole purpose of marrying and having children. It’s nice that you two fell in love, but frankly was a bit of an accident, wasn't it, and it didn’t change what she ultimately wants out of life. She never wanted to be Dragonborn, she never even wanted to be a warrior. She’s gotten everything except the very thing she wanted. If you aren’t going to give her what she needs then she’s within her rights to go, to leave you both free to have what you really want.”

He said in despair, “All I wanted was her.”

“On your terms, with no promises, no assurances, and in her mind no hope.”

“But…I told her I would marry her!”

“And if she had, that festering wound would still be there. Smaller, less noticeable perhaps, but there. Always making her uncertain, always with the risk of resentment. It very likely would have poisoned things between you in time. She knew that.” She clucked her tongue and patted his cheek again before letting go. “And so do you, or you wouldn’t have let her go.”

Vilkas said in a pained whisper, “I knew this would happen someday. I knew I would ruin everything and end up alone. I always saw Farkas with a family and me in Kodlak’s chair, alone.” Yes, he supposed he had let Bryn go. He should have fought harder to change her mind, and instead had let her go and had gone to his quarters to feel sorry for himself, like a child.

“Pshaw,” Tilma said in rejection, waving him off as she turned away. “You’ll only be as alone as you want to be.”

As the elderly woman shuffled out of the room Vilkas picked up the Amulet of Mara and took it to the chest that contained Kodlak’s armor, wanting the thing out of his sight. The chest was locked, and he grumbled and began looking for the key, wondering if Bryn still had it, not that she needed a key to anything with her ability to pick nearly any lock. It was something that he had always found charming, if a bit disreputable. Maybe it was charming because it was so disreputable. He had never had cause to question her ethics though. No one had. He had to give her that.

He opened the drawer of the side table and saw several keys there on a ring, sitting on top of an old leather-bound journal. He nibbled indecisively at his bottom lip for nearly a minute before picking up the keys and the journal, which was obviously Kodlak’s. Bryn must have replaced it at some point in the last few months, along with the keys which unlocked the chest and who knew what else; probably the locked cases in the sitting room, and the portion of the Companions’ archives in the basement which were reserved for the Harbinger alone.

Vilkas sat down on the bed and began to read, his heart aching with loss. How he missed the old man, missed his steady nature and his guidance. Now Vilkas was the one who was supposed to guide. He’d had little cause to do so, so far, but the others had given him space this last week, well aware that Bryn was gone and why. Even Farkas had left him alone for the most part, other than giving him a shoulder to cry on when it first happened, and someone to rage at since then. Vilkas had been alternately angry and grieving all week, and now he was just grieving. Of course Bryn had every right to leave him; she’d had every reason to believe that he would never marry her if left to his own devices, and she wasn’t about to accept marriage when he was doing it under threat. She had stayed calm and made the right choice, just like she always did. And here was Kodlak’s entry, saying _Only Brynhilde stands as a true warrior who can keep a still mind amidst these burning hearts._ Bryn had always stayed rational, no matter how much she was hurting inside, and made the decisions that needed to be made, for the good of everyone. Bryn never panicked under pressure, even in battle. Especially in battle. Bryn had been the cool, dependable Harbinger when the Companions needed it, and everyone had been deeply relieved by Kodlak’s choice, but Vilkas had to admit that no one had blinked an eye when he had been declared Harbinger. He had been too angry and upset at the time to care, but he was starting to now.

He read the journal through to the end then closed it and put it back in the drawer, for now, until he could put it in the archives. Clearly they needed work if it had been so hard for Kodlak to find the information he needed in them. Putting them in order, creating some kind of index for them, would be a good way to fill his time alone, now that he had plenty of it. He might even start keeping journals of his own, to document the things he had seen and witnessed so far during his time in the Companions, and everything that would happen from here on out. If nothing else, they would be good for a laugh when he was old like Vignar.

Vilkas opened the chest and went to throw the amulet in when he realized Kodlak’s wolf armor was gone. Bryn had asked him several times if he was going to follow the old man’s wishes and let Eorlund melt it down. It seemed she had gotten tired of waiting for him to do it. She had gotten tired of waiting on him in general. He knelt in front of the chest, feeling anguish bubble up inside him, and he closed his eyes and willed himself not to start weeping. He had taken Bryn’s love for granted and had treated her as a convenience. He always felt sad when she left Whiterun but had always been secure in the knowledge that she would come back, that she didn’t want anyone but him. It should have been a sign to him that he had felt the temptation to propose to her after that solid month living together after she had become Harbinger. Living with her had been so comforting, and with the beastblood gone he hadn’t felt the urge to pick fights with her, and so they had gotten along beautifully. He should have followed his gut and asked her then. Everything could have been different. She might still have died in Sovngarde, but she would have done so knowing she was loved unconditionally.

Sighing heavily with a deep ache in his chest, he laid the Amulet of Mara in the chest next to the ebony armor. He stared at the softly glistening material, coveting it, then he let out a wry laugh. It was his; he could wear it if he wanted, if he felt worthy. He certainly did not. He still wore the wolf armor, like a fool clinging to a past that he didn’t even miss. Even Aela looked at him in confusion sometimes, as if she couldn’t fathom why he had rid himself of the Blood but still wore its badge. At this point it was simply because he didn’t know what else to wear. Maybe he could just have Eorlund or Farkas remove the wolf head from the belt and breastplate. In fact maybe he would do that tonight, before dinner, while the two men were still at the forge. It seemed an easy fix, though he knew next to nothing about smithing.

As he reached for the lid he saw the glint of gold on his wrist, and he resisted the urge to take off the hammered gold bracelet he had worn for most of the last year and put it in the chest as well. He nearly had the day she left, had nearly yanked it off and thrown it in the privy, but he couldn’t bear to do it. He had nearly taken it off at least once a day since, though the drive was less each time. He had promised her that he would never take it off as long as he lived. He had to be good to his word, and he had gotten attached to it. It was certainly beautiful. Beautiful and golden, like Bryn.

Vilkas closed the chest and locked it, slipping the keys into his belt pouch as he stood. He would move his things in here when Farkas returned and ask his brother’s help in making the room his own. He had no idea how long it would take for it to feel that way, but he had to start somewhere. He didn’t think he would set foot in his old room ever again, not until it was time to bestow it upon a new Circle member, maybe that lively new lad Erik, years down the road. The young man was impossible not to like, eager to please, and seemed to have potential. He had that intangible something that the other four junior members lacked; Bryn had seen it in him too. But then Bryn’s vision had always been clear.  
-  
 _“Dovahkiin…”_

Bryn opened her eyes, feeling a sickening rush of nerves as the Greybeards summoned her to the gathering room in a rumble of thunder. She had stowed herself away in the monks’ private quarters on the opposite side of High Hrothgar, to avoid witnessing and getting drawn into any disputes as the attendees arrived. She had heard bickering a moment ago and the sound of Delphine’s voice, and it had alternately amused and angered her. So the Blades had somehow found out about the meeting and decided to attend. She wondered if they were trying to pin down their wayward, neglectful Dragonborn. If so they were in for a rather big disappointment. Bryn hadn’t been back to Sky Haven Temple since opening it to them, and she had no reason to ever go back.

She rose to her feet and pulled on the dragon priest mask Morokei. She was good at schooling her expressions, but not good enough for a gathering like this. She also hoped that the sight of a cold, blank moonstone mask staring back would impress on all of them her neutrality, and her position. She felt naked without her weapons, which the Greybeards had forbidden to even her, but she wouldn’t need them. No one present was a match for her _thu’um_ , not even the Greybeards themselves. She reminded herself of that as she walked to the meeting room, feeling cold determination settle over her. She was Dragonborn, Dovahkiin, and they had better not forget it. It was a good thing she had left Lydia down in Ivarstead, or the housecarl would make sure they didn’t forget either, probably in a rather unproductive way.

As she entered the room Arngeir said respectfully, “We all wait upon you, Dragonborn.” Bryn nodded and went to her seat. The elder was unsettled by the sight of the dragon priest mask, but it didn’t violate the terms he had set her. He looked around the table and directed, “Now that everyone is here, please take your seats so we can begin.” As he began to sit he said, “I hope that we have all come here in the spirit of—“

“No!” Ulfric said angrily, his voice ringing through the hall. He pointed at Elenwen. “You insult us, Tullius, insult me, by bringing _that_ to this negotiation? Your chief Talos-hunter?” Torturer. Sadist. The sight of the Altmer woman was driving him mad, no matter how many years it had been, which was no doubt the bitch’s intent. Only knowing that it was her intent kept him from losing control. She wanted him to. Wanted him to act like an animal, a beast. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction. Not this time. He wasn't a boy any longer.

“Hear, hear!” Galmar called.

“That didn’t take long,” Rikke muttered as everyone but the two Stormcloaks sat. Of course it was Ulfric who had started it, though she had to admit that it was a bit much to expect for him to calmly accept the presence of someone who had tortured him.

Elenwen lifted her chin and said in her reedy voice, “I have every right to be at this negotiation. I need to ensure that nothing is agreed to here that violates the terms of the White-Gold Concordat.”

Tullius said to Ulfric, “She’s part of the Imperial delegation. You can’t dictate who I bring to this council.” Granted, she had invited herself, against his wishes. He had known that her presence was guaranteed to inflame Ulfric. He had told the Thalmor so, and she had smugly said that was Ulfric’s problem. It had been incredibly frustrating, knowing that she didn’t want the truce to succeed, and that if it did she would do everything in her power to immediately start sabotaging it.

“Please!” Arngeir said in exasperation. “If we have to negotiate the terms of the negotiation, we will never get anywhere.” He looked at Bryn and suggested, “Perhaps this would be a good time to get the Dragonborn’s input on this matter.”

Everyone looked at Bryn, and she wrinkled her nose under the mask, already angry. This was not an auspicious start at all. She looked to the Imperial side and they waited patiently. Elenwen stared at Bryn with a feral expression, daring her to kick her out, and it made her blood boil.

“By Ysmir’s beard, the nerve of those Imperial bastards, eh?” Ulfric said to her in offense. “To think that I would sit down at the same table with that…that Thalmor bitch. Either she walks or I do.”

Bryn grit her teeth, put on the spot, but then that was her job here. This was her trial by fire, to see if she had what it took to make peace. For the first time, seeing the tensions here, she felt the beginnings of a tired resignation that she just might have to become High Queen to bring a lasting peace to Skyrim. She turned her gaze to the Imperial delegation, glad for the impenetrable façade of the mask. Rikke was staring at Ulfric with a look of mixed irritation and worry, while Tullius was staring at the Dragonborn with an unreadable expression, giving her nothing. The fact that he was giving her nothing told her everything she needed to know. Tullius didn’t want Elenwen here any more than anyone else did.

She turned to Elenwen and said, “You’re right, Jarl Ulfric. The Thalmor have no business here. This has nothing at all to do with them.”

“I’m glad we agree on this,” Ulfric stated, unable to help letting his relief show in his voice. He would have been unable to concentrate on the matter at hand with that creature staring across the table at him, undoubtedly reliving all the sickness she had perpetrated on him. Only the decades between then and now were keeping him from going after her and strangling the life out of her. That and the sacredness of High Hrothgar. It hurt to be here, where he had spent so many peaceful years as a boy. It made him wish all over again that he had never left, but he wasn’t about to give Arngeir the satisfaction of knowing that. Once the negotiations were over he was leaving this place as quickly as possible, to avoid any possible lectures.

“On this,” Bryn warned him.

“Of course, Dragonborn.”

Elenwen sneered, “Very well, Ulfric. Enjoy your petty victory.” As she stood she continued, “The Thalmor will treat with whatever government rules Skyrim. We would not think of interfering in your civil war.” She turned her eyes on Bryn. “And you, daughter of Ennescar,” she said in contemptuous Altmeris. “How very far you have fallen, associating with such rabble. Such…savages. And when you had such a noble upbringing, too. What would your poor aunt think? Your long-suffering grandmother?”

“I was expecting this eventually,” Bryn stated coldly in kind.

“I see you haven’t forgotten your mother tongue. Good.”

She leaned back in the stone chair and tapped her fingers on the arms, saying, “My mother was Nord, and Nord is what I’ve decided I will be.”

Not understanding a word of what they were saying, Arngeir stated, “Please Dragonborn, we must continue.”

“Yes, please continue,” Elenwen went on in Altmeris. “But be careful, Brynni. So much rides on your decisions here today. So many lives. Maybe even Altmer lives.”

“So predictable,” Bryn murmured. “I’m amazed it took you so long to pull that card out of your sleeve.” She had prepared herself for the possibility for so long, and yet hearing the threat still made her heart twist in her throat. “Well then, in the interest of complete honesty…”

“Oh yes, I like honesty,” she said sarcastically, still smiling.

“They’re probably dead either way, and I hadn’t planned on ever seeing them again regardless. If I were you Elenwen…you had better hope I don’t survive Sovngarde. In fact if I were you I would start running now. You just might make it to the border before I find you.” Elenwen’s eyes widened furiously as Ulfric barked out a laugh, and when she looked at Tullius he was staring at the fire with the same unreadable expression of cool neutrality, as if like most here he hadn’t understood a word. Bryn knew damn well the man had to understand Altmeris. He would be a fool if he had never learned it. If he hadn’t understood the entire conversation he would be watching it more closely, as confused as Jarl Balgruuf and the others were, and instead he was acting as if this wasn’t even happening. The Elven woman’s eyes flicked to Tullius and he gave her nothing, lifting the mug in front of him to take a drink of water, his eyes still on the fire. Elenwen drew herself up and turned and left the room, her nose in the air.

“Ha!” Galmar said in satisfaction. “Skyrim will never bow to the Thalmor!” He looked at Tullius and Rikke. “Unlike her Imperial friends here.”

“Enough,” Bryn stated, switching tongues. “She is gone, that’s all that matters.”

“Their bringing her here was a direct prov—“

_“I said enough.”_ Galmar stiffened as Bryn’s voice thundered through the hall without yelling. It was surprisingly easy to do, instinctual, something she hadn’t tried before, and very effective. Delphine was staring at her with greedy eyes and it aggravated her. Arngeir was watching her with a troubled expression, then he seemed to sigh as he nodded.

The Greybeard said, “Now that that’s settled, may we proceed?”

The next half an hour made Bryn’s blood boil, and it took all her willpower to keep her temper in check. Esbern’s interruption was the only thing that saved the conference, which she couldn’t help being grateful for. She was even less unhappy with the agreed upon terms than the parties to it. She liked Jarl Igmund of Markarth a great deal and hated the idea of the Silver-Bloods getting any more power than they already had, and Riften…if she had known Maven would become Jarl there she never would have gone along with it falling into Imperial hands. It would certainly make assassinating her one day a bit stickier. She couldn’t be sorry about leadership of Falkreath going back to Dengeir, slightly doddering as she thought he was, but he was a good sight better than his corrupt nephew Siddgeir. This entire process had been extremely aggravating, and disappointing. It had certainly exposed the depths of the bitterness between the two sides, and had brought home to her why neither could ever be allowed to win.

Tullius said to Arngeir, “The Empire can live with these terms, yes. For a _temporary_ truce, until the dragon menace is dealt with.” He then looked across the table and said gravely, “After that, Ulfric… there will be a reckoning. Count on it.” He saw Bryn shaking her head, and he asked, “Is there a problem, Dragonborn?”

Bryn stated, “I’m tempted to leave Tamriel like the Nerevarine did, and to hell with you all. Let Alduin feast on your greedy, petty little souls.”

“Dragonborn!” Esbern gasped.

She stood as she pulled off the mask and said angrily, “I’m not going to save this world only for you people to continue tearing it apart!”

Tullius said, “This truce was never meant to be more than temporary, Dragonborn.”

“This truce will last as long as you want it to.” She leaned her hands on the table and looked around it. “If I come back from Sovngarde and find _anyone_ at this table not holding to the terms of this truce, there will be the worst kind of hell to pay.”

Ulfric stated, “The sons of Skryim will live up to their agreements, as long as the Imperials hold to theirs. We will hold the truce as long as they do.” It went against everything he believed to say those words, and it was a risk. A terrible risk. It would be giving the Imperials the chance to strike first. Only having the Dragonborn involved was making him chance this. He didn’t doubt one bit that she would be true to her word and punish anyone who violated the truce. He wasn’t about to put her in the position of having to kill him. He couldn’t imagine what that would do to her, and he could tell that she was deadly serious about her threat. He could practically feel the anger radiating off her.

“The first side to break the truce will have _me_ to deal with,” Bryn threatened.

Ulfric stood and bowed slightly to her, a wry smile on his face. “It will not be the Stormcloaks, Dragonborn, I assure you. Nords understand honor, something that you will discover the Imperials do not.” He turned and strode out of the room, his housecarl behind him. “Come on, Galmar. We have a lot of work to do.”

Once he was gone, Balgruuf said with misgiving, “Giving up Markarth was a heavy price for this truce, Dragonborn. I hope it was worth it.”

“None of us are happy with the terms, my Jarl, least of all me.” She looked at Tullius and said, “General, if I had known Maven was taking over The Rift I never would have given it to you.”

“Jarl Black-Briar is a loyal Imperial citizen,” Elisif said in offense. Bryn’s eyes slowly slid over to her, and she swallowed and sat up straight in her chair, feeling a shiver of fear at the look in those golden eyes that had always been so kind and respectful before today.

“Maven is a criminal, and I’m sorry Jarl Elisif, but I don’t recall directing my comment to you.”

She lifted her chin and said in a barely steady voice, “You are my thane, and I will one day be High Queen of Skyrim—“

“No, you will not.” The girl gasped as her cheeks flushed, and Tullius’ expression finally turned to one of real anger. “I’m going to tell you what I told Ulfric: neither of you will rule Skyrim as long as I live. I will not allow this country—“

“It is an Imperial province,” Tullius corrected sharply, “not a country.”

“I don’t care!” she barked. “I will not allow either side to keep wasting our resources on this pointless war. The civil war ends today, and whichever side moves first to break the truce will have its leader removed. By me.”

Elisif sputtered, “I…surely…that’s murder! You would murder me like that beast did my poor husband?”

Bryn laughed shortly. “You are not the leader I was talking about, Elisif. You are not _a_ leader. Until you stop looking to Tullius for answers and affirmation every five seconds, you never will be. Be content to be Jarl of Haafingar and nothing more.” She choked out a sound of disbelief, and to his credit Tullius didn’t waste his time arguing the point, or flinch at her threat to his life. “I am going to tell you this only once, Jarl Elisif. Ulfric did not murder your husband. He did not Shout him apart. There is no Shout that can do that, and as you can imagine I would be the one person here who would know that. He challenged Torygg to single combat, and the High King accepted. He didn’t have to accept. He would have been within his rights to refuse, and he did not. Ulfric swears to me on his honor that he only Shouted him to the ground, and that is all he used the _thu’um_ for.” She nearly asked Arngeir to back her up on that, but she wasn’t about to involve the Greybeards any more than she needed to.

“It was an unfair fight,” she said tremulously.

“Elisif,” Tullius said quietly as the Dragonborn snorted a derisive laugh and shook her head. The young Jarl was only making herself look bad. Weak. Childish. She fell silent, near tears. It got to him every time, a weakness of his own, but he wasn’t about to show it. He saw Bryn looking between the two of them, her eyes intent, studying, and when her eyes finally settled on Tullius she gave him a slight, knowing smile that sent a cold shiver down his spine, as if she could see every thought in his head. She couldn’t, he was sure of that, but it was unsettling. “All right, Dragonborn,” he stated in a firm voice. “We’ll play things your way, for a while. I swear to you that we will not break the truce. You will see that Ulfric cannot be trusted or hold to his word.”

“When has he ever not held to his word?”

“When he took up arms against the Empire and Emperor he swore to serve.”

“Shouldn’t that vow work both ways? You spend a year being tortured by Thalmor sadists and watch the Emperor capitulate to them after all you’ve been through and see how strong your loyalty stays.” She turned her gaze on Elisif and added, “Those who have always had the luxury of staying safe and well-fed inside high walls and keeping their pretty hands clean and tidy should not be so quick to judge others.”

Elisif hissed, “I revoke your status as thane. I hereby confiscate Proudspire Manor and the services of its housecarl.” Bryn sighed and shook her head but didn’t seem particularly concerned.

“Elisif,” Tullius warned again.

“I won’t be spoken to in such a way! How dare she!” Bryn picked up her mask and left the table, effectively dismissing Elisif, and she cried, “You get back here! I’m not done with you!”

“This is not Haafingar, Jarl Elisif,” Bryn said without stopping. “It’s a shame. I liked you. I might again someday if you grow up.” She stopped behind Balgruuf’s chair and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m ready to catch a dragon, my Jarl.”

“Aye, my friend,” he said with a sigh. “I suppose you are.” The display had been impressive, and had not left him favoring the Imperials. It troubled him that Ulfric had been determined to hold to peace while Tullius had threatened to break the truce the moment Alduin was defeated. He also hadn’t imagined Elisif being so…weak. There was no way Skyrim would hold together with a pretty puppet on the throne. He was glad that Bryn had forced Tullius to promise to hold to the truce as long as Ulfric did. Balgruuf viewed things much as Bryn did, favoring neither side, seeing both sides’ strengths and failings.

Arngeir asked him, “Jarl Balgruuf, I assume you are familiar with the Dragonborn’s plan?”

He nodded. “Yes, I’m ready to do my part.” He looked up at Bryn and gave her a brief smile. “Just say the word, and my men will help you spring the trap.”

“But the difficulty remains: how to lure a dragon to Dragonsreach at all?”

Tullius said with dry sarcasm to Bryn, “Well that’s an excellent question. You haven’t overlooked that little detail, have you?”

Before she could answer Esbern spoke up, saying, “Ah, I believe I can be of help here. I anticipated the problem. While you were arranging this meeting, I was busy in the library of Sky Haven Temple. An unguessed trove of lost lore…but the important thing is that the Blades recorded many of the names of the dragons they slew. Cross-referencing this with Delphine’s map of dragon burial sites, I believe I’ve identified one of the dragons that Alduin has raised up.”

“How does that help us?” Bryn asked.

“Ah, don’t you see? The names of dragons are usually three Words of Power…Shouts. As is yours, Dovahkiin: Dov-Ah-Kiin. ‘Dragon Hunter Born’. By calling a dragon’s name with the Voice, he will hear you wherever he might be.”

“But why would he come when called? What would be in it for him?”

“He’s not compelled to come, but dragons are prideful by nature and loath to refuse a challenge. Your Voice in particular is likely to intrigue this dragon, especially after your victory over Alduin. I think it very likely that he will be unable to resist investigating your call.”

Bryn nodded. “All right then. What is this dragon’s name?”

“Ah, indeed. I am no Master of the Voice like these worthy gentlemen,” he said with nods to the Greybeards standing about the room, “but it is written here in this scroll.” He pulled out a rolled sheaf of paper. “Od-Ah-Viing. ‘Winged Snow Hunter’, as I read it, or perhaps 'Snow-Winged Hunter'. Go to Dragonsreach and call Odahviing’s name there, and I assure you he will appear.”

Balgruuf stood and turned to face Bryn, the others rising from the table as well. He put his hands on her shoulders and said with a grin, “Ah, exciting times, my friend! Let’s go catch us a dragon, eh?”

“Let’s,” she said with an answering grin of her own. The Jarl’s blue eyes were gleaming, though there was a hint of fear there as well. Any sane man would be apprehensive about this. He gave her shoulders a squeeze then left to get the trap prepared. She felt another strong hand on her shoulder and saw Legate Rikke there.

“I hope this truce gives you what you need, Dragonborn,” the older woman said quietly. “It won’t last. It can’t.”

“It will, because if it doesn’t the Thalmor will end up enslaving us all,” Bryn replied just as softly. She had no idea where Elenwen was; for all she knew the woman was just outside the room in the hall, though if she had been there would have undoubtedly been a ruckus out there when Ulfric left. “Do you know what that witch said to me? She threatened my family. Right here in front of everyone.”

“I never learned Altmeris, but I’m pretty sure that at the end you threatened her right back.” She was also sure that Tullius had understood every word. She wasn’t sure if Elenwen knew that, since Rikke herself had only gathered as much from his complete lack of reaction.

“She will die by my hand,” Bryn promised. Rikke grimaced, and she added, “Let’s all be glad that I’m not sadistic by nature, or I would truss her up and deliver her alive to Ulfric. I’ll be doing her a favor by killing her myself.”

“I ah, reckon so,” she said uncomfortably. She smiled at Bryn and held out her hand, and when Bryn smiled and took it she said, “I wish you luck, Dragonborn. We’re all counting on you.”

“As always,” she replied, and when Rikke frowned she let go of her hand and said, “I’m still going to get that audience with the Emperor. Even if I have to fly a dragon to the Imperial City and land on top of White-Gold Tower to get it.”

Rikke whispered, “By Talos, you probably will.” Tullius motioned for her to follow him out, and she left. She would let the Dragonborn do her duty and keep her own counsel, but once the girl came back Rikke was going to have to start working on Tullius in earnest. The Legate had never been fond of Elisif, seeing the same childish fragility and insecurity Bryn did. She would never have the makings of a High Queen, and her allowing Tullius and her steward Falk to make so many decisions for her would make most Nords not respect her, and the half of the country that sided with Ulfric would never fully accept her. The Dragonborn though… well, it was an exciting thought. Rikke’s pride in being Nord was equal to her pride in being part of the Legion, and she didn’t want the country torn apart any more than Bryn did.

Bryn soon found herself alone in the room with the Blades, and she waited, seeing that they clearly had something they wanted to get off their chests. She still wasn’t sure how they had found out about the conference, but in the end it didn’t matter. She said to Esbern, “For what it’s worth, thank you for your help, Loremaster. It will make all the difference, I think.”

“It is my pleasure to serve you, Dragonborn,” he replied with a bow.

Delphine said in a wary tone, “Yes, it is. However, there is one more thing.”

“Oh, of course,” Bryn said with mock interest as she folded her arms. “There always is. Tell me, please.”

“We know about Paarthurnax.” The Dragonborn’s expression didn’t change.

“You know…what?”

“That he is a dragon, and the Greybeards have been protecting him all these years.” Bryn continued staring at her, saying nothing, though her expression had gotten a bit stonier. “He needs to die. He deserves to die. And it falls to you to kill him.” Bryn laughed at that, her golden eyes looking a bit wild. Delphine shook her head in warning and said, “Until he’s dead…well, I’m sorry, but we would dishonor our oaths as Blades if we continued to help you.”

“I consider us even after today. I’ve helped you every bit as much as you helped me, if not more so.”

Her voice hardened as she said, “Make your choice, Dragonborn. You’re either with us or against us.”

“Why don’t you explain to me just why he needs to die? What has he done?”

“Here’s the big picture—“

“Oh yes, and I’ve been constantly missing that, haven’t I!” Bryn said in offense.

“He helped Alduin enslave our ancestors! He may have betrayed Alduin in the end, but that makes him worse, not better. We can’t afford to give Paarthurnax the opportunity to betray us in turn and return to his old master.”

Esbern added with regret, “Justice demands he die for his crimes. Until he is dead, I’m afraid my oath as a Blade prevents me from offering you any aid and comfort.” Bryn’s eyes narrowed. “Justice can be harsh, but it is still justice. Paarthurnax deserves to die.”

“And I say he doesn’t,” Bryn said in a dangerous tone.

“If you do not do this, Dragonborn, Sky Haven Temple will close itself to you.”

“And I spend so much time there, don’t I.” The two Blades glanced at each other, and she said angrily, “You Blades are really something. You claim to serve and protect the Dragonborn, and yet over and over again you _demand_ things from me. I do not belong to you and your order. Am I some tame dragon at your beck and call? Think on that, that I have a dragon’s soul. Will you seek to kill _me_ when I cease being useful to you?”

“Of course not,” Delphine said in a careful tone.

“I’m warning you, if you move against me or Paarthurnax, I will kill you. I will lay out your bodies in front of Alduin’s Wall, and Sky Haven Temple will serve as your tomb. The Blades will die out forever and all your knowledge will be lost, as if it had never been.” She turned on her heel and said, “Don’t approach me ever again. Go back to your secret hideout and wither away there for all I care.” She heard Delphine whispering to Esbern as she left, and that was fine. The Blades had outlived their purpose, and their demand that she kill Paarthurnax was the last straw. Perhaps someday they might be able to rebuild their order, but it was unlikely at this point, Esbern elderly and Delphine not a young woman, and now that the Thalmor knew they were still alive they would no doubt start hunting them again, or would if they had the time and the resources. They would soon cease to.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to take a moment here to thank the dedicated folks at www.thuum.org for their tireless efforts to round out the dragon tongue. I will be using it a great deal more often from here on out and they made that task worlds easier!

“Harbinger, they’re doing it!”

Vilkas frowned in confusion and looked up from his writing at the desk to see Erik standing before him, the redhead breathless. “Who is doing what?”

“The Jarl and the Dragonborn! They’re back from High Hrothgar and they’re going to trap a dragon, today! The guards say there’s a truce between Tullius and Ulfric! The Dragonborn made peace, can you believe it!” Vilkas nodded and looked back down to his journal. Erik said in confusion, “Sir, aren’t you going to go up there?”

“Why should I?”

“You’re the Harbinger, that’s why! They’re going to trap a dragon, don’t you want to see it? Witness it? The first dragon to be caught in Dragonsreach since the days of Olaf One-Eye!” The jingle of heavy armor behind him made him turn around, and he saw Farkas running towards them. Erik said in excitement, “I can’t believe this! Trapping a real live dragon!”

“Yep,” Farkas said. “Give us a minute, huh?” The youngster nodded and ran off. Farkas said to Vilkas, “I’m going up there, and you’re going with me.”

“Forget it,” Vilkas muttered. “You think I want to see that?”

“No, but you should.” His twin rubbed his eyes, and Farkas said intently, “Damn you if you don’t go. You don’t have to say anything to her, but at least be there.” Vilkas shook his head, and Farkas growled in frustration and left at a run. He didn’t have the time to convince his brother, and Vilkas would only have himself to blame later for the missed opportunity. He jogged the entire way to Dragonsreach, passing crowds of Whiterun citizens who were talking fearfully about the summoning of a dragon, and the guards were trying unsuccessfully to get everyone to go to their houses and stay there. They let him pass, and when he reached the front door of the palace his wife was there, waiting for him.

She gave him a brief kiss and said, “He wouldn’t come?”

“No, screw him,” Farkas said in a resentful voice. “Bryn doesn’t need to know I even asked.” She nodded in agreement and they went inside, where Proventus Avenicci was herding the Jarl’s children through the kitchen to the downstairs. The couple ran through the palace up to the Great Porch, where Bryn stood with Jarl Balgruuf and Irileth. Guards stood ready along both sides of the porch, both above and below, next to the mechanisms for dropping the gigantic yoke that hung above.

The Jarl rubbed his hands together, a wild grin on this face. “As promised, my men stand ready, Dragonborn,” he said. “The great chains are oiled and we wait on your word.”

“I’m ready,” Bryn stated with a grin of her own. “Let’s trap a dragon.”

“I’m putting my city in your hands, Dragonborn,” he reminded her.

“I haven’t let a city fall to a dragon yet, my Jarl.” She put her hand on his shoulder, ignoring Irileth’s narrowed red eyes. “Ready to make history?”

“Aye, my friend! The bards will sing songs of this day a thousand years from now.” He was nervous as hell, but this was a day he would cherish the rest of his life…as long as the dragon didn’t burn down his mostly timber palace.

“All right then, let’s do this.” She glanced behind her to see if Lydia had caught up yet, and her expression brightened when she saw Farkas. He smiled at her and moved forward to catch her up in a hug, and when he let go she put her hands on either side of his face and gave him a quick kiss. She saw the sword on his back and said with delight, “Going to help me catch a dragon, eh big bear?”

“Ready when you are, little bird,” he answered. “What do you want us to do?”

She pointed to the end of the Porch, saying, “I’ll go out there and call Odahviing, and when he comes to investigate I’ll ground him with the Dragonrend Shout. I need to draw him in here, under the yoke. I don’t want to kill him, or even wound him all that seriously, but he needs to stay away from the walls. He could bring the palace down.”

“Got it. I’ll take the left side, Lydia takes the right.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Shield-Brother.” There was no one else whose presence here would make her happier.

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else, Shield-Sister.”

Bryn smiled at him and gave his cheek another pat as Balgruuf walked down the length of the porch, readying his men. Irileth followed at her Jarl’s heels, her weapon already drawn. Bryn wasn’t sure if Balgruuf had ever become truly attracted to his housecarl or not; she couldn’t tell if anything had changed, and she wasn’t about to ask. She had talked to him quite a bit on the way back, but Irileth had been there, watching them intently the entire time, but not any more intently than before. She was relieved at least that the problems with his youngest son Nelkir had vastly improved; a trio of Vigilants of Stendarr had arrived not quite a month ago and had re-consecrated the door, making the whispers go quiet, and Balgruuf had the door to that section of hall walled up and made impassible. Nelkir was still a bit sulky but was talking to his father now and interacting more positively with his siblings.

Farkas and Lydia moved to the sides of the porch as Bryn walked out to join Balgruuf, who nodded to Bryn and blew out a long breath then said, “All right, go ahead and call this dragon of yours. We’re ready.”

She moved to the parapet at the end of the porch and looked out over the plains. She took a deep breath then shouted, _“OD AH VIING!”_ The sound rang off the surrounding mountains like the peal of a bell, sending echoes in all directions.

“Amazing,” breathed Balgruuf. He had never witnessed his friend Shout before. It didn’t seem possible that a human body could generate that level of noise and force. Ten or fifteen seconds went by as they waited, and he asked, “How long do you reckon this will—“ A distant roar sounded, and soon after they heard the flapping of massive wings.

“Mighty Akatosh, here he comes!” cried a guard. The dragon appeared out of nowhere, flying low over the Great Porch as if sizing up the mortals below. It took a pass over the porch, and the scream of another guard was heard as the beast snapped up one of them and flew high then threw him out over the plains. There would be no saving him, the fall lethal.

Balgruuf shouted to his men, “Steady, steady now! Keep under cover until it’s down!”

The dragon circled around the palace then reached the porch again and began to hover, and as it drew breath Bryn Shouted, _“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”_ The dragon screamed and wheeled away, the force of its wings buffeting those below.

A guard yelled at Bryn, “We may not be trying to kill him, but he sure seems to be trying to kill us!”

“Not yet he isn’t,” she replied, keeping her eyes on the sky. “He isn’t really trying at all.”

“Yeah, right-- Ah shit!”

The dragon crashed to the ground, barely able to hold his descent, and growled, “Dovahkiin, here I am!” He was going to kill the impudent _joor_ for calling him here and using such base trickery on him. He Shouted fire and the little creatures scattered. “I am mighty Odahviing!” he shouted. _"Zu'u los zokmul!"_

“Fall back!” Balgruuf cried to his men, alarmed by the hail of arrows they were sending at the beast. “We need to trap it, not kill it!” They fell back to the shelter of the walls. “That’s it! Now, wait until he’s well inside!”

Bryn ran down the length of the porch, feeling fire roll over her, and she turned and Shouted again. _“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”_ Enraged, Odahviing came after her, and she resisted the urge to glance up at the yoke, trusting that the Jarl’s men were ready. It took all her willpower not to try to kill the dragon, instinct telling her to do it, to take its soul. The dragon crawled down the Porch, and Lydia and Farkas stayed out of the way, as did the guards.

The dragon roared, “I will kill you, Dovahkiin! I, Odahviing, will finally be the one to feast on your flesh!”

Bryn said nothing, keeping her eyes on the dragon, and when it opened its mouth to breathe fire again she Shouted, _“FUS!”_ It shook its head in fury and came after her even faster, and when it passed beneath the yoke the Jarl yelled to his men and it came down over the beast’s neck, snapping shut securely. She let out a sigh of relief but didn’t relax; it could still Shout and do plenty of damage.

“Yes!” Balgruuf cried, his fists in the air. “By Talos, we did it!”

_“Nid!”_ Odahviing wailed in dismay.

“Is it holding?” the Jarl shouted.

“Aye my lord, I think so!” a guard answered.

Bryn walked up to the dragon’s face and stopped about ten feet away. Close enough. She couldn’t help admiring it, a deep red with bluish-white wings. Gorgeous. “Odahviing,” she said in greeting, letting thunder roll through her voice, and the dragon stretched its neck and moaned.

_“Horvutah med kodaav,”_ he groaned in humiliation. “Caught like a bear in a trap!” The Dragonborn moved closer, within biting distance, daring him, and he resisted the urge to snap, to tear her in half. He would die here regardless, but he couldn’t help being curious about why she had done this to him instead of killing him and devouring his soul, as she had done to his brothers. “ _Zok frini grind ko grah drun viiki_ , Dovahkiin. Ah, I forget, you do not have the dovah speech, do you?”

“Not quite yet, but I’m getting there,” she replied. She kept the touch of the _thu’um_ in her voice, and would keep it there as long as she was dealing with the creature. She had actually understood most of what he had said. Every time she was exposed to the dragon tongue more of it stuck with her.

“My eagerness to meet you in battle was my undoing, Dovahkiin. I salute your, hmm…low cunning in devising such a _grahmindol_ , stratagem. So, _zu’u los bonaar_. You went to a great deal of trouble to put me in this…humiliating position. _Hind siiv_ Alduin, hmm? No doubt you want to know where to find him?”

“Straight to the point. I like that. Where is he hiding?”

The dragon chuckled. “ _Rinik vazah._ An apt phrase. Alduin _bovul_. One reason I came to your call was to test your _thu’um_ for myself.” He paused then said in disquiet, “Many of us have begun to question Alduin’s lordship, whether his _thu’um_ was truly the strongest. Only among ourselves, of course. _Mu los ni meyye_. None were yet ready to openly defy him.”

“That’s good to hear. So where can I find him?” she pressed.

Odahviing bowed his head. “ _Unslaad krosis_ , Dovahkiin. Innumerable pardons. I digress. He has traveled to Sovngarde to regain his strength, devouring the _sillesejoor_ , the souls of the mortal dead. A privilege he jealously guards.”

“Shor’s bones, it’s true,” Balgruuf said in horror. He had hoped it wouldn’t be the case, that there would be some other way. Bryn seemed completely unfazed, as if she had never doubted it. Doom-driven indeed.

“His door to Sovngarde is at Skuldafn,” the dragon stated, “one of his ancient fanes high in the eastern mountains. _Mindoraan, pah ok middovahhe lahvraan til_. I surely do not need to warn you that all his remaining strength is marshaled there.” The Dragonborn didn’t answer, staring at him fearlessly. It was admirable, as was her Voice. She thundered like a _dovah_ even when she wasn’t Shouting. He tilted his head and said to her in an agreeable voice, “ _Zu’u lost ofan hin laan_ …now that I have answered your question, you will allow me to go free, yes?”

“You haven’t told me how to get to Skuldafn. A minor detail.”

“Ah yes… _krosis_. There is one…hm, small detail about Skuldafn that I neglected to mention. You have the _thu’um_ of a _dovah_ , but without the wings of one, you will never set foot in Skuldafn. It is accessible only by air. Of course…I could fly you there, Dovahkiin. But not while imprisoned like this.”

Bryn laughed, the sound echoing off the stone walls. “Fly me there. Do you expect me to take your word for that?”

“ _Hi ahraan_ ,” Odahviing said in pained offense. “You wound me, Dovahkiin. I may not tell the whole truth, but I am no liar.”

“Hm. Let me think about it.”

“Do not think too long, Dovahkiin. This is not a…comfortable position.”

“I will take as long as I need, _horvutah dovah_ ,” she stated forcefully, letting the sound roll around him. “I am _kroniid_ , I am _strundu’ul!_ I decide how long it takes!”

“Yes, Dovahkiin,” he mumbled, bowing his head to the stone floor. “I am your _bonaar aar_ , your most humble servant.”

“You had better be. How long do you think you could survive here, trapped, deprived of the pleasure of flight? I wouldn’t even need to keep you trapped here, in the yoke…if you had no wings.”

“ _Nid_ Dovahkiin!” the dragon moaned miserably. “Surely you could never be so _munax_ , so cruel! I am your _zeymah_ , your brother! _Traas_ , but you do not understand this threat of yours!” Bryn turned away and the dragon keened, closing his eyes. Ah, the humiliation. Any of his kin would have fallen for this trap in their arrogance, but it didn’t make it sting any less.

Bryn paused for only a second, seeing Vilkas standing just inside the doors behind the others, half a head taller than most here, Farkas and Lydia with him. Bryn pulled her eyes away, going to Balgruuf. She had no time for this. Whatever he was here for, he was too late. “What do you think, my Jarl?” she asked.

Balgruuf winced and replied, “How can anyone believe the word of a dragon? What if he dumps you off mid-air? What’s to stop him?”

“My _zahkrii_ , my sword, to his throat. The _dovah_ understand only _mulaag_ , strength. I am strongest.” The Jarl flinched back a bit, as did the others around him, and Bryn suddenly realized she was still speaking with the Voice. She avoided looking at the others, trying to keep her cheeks cool. She cleared her throat and said in as normal a voice as she could muster, “How long do you think the trap can hold him?”

“Please Dovahkiin!” Odahviing cried. “Do not leave me in this—“

“Be quiet!” she thundered, and the dragon shook its head and howled and fell silent, shivering. It was hard not to feel a little sorry for the beast. She was not cruel by nature, no matter that she was _dovah_. She would never cut off a dragon’s wings, maiming it for what could be an eternity. The dragon didn’t need to know that. She turned back to Balgruuf and said, “I can lock my legs around a dragon’s neck and keep it from shaking me off. I’ve done it plenty of times before while killing them. Dragons are nothing if not selfish. He won’t sacrifice himself to take me out. That I am sure of.”

“It sounds as if this is the only way. The Velothi Mountains are wide and impassible for the most part, and you could hide an entire city away in some of the heights. Sounds perfect for a dragon stronghold.” He raised his voice and said to Odahviing, “How many of your kind wait there, dragon?”

Odahviing curled his lip, baring his teeth in contempt, and Bryn demanded, “Answer him. He is _jun_ here, this is his _hofkah_ you are trapped in.”

The dragon grumbled, “Many _dovah_ remain there at Alduin’s command. Four at least, including an _inseiiz_ and _inseyol_ , Masters of Ice and Fire who guard the portal to Sovngarde. Many, many of the _nidilon aar_ , the undead servants. And Nahkriin, the priest guardian of the portal.”

“All right then,” Bryn said in resignation. She glanced at Lydia, who was standing next to Farkas, staring at Bryn with wide, damp eyes. She quietly told her, “Go round up every high quality arrow we’ve got, everything the Drunken Huntsman and Warmaiden’s has. Nothing less than glass.” Her housecarl nodded and sprinted inside the palace.

Balgruuf said, “Tell me what else you need, Dragonborn, and it’s yours for the taking.”

“Only your prayers,” she murmured, her hand going to the Amulet of Talos around her neck, the one Vilkas had placed there what seemed a lifetime ago. It was hard not to look at him, but not very. It seemed the peace Mara had granted her was still holding. Talos at least had never failed her. The god of war had smiled on her all along. With luck and perseverance he would get quite a show before too much longer, if she lived and got that meeting with the Emperor.

“That you have always had, my friend. But surely…food, potions…you have to take more than arrows with you!”

“Lydia already has a pack ready for me. She knows exactly what I need. She always has.” She shook her head and turned to look at the dragon, who gazed at her with a baleful expression, or so she assumed. They weren’t particularly expressive beings. Bryn then did a double take as she realized Farengar was approaching the dragon.

“Farengar!” Balgruuf barked. “What the hell are you doing?”

The wizard didn’t hear him, too focused on the wondrous creature before him. He bowed to the dragon, saying, “Uh…sir, you have no idea how long I have waited for such an opportunity! I would be most appreciative if you would permit me to perform some, ah, tests on you. Purely in the interests of the advancement of knowledge.”

Odahviing sneered and demanded, “Begone, mage. Do not test my promise to the Dovahkiin.”

“I assure you, you will not even notice me,” he said as he walked to the side of the yoke. “Most of the tests will hardly be painful at all to a large dragon such as yourself.”

Irileth went after the mage at Balgruuf’s direction, saying in irritation, “Farengar, very bad idea. Even for you.”

He ignored her. None of these brutes around him could grasp what a fantastic chance this was to learn massive amounts of information about the anatomy of dragons. He said to Odahviing, “Surely you won’t miss a few scales, or a small amount of blood…” He drew out a sharp blade and approached the dragon’s flank.

Odahviing twisted his head about, trying to see past the yoke, but it was impossible. “ _Joor mey_ , what are you doing back there?” he demanded.

Irileth barked at the wizard, “Farengar, stop, now!”

The second the knife touched the dragon’s hide Odahviing Shouted fire in the air, luckily missing the small group near the doors, and Farengar shrieked and fell backwards, only to have Irileth grab him by the hood of his robe and start hauling him away. She only got him a few steps before he turned and fled on his own back into the palace.

“Idiot!” the Dunmer woman hissed. It would figure if the entire palace was burned down because of the mage and not in battle.

“Dovahkiin, let me go!” Odahviing howled. “I cannot tolerate this captivity one moment longer!”

Bryn laughed and went to the dragon, saying, “Numinex was here for years, Odahviing. Surely you can handle not even an hour?”

“The captivity drove him mad! I can feel the beginnings of it in myself already!”

“My _aar_ will return soon, then we can discuss what to do from here.”

He lowered his chin to the floor and said with a touch of hope, “You have reconsidered my offer then, hmm? _Onikaan kron?_ You will release me, _ro laan_ , if in return I promise to take you to Skuldafn and stop helping Alduin?”

“Yes. I will.”

The dragon shuddered with relief. “ _Onikaan koraav gein miraad_. It is wise to recognize when you have only one choice.” He lifted his chin and tilted his head, studying her as she drew closer. She smelled like a dovah, wearing the scales and bones of his fallen brothers. “And you can trust me, _briinah_ ,” he promised. “ _Zu’u los ni tahrodiis._ Alduin has proven himself unworthy to rule. I go my own way now.”

Bryn let her voice rumble as she reached out and touched the dragon’s snout, making it growl and pull away. “What if you served me instead, _sahrot zeymah?”_

“Serve you?” he said in disbelief. “No. _Ni nu_. If and when you defeat Alduin…then I may reconsider.”

“I would think hard about it. After I return from Sovngarde… _zu’u drun Kriisfahliil grah_. I could use a mighty _dovah kulaan_ at my side.”

“Hmmm,” Odahviing growled thoughtfully, and when she touched his snout again he allowed it. “The golden Elves are strong. It would be glorious battle.”

Bryn leaned against his head and murmured, “I am mightier. _Zu’u los zokmul dovah_. I am Ysmir, Dragon of the North, _Dovahsebrom. Zu’u los dinok._ They would fall before us like grain to the scythe.”

“As I said, when you defeat Alduin I will reconsider my service to you.”

“Fair enough.” She stood away from him and asked, “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“No, I only want to be free.”

“Soon enough.” She walked away, and as she went back to the others she said to Balgruuf, “If anyone wants to take a look at him it had better be now. I’m leaving when Lydia returns.”

“I am not a pet on display, Dovahkiin!” Odahviing said in outrage.

Balgruuf said to Bryn in a wary tone, “No, I ah…I think we’re good here.” He licked his lips and murmured, “Golden elves, eh? Glorious battle?” She made a sound of assent, folding her arms as she gazed at Odahviing, who had closed his eyes again and was resting his chin on the floor. “And what of Skyrim? If the peace holds, and the Moot is called…we are still sundered and kingless. We have only a choice between…ah, it is no choice at all.” Bryn didn’t answer. He grabbed her upper arms and she turned her golden gaze on him, her face like stone. “Tell me you will be there, my friend,” he said in a quiet, intent, pleading voice. “Give us another way out. I know you told them both that they would never be given the throne, so tell me who it should be.”

“I was thinking you.”

His mouth fell open, and when he saw the quirk of her mouth he gave her a shake and yelled, “Don’t do that to me, you crazy… By the Nine, you’ll be the death of me!” 

She laughed quietly at his discomfiture and he let her go to rub his hands over his face. She looked at Farkas, avoiding meeting Vilkas’ eyes, and asked him curiously, “What do you think, big bear?”

“Huh?” Farkas said in surprise, giving himself a shake.

“Pay attention,” Vilkas demanded.

“Too much talking. I’m going to see what’s keeping Lydia.”

He made a sound of exasperation as his twin left, appalled by his lack of interest in all this. He knew Farkas wasn’t to blame for fading out like that, but one would think it would be impossible at a time like this. Bryn’s eyes finally moved over to him, and she stared at him impassively, as if he were nothing more than one of the guards. She blinked slowly, and with her lack of expression she suddenly seemed eerily draconic. Hearing her speak in a voice of thunder, and in the dragon tongue at that, had made him feel a fearful awe, along with a desperate grief. She had leaned against the dragon and demanded its service as if it were something she did every day. She had calmly spoken of mowing down Altmeri armies. She was completely and irrevocably lost to him.

“And what of you, Harbinger?” she asked. “Do you think I should present myself to the Moot?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat and quietly said, “If you can stop the fighting for good, so be it.” It made him feel like crying. It was as if they had never been together. Like the last year of his life was a figment of his imagination. Bryn as High Queen…how far she had come from the awkward, insecure stick of a girl who had shown up before Kodlak in her mismatched armor and hacked off hair, who had only had eyes for him. Now she had eyes for no one. Her gaze then fell on the front of his steel armor, and she finally showed a small bit of surprise. “I had Farkas take it off, the day I moved into Kodlak’s quarters. I thought it was time.” He noticed Balgruuf clear his throat and casually walk away, his people following him.

“You’ll be one of the great Harbingers,” Bryn murmured, thankful again for the detachment.

“I meant what I said. If the day ever comes that you face the Dominion in battle, I will be there.”

“Well, that’s a little ways off. I have to get Skyrim and the dragon problem squared away first. Though if Elenwen did what I suggested and started running for the border, maybe it will be sooner rather than later.” She folded her arms again and turned away slightly to look at the dragon, and she heard Vilkas move to stand next to her, thankfully a few feet away, not too close. “You should have lunch with the Jarl someday soon. Ask him about the peace conference. It was interesting. Aggravating, but interesting.” She saw Vilkas nod out of the corner of her eye. “It’s always sad to break a little girl’s heart and tell her she won’t get to play Queen. Ulfric took his defeat much better than she did. In the end he loves Skyrim more than power, and he’s a practical man, however Elisif’s sense of entitlement and her dependence on Tullius is pathetic. She could never run this country. She can’t even run Haafingar yet without asking for advice every five minutes. Falk does nearly everything for her.” It was quiet for nearly a minute when Odahviing softly groaned, shifting his position. She called out to him in regret, “Only a few minutes more, _zeymah_ , then the skies will be yours again.” The dragon grumbled and settled back down with a sigh.

“Zeymah?”

“Brother. As he called me _briinah_ , sister.”

“Did the Greybeards teach you their tongue?”

“No. It started coming to me after the first time I spoke to Paarthurnax. The more I use it the more it sticks.”

That was rather shocking, and more than a little upsetting. It brought home to him quite well that she was not quite human. “And the Voice?”

“That only started the other day.” She paused and said with a touch of worry, “I hope it never gets to the point where I can’t shut it off. It…it unsettles people, I can tell.”

He glanced at Bryn and saw her frowning slightly, biting her bottom lip. She stared at the dragon with a sorrowful, lonely expression, and it broke his heart. It was his fault. She might have ended up High Queen regardless, in fact it wouldn’t have changed her path in life much at all, but she would have at least had the security of knowing she had a husband. She might not have ended up so cold. He couldn’t understand how it had happened so suddenly. Her jaw clenched as she sensed his inspection, and he whispered, “Mara help me, I’m so sorry.” She grunted in response. “I should have married you when I first wanted to, when we were together all the time after Kodlak died. I should have taken it as a sign and not talked myself out of it.”

“Water under the bridge, I suppose.” The dragon lazily opened its eyes to watch them. So he really had wanted to marry her at some point. Curious. A little irritating and painful too, but only a little.

Vilkas made a sound of hurt. “Doesn’t it mean anything to you?”

“It can’t. Not right now. Mara finally answered one prayer of mine: that I have clarity of thought and mind in regard to you until Alduin is defeated. How nice that she started listening to me, just a little too late.”

Horrified, Vilkas stared at her with wide eyes, only pulling them away when the doors from the palace opened. Lydia and Farkas were there, his twin carrying half a dozen tied bundles of glass, ebony and Daedric arrows and Lydia with a pack. The couple frowned seeing Vilkas and Bryn standing together, and he controlled his expression as best he could as they approached. Bryn had prayed to Mara to stop feeling for him, and Mara had answered. He supposed he should be glad that she had still cared enough to have to go to those lengths.

Lydia handed her the knapsack, saying, “All the usual, though I packed light.”

“Perfect,” Bryn said in approval. “I won’t need much where I’m going.” She turned her back to Farkas so he could refill her quiver then tie the rest of the arrows below her pack. Vilkas stared at her with a despairing expression, and she smiled and told him, “Sovngarde awaits.”

“You can tell me about it when you get back,” Vilkas said, trying one more time.

She sighed, “Ah, beloved, we both know I’m never coming back. Not if I can help it.” He closed his eyes with a sound of pain then turned away. She looked at Farkas and Lydia and said, “I love you two. Take care of each other. I expect to hear about a baby bear before much longer.”

“You can count on it,” Farkas said in a rough voice. He had to keep telling himself that she would live, and that she would just move to Riften or something, where he and Lydia could go visit her. This wasn’t forever. Lydia leaned against him and he put his arm around her, and while she was upset she wasn’t crying. She didn’t cry easily, and this last time out with Bryn had been good for both women. Lydia fully expected to see her thane again.

Bryn walked back to Odahviing and said, “All right then, _zeymah_ , let’s go.”

“Yes,” the dragon said, “free me, and I will carry you to Skuldafn.”

She called up to the guards at the mechanisms above, “Open the trap!”

The guard looked over the edge and replied in disbelief, “You sure about that? You want to let that dragon loose after all the trouble to catch him in there?”

Balgruuf barked up to him, “Carry on, soldier! This is all part of the Dragonborn’s plan!”

“Yes, my Jarl!” He shouted across to the other side, “Get ready to open the trap!”

Balgruuf looked at Bryn and said in an uneven voice, “Talos watch over you, my friend.”

“You haven’t seen the last of me, my Jarl,” she replied. The two guards nodded to each other then pulled the release in unison, and the yoke snapped open then began to lift.

“By all the gods,” Irileth breathed as the dragon stretched itself to its full height then laughed in triumph, the walls shaking with the thunder of it. She could only imagine that the look in its eyes was one of hunger.

Odahviing bellowed, _“Faas nu, zini dein ruthi asht vaal!”_

“What did he say?” Vilkas asked Bryn. The dragon turned around in the cramped Great Porch then began to crawl away. The sight of the beast free sent shivers of fear over his skin, and he wasn't the only one by far.

“Fear now,” she replied. “My honor keeps my rage at bay. Or something like that.”

Bryn simply walked away after the dragon, and Vilkas nearly let her go. Nearly. He huffed and followed her to the end of the porch, seeing the others moving that way as well. The dragon awaited her, watching her intently. One great eye swiveled towards him and he suppressed a shudder and looked away. He quietly said to Bryn, “Don’t leave this way, love. It isn’t too late. If you come back we can work things out.” She glanced at him in irritation, motioning to the dragon as if to tell him that this really wasn’t the place or the time. He held her cold gaze for a moment then nodded and moved off to the side to join his brother and Lydia. It seemed it really was too late after all. It probably had been since the second she had taken the amulet off in his bed.

She shook her head and moved toward the dragon’s head. Odahviing motioned with his snout towards Vilkas and asked, “That one is _ahmul_ , yes?”

“ _Nid,_ ” she said shortly. “ _Zu’u lost nid ahmul._ That is why I’m not coming back.” She had no husband, and most likely never would.

“Ah.” He swung his head close to her. “ _Zu'u saraan uth._ I await your command, as promised. Are you ready to see the world as only a _dovah_ can?”

“Yes. Take me to Skuldafn.”

“ _Brit uth!_ I warn you, once you’ve flown the skies of _Keizaal_ , your envy of the _dov_ will only increase.”

“I suppose it would have to, considering the complete lack of envy I have had up to this point.” He grumbled and lowered his head to the ground, and Bryn climbed behind the creature’s head, settling on a smooth part between sets of overlapping scales. She grabbed onto a convenient horn in front of her then gave his neck a pat and cried, “To Skuldafn, _zeymahi!”_

“Amativ!” he cried in reply. “ _Mu bo kotin stinselok!”_

The dragon launched itself into the air, making everyone gasp, and Vilkas bit his lip to keep from choking out a sob of grief. He heard a shriek of joy from Bryn that echoed off Dragonreach’s walls and the dragon’s answering chuckle. He saw her throw her hands in the air and laugh wildly as the dragon circled to gain height. It was good that she was so purely happy right now. She’d had little enough of that emotion in her life.

“What did I tell you, _briinah!”_ Odahviing shouted, reveling in his freedom. “We fly as only the _dov_ can!”

Balgruuf whispered tearfully, “May Kynareth guard you while you pass through her realm, my dear friend!” He felt Irileth’s hand on his arm, and he put his hand over hers as they watched the dragon and Bryn grow smaller then turn east and disappear over the top of the palace. He tried to take comfort in the rare affectionate touch from his housecarl. They were still working through this new stage of their long acquaintance, taking it slowly and carefully, keeping it just between them for as long as possible. It was not the kind of thing one rushed, but something to be savored, especially at this stage of his life. He wished he’d had the time and opportunity to tell Bryn that he had finally begun to fall in love again. She would be happy for him. What she would find even more delightful was the real reason behind Irileth’s fierce protectiveness all these years. Balgruuf felt like the world’s greatest simpleton for not seeing it sooner. 

The Dunmer murmured in admiration, “She is either the bravest person I have ever met, or the biggest fool.”

“A bit mad perhaps, but she is no fool, and no one can doubt her bravery.” He squeezed her hand then she let go. “I need to address the people. Reassure them that everything is all right and our Dragonborn on her way.” Irileth nodded in agreement. He drew in a deep breath then smiled at the twin Companions and Lydia. “What a day! Something to tell the grandchildren, eh?”

“Yes, my Jarl,” Lydia answered. “By your leave?”

“Oh, yes, yes, sorry. It’s been a long week or so for you, hasn’t it Lydia?” The young woman nodded, looking sad. As she led her husband away Balgruuf looked at Vilkas, who stared forlornly at the mountains. He motioned to Irileth to give them a minute, and she nodded and moved off to rally the guards to put the Great Porch back in order. Balgruuf was going to be a bit disappointed to see it happen, but ah, what memories this place would have from now on!

The Jarl clapped the Companion on the back, and Vilkas haltingly said, “It doesn’t seem real.”

“I think a great many of us won’t be getting much sleep tonight.” He blew out a long breath and said in amazement, “To think we have witnessed such things in our lifetime…it boggles the mind.” Vilkas nodded. “I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t see you come in, but we were a little busy, eh?”

“A little,” he said with a short laugh. He appreciated the Jarl’s efforts. The other man was only about five years older than him, so in a way they had both grown up in Whiterun together, though they had rarely had reason to spend time around each other. Vilkas had to admit that he had been such a hellion as a child that they probably wouldn’t have gotten along. “I came in right as the trap was sprung. Not exactly good for my heart.”

“I can imagine. If it weren’t for my children I think I would get roaring drunk tonight. I think you and I could both use it.” Vilkas snorted a laugh and nodded. Balgruuf clapped him on the back again and said, “Since neither of us have the luxury of that, at least come see me for lunch one of these days soon, Harbinger. When you’re settled. I think we have a great many things to talk about.”

“I would be honored, my lord.”

As he walked away he said, “Let Proventus know, when you’re ready.”

“Aye.”

Vilkas was left alone to his own devices, and he groaned quietly in grief and went to the edge of the Great Porch to lean on a parapet and look down at the plains below. Bryn had gone nearly the opposite direction, but it didn’t matter. For the rest of his life that moment when she launched into the air would be burned into his brain, along with that cold final look she had given him. But at least she had called him beloved once more. _Ahmul_ though…the dragon had asked if he was ahmul. He couldn’t even begin to fathom what that meant, and of course Bryn’s answer had meant just as little to him, other than it being the reason she wasn’t coming back. Not knowing what that word meant was going to drive him mad. What did ahmul mean, and was he or wasn’t he ahmul? _Zu’u lost nid ahmul_ , she had answered. He repeated the phrase to himself in a whisper, over and over, determined to remember it, though it was nearly pointless since there was no one he could ask. He wasn’t about to travel to High Hrothgar just to ask the Greybeards what it—

“Ulfric,” he murmured. Ulfric Stormcloak had nearly become a Greybeard. He had spent ten years studying with them and had to know the dragon tongue. He would know what the word and the phrase meant. If Vilkas was ever near Windhelm on business he would stop in, pay his respects, and ask Ulfric if he knew what the words meant. It would make no difference in the end, Bryn just as gone either way, but he wanted to know what those parting words meant.


	30. Chapter 30

Bryn shook her head to clear it, squeezing handfuls of snow as she knelt on the ground, the crack of thunder and intense cold and roaring of dragons bringing her back to herself. “No,” she whispered brokenly. “Let me stay…” She had begged to stay, and Tsun would not listen to her pleas. _The land of the dead is no place for the living,_ he had said. If only she had died! If only she could have stayed in that peaceful place with its intense colors and fantastic sky. She had always thought Skyrim heaven on Nirn, with its lovely landscape and northern lights, and now…she would never look at anything the same way again. Everything would be dull in comparison, disappointing. After she had begged to stay and Tsun had refused, saying it wasn’t her time, that she had not lived her full count of days, she had run across the whalebone bridge and tried to get back into Shor’s Hall, and it wouldn’t open for her. She could hear the laughter and singing inside, the clink of mugs. She heard them toasting her name, but they wouldn’t let her in.

She lifted her tear-streaked face and found herself at the Throat of the World and numbly wondered why Tsun had seen fit to send her back here of all places, an empty place of white and gray. A place more dead than the land of the dead. Ah, but dragons sat on every outcropping of rock, watching her intently, beautiful and deadly, then suddenly they lifted their heads in unison and shouted, the air booming and cracking with thunder.

 _“ALDUIN LOS MAHLAAN!”_ One launched itself into the air and shouted flame. 

“Yes, and now what?” she asked herself softly as she climbed wearily to her feet, every part of her body screaming with fatigue and aching to the bone. She healed herself and the physical pain retreated, but she didn’t know what to do about the rest of it. Alduin was dead, much as she had expected he would be, but there was still so much to do, and she was too soul-weary to do it. But ah, this was a sight to see, her _zeymahhe_ magnificent with their godlike voices and terrible grace, shouting fire across the sky. She wondered if all of Skyrim could hear them.

_“Sahrot thur qahnaraan!”_

_“ALDUIN LOS MAHLAAN!”_

One of the dragons tilted its head to look down at her and cried, _“Dovahkiin los ok dovahkriid!”_

_“ALDUIN LOS MAHLAAN!”_

_“Thu’umii los nahlot!”_ another stated.

“It had better be,” she muttered. She turned in a circle, watching the dragons wheel about above her as one after another they launched into the air and sprayed gouts of fire. She had assumed at first that they were mourning, but when another cried _Mu los vomir!_ and wheeled away she let herself relax the slightest bit, glad that she wasn’t going to have to attempt to fight nearly a dozen dragons at once. That she did not have in her. Not after what she had been through. Not ever. She would let them finish her if it came to that. She at least knew now with certainty that when her time came she would be welcome in Shor’s Hall. Kodlak had promised to greet her at the doors when her time came. Ysgramor himself said he would serve her the first drink. How she wished she could go to Whiterun and tell the Companions what she had seen!

“So, it is done.” Bryn startled at the sound of the human tongue, and she turned to see Paarthurnax perched on the blank word wall. He sadly said, “ _Alduin los dilon_. The Eldest is no more, he who came before all others, and has always been.”

Bryn wiped her face and went to him, saying, “I know he was your brother, but I have no regrets. He had to be destroyed.”

“Of course. _Alduin nahlaan daanii_. I would not have helped you if I thought otherwise. You did what was necessary. Alduin had flown far from the path of right action in his _pahlok_ …the arrogance of his power.” He lowered his head and closed his eyes. “But I cannot celebrate his fall. _Zu'u los tiiraaz ahst ok mah._ He was my brother once. This world will never be the same."

“Nor should it be.”

“Indeed. You saw more clearly than I. Certainly more clearly than Alduin. _Rok funta koraav._ ” He lifted his head and peered at her closely. “Perhaps now you have some insight into the forces that shape the _Vennesetiid_ …the currents of Time. Perhaps you begin to see the world as a _dovah_.” He huffed. “But I forget myself. _Krosis. So los mid fahdon._ Melancholy is an easy trap for the _dov_ to fall into. Beware that you do not succumb to it, as I often have.”

Bryn muttered, “Too late.”

“Ah, but you have won a mighty victory. _Sahrot krongrah_ , one that will echo through all the ages of this world for those who have eyes to see. You must savor your triumph, Dovahkiin. This is not the last of what you will write upon the currents of Time.”

“I wish it was.”

“ _Paak._ You have saved this world, as you so wanted to do. As you were meant to do, _naal qostiid_. It is up to you what to make of that world now.” He jumped off the wall into the air. “ _Goraan!_ I feel younger than I have in many an age!” he cried happily. “Those of the _dovahhe_ who remain are now scattered across _Keizaal_. Without Alduin's lordship, they may yet bow to the _vahzen_... rightness of my _thu'um_. But willing or no, they will hear it! Fare thee well, Dovahkiin!”

Bryn didn’t reply, and she watched Paarthurnax climb then disappear into the clouds heading east. The thunder had tapered off but the skies still were thick and gray with clouds, and snow was beginning to fall, some of the flakes so large she could hear them landing around her. The dragons all went their separate ways except for one circling overhead, and as she watched it circled down then landed less than ten feet away from her. _“Drem Yol Lok, zeymah Odahviing,”_ she said in greeting. So he had come back to her after all.

" _Pruzah wundunne wah Wuth Gein._ I wish the Old One luck in his... quest. But I doubt many will wish to exchange Alduin's lordship for the tyranny of Paarthurnax's ‘Way of the Voice’, well-intentioned as it is. I do not believe you will submit to the _su'um ahrk morah_ of the grey priests either.”

“No, I will not. I will never return to this _strunmah_ after today if I can help it.” She carefully moved closer to him, and when she reached out to touch the sharp ridge of his nose he permitted it. “And what of you, _zeymahi?_ What path will you follow?”

“ _Zohungaar_ , you have proven your mastery twice over, _Thuri_ Dovahkiin. I gladly acknowledge the power of your _thu'um. Zu'u los Odahviing._ Call me when you have need, or even if you do not, and I will come if I can. This war of yours against the golden Elves intrigues me. As do you, _mal rekdovah. Pruzah wundun._ Farewell, for now.”

Bryn moved away with a nod as he flexed his wings. “For now, Odahviing.” The dragon launched into the air with a roar. Ah, but he was beautiful, like no other dragon she had ever seen. She wondered why that was, but not too hard. She didn’t have it in her. She didn’t have much of anything in her.

She sighed heavily, suddenly alone, though Odahviing continued to circle the peak of the mountain, occasionally vocalizing, almost as if he were waiting for her to call him back. She turned into the shelter of the word wall and slid down against it, and after several minutes the dragon finally left. A fat flake of snow landed wetly on her cheek and she jumped to her feet and shouted angrily at the sky, _“LOK VAH KOOR!”_ The snowfall instantly stopped, and within ten seconds the clouds began to thin out, sunshine peeking through. She moved out of the shelter of the wall then climbed to the very peak of the mountain, the highest point in Skyrim, perhaps in all of Tamriel, maybe even on all of Nirn. As the skies continued to clear in all directions she looked for Whiterun to the northwest, barely visible at this height.

“Oh beloved,” she whispered, her heart suddenly aching so intensely that for a split second she considered throwing herself off the peak of the mountain. It seemed Mara’s peace had worn off, its purpose fulfilled. Vilkas had tried, all the way up to the very end. She could still see the heartbroken look in his eyes, the vulnerability and naked fear, and she had coldly rebuffed him. She wanted to hate herself for it, but she had done what she had to do, to get the job done. This world would continue, as it was meant to, and Vilkas would live his life without her in the way, and she would…do something. Not run into Ulfric’s arms, that was for certain. She didn’t dare, tempting as it was. Ulfric was strong, even if there was lingering damage there. He was unafraid, for himself or for her. He had never doubted she would return victorious from Sovngarde, and he had never feared her, though he respected her. No, if she went to Ulfric it would look very bad indeed, make too many people doubt her neutrality. 

She longed to go back to Whiterun, the city she loved best, but she had vowed to herself that she wouldn’t, not for quite some time, and she knew if she saw Vilkas again anytime soon that she would go running straight back to him, back to the unsatisfying relationship they'd had, because she didn't fool herself that things would be any more satisfying than before. Better to stay away and let him become the Harbinger he was meant to be, let the people she loved get on with their lives. She should let them know she lived, though. Bryn didn’t doubt that folk for a hundred miles around had heard the dragons’ eulogy to Alduin, but no one would understand any of it except the World Eater’s name. For all they would be able to tell, the dragons were celebrating Alduin’s victory. Of course they would know the moment she came down from the mountain, but she intended to stay for a while with the Greybeards, to partake of any lingering wisdom they might bestow upon her, and to reassure them that she would never harm Paarthurnax. So, best to let everyone know here and now.

Bryn lifted her head to the sky and shouted, _“STRUN BAH QO!”_ The clouds rushed back with a vengeance as it began to rain heavily, and soon they were swirling ominously over her head in a great eye that would be seen by half of Skyrim. Lightning struck around her, making her hope the Greybeards weren’t anywhere within range, but they shouldn’t be. She took a deep breath and focused her _thu’um_ as she closed her eyes, summoning up every bit of strength her Voice had, then her mouth flew open as she shouted in thunder, _“I AM DOVAHKIIN, DRAGONBORN! I AM YSMIR, DRAGON OF THE NORTH, AND THE STORMCROWN SITS UPON MY BROW! I AM ALDUIN’S BANE, DRAGONSLAYER, DAUGHTER OF AKATOSH, SISTER OF TALOS! HEAR ME SKYRIM, FOR FROM TODAY PEACE REIGNS IN THIS LAND, AND WOE TO ANY WHO BREAK IT!”_

From every corner of Skyrim the echoing calls of dragons sounded, and Bryn laughed quietly to herself as she climbed down the peak. She had gone more than a little overboard, but it would be effective. It would tell everyone she was very alive, and Alduin was gone, and the truce better damn well hold or there would be hell to pay. She wondered what Tullius would think if he was close enough to hear it, if he would write it off as just more foolish Nord mumbo jumbo. She laughed more loudly and the sound rumbled quietly off the rocks, sounding eerily draconic, and she frowned as she started the descent to High Hrothgar. She quietly stated, “I am Brynhilde.” The sound softly thundered around her, and she cleared her throat and concentrated on speaking normally. “I am Brynhilde…” There was no change, her voice resonating, and she whispered in a panic, “Oh no!” The whisper sounded normal, but when she tried to speak in a normal volume again the words rumbled off her surroundings, the effect very localized but very noticeable. It was as if she were permanently using the _thu’um._ The way the Greybeards did. All but Arngeir were unable to control the power of their Voices, even their softest whisper booming. She at least didn’t seem to have that problem, but nearly so. She would never be able to have a normal conversation with anyone like this!

She hurried down the mountainside, trying to stay calm and not go off the edge of the treacherous path in her haste. The Greybeards would know what to do. Arngeir would be able to teach her how to get her Voice back under control. If he couldn’t, if she couldn’t, she would be stuck the rest of her life whispering to people-- _Like Tiber Septim,_ she thought with a chill of fear. Granted, he had been forced to after an assassin slit his throat (or he slit his own if you believed the heresy), but she couldn’t live her life like that. Having a touch of the thu’um in her voice would be extremely effective at times, but not all the time. She would never be able to sit and talk to a friend, never sing to a child without terrifying it. That was not acceptable. Not acceptable at all.  
-  
Iona struggled awake at the sound of a key in the back door, and as she rolled out of the double bed she saw the last person she had expected to see ever again come in. “M-my thane!” she cried, letting her axe fall to the floor. Bryn gave her a brief, tight smile, and Iona ran to her then stopped short of grabbing her into a hug. Not that Bryn would have minded, though Iona wasn’t really a huggy kind of person, but it was Bryn’s appearance that made her halt. The Dragonborn stared back at her unflinchingly, waiting, and Iona didn’t know what to say, her mouth moving wordlessly, then she snapped it shut.

“It’s all right, Iona,” Bryn stated, the words reverberating only the slightest bit. Iona’s mouth fell open again, and Bryn went to throw herself on the bed then realized it had been very recently slept in.

“I’m so sorry, my thane!” Iona whispered, hurrying to strip the blankets and sheets off, but a hand on her arm stopped her. She hastily explained, “The thieves, my lady, they keep trying to get in the house! Not for the last few days, but before that it was almost every night. I had to start sleeping up here, during the day so I could be awake at night, and I couldn’t put bars across the doors in case you tried to come back, I mean come home—“

“This is home for now,” she said, letting go of Iona’s arm. “You did the right thing.”

“Well, thank you, I…my thane, I’m…” She rubbed her hands over her face and felt Bryn’s hands on her shoulders, holding her firmly. Almost too firmly. It was like being gripped by steel claws.

“This is my home now, Iona. I won’t be returning to Whiterun. I asked Vilkas to marry me and he said no, so I left him. I gave Breezehome to Farkas and Lydia, as you already know. Whiterun is too painful for me now, and I love Riften, and I love this house. I despise Markarth, though I suppose I’ll have to put in an appearance there soon to the new Jarl, and Jarl Elisif is rather angry with me so Solitude is off limits for now.” She did very much like the city, but the layout of Proudspire Manor was rather awkward. This house though, this was her favorite of the bunch.

“Maven is Jarl here now,” Iona said with worry.

“Yes, and if she’s lucky I will let her continue to be. She owns the Guild and should have told them this house is off limits. She did not. So tonight I go on the prowl.” It would give her something to do, to keep the despair at bay. She slid off her pack then knelt down to look under the bed; she then made a sound of happy satisfaction and pulled out a sack.

“Ack, I knew I should have cleaned under there!” Iona said, mortified.

“I’m glad you didn’t.” She dumped out the sack on the bed and heard the housecarl’s sharp intake of breath at the sight of Dark Brotherhood gear.

“Please tell me…”

“No, no,” she said with a laugh, wincing when it came out a bit too loud. “No, I am not a member, and they are still very much wiped out. No, I liberated this from one of the assassins that came after me. It’s all enchanted to help with sneaking around. I’m between projects right now, so…goodbye, Thieves Guild. Leg number two is about to get knocked out from underneath Maven Black-Briar.” She would take a few nights to watch their movements before she went after them. She had been to the Ragged Flagon several times and knew there had to be more to their hideout than that.

“But…she still has the backing of the Imperials.”

“I’ll find a way around that, eventually.”

“So…your um…” Iona motioned to Bryn’s mouth, and her thane sighed heavily and nodded. “Is it… permanent?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“When…when did it happen?”

“Did Riften hear the shouting a few weeks ago? Mine, and the dragons?”

“Yes my lady, most of Skyrim did.”

“That’s what changed my voice. I stayed with the Greybeards afterwards for as long as I could, trying to find a way to control it. We were only partly successful. Unless I whisper I’ll always have a touch of the _thu’um._ ” Arngeir had felt terribly sorry for her, knowing she had to go back out into the world. The hermits had come to the final conclusion that she was _dovah_ , that was what they sounded like, and that was that. The dragons’ voices always rumbled when they talked, even when they breathed; it was simply their nature. Her complete mastery of the _thu’um_ had made it a permanent part of her speaking voice. She wasn’t at all happy about it. She wasn’t sure how she could ever learn to accept it.

“And the uh…the eyes?” Bryn’s eyes had always been striking, a golden color that could almost pass for light hazel, but now the irises were truly gold, like polished septims. Even the Altmer didn’t have such eyes. Nothing and no one did.

“At some point in Sovngarde, I think.” That had certainly been a rude surprise. She’d had no idea they were any different until she had met with the waiting Greybeards and they had practically recoiled from her. How nice that she had saved the world and ended up paying a price for it twice over.

“So you really…Shor’s bones, it really is true,” Iona breathed. “Your eyes beheld the glories of Sovngarde?”

“Yes, and I will never be the same.” She certainly no longer feared death, if she ever really had. She smiled at Iona, who tried to return it. “I’ll tell you all about it, but I should get settled in. I would like to see Mjoll tonight. Could you ask her to come here for dinner? Not Aerin though. I’m in no mood for his fussing. I’d like to keep my return as quiet as possible for as long as possible.”

“Yes my lady, right away.” The housecarl hurried out of the house, and Bryn sighed heavily and began stripping off her dragonscale armor. She was glad once again for Honeyside and its efficient housecarl. Iona was no Lydia, but she was good, and Bryn thought she might take the redhead out on a trip or two. She might have to look into this Dawnguard that she kept hearing about, in an old fort near here. The guards at the gate had told her about vampires getting into town about a week ago; between the guards and Mjoll they had been quickly dispatched, but rumor had it that the attacks were getting worse all over Skyrim. Looking into the vampire problem might keep her busy for a bit, while she waited for the Moot to be called. But first, Riften. She was going to get this town so squeaky clean that Maven wouldn’t be able to make a move without exposing herself. Once the town was clean and Mjoll satisfied of that, the Lioness could consider moving to Whiterun and joining the Companions, and thereby joining Aela. The Agent of Mara had no hope for herself, but she would continue to do what she could to help others find a lasting love.  
-  
“Ah, if it isn’t Brynhilde, the dragonslayer,” Maven said in sarcastic delight. “Welcome back to Riften!” She rubbed her hands on the arms of the throne. “Suits me, don’t you think?”

“It is a very nice chair, Jarl Maven,” Bryn replied. The older woman’s eyes narrowed. “Congratulations on your new position. Who knew you would be the one sitting there when I worked out that peace treaty? I certainly didn’t.”

Maven chuckled at the Dragonborn’s irritation and said, “My title is just a formality. I've always been in charge around here.” She leaned her elbow on one arm of the throne and continued, “So, Thane Brynhilde, where have you been for the last month since your magnificent victory? You’ve been awfully scarce. One would think you would resume running all over Skyrim being a hero.” One that Maven was not at all comfortable having in her city or her hold. She wasn’t really sure what to do about the girl, or if there was anything she could do at this point. Bryn had completely eradicated the Dark Brotherhood, and the Thalmor were so afraid of her that they had completely left her alone and were consolidating their forces in the Embassy, trying to figure out what to do about her. It was simply criminal that one person should have such an obscene amount of power. It nearly oozed out of her.

“I spent most of that time with the Greybeards, learning to manage my Voice. As you can see, we weren’t entirely successful.”

“Hm, yes, I noticed the, ah, noise. You really can’t turn it off?”

“No, I’m afraid I can’t. It’s rather a nuisance. Makes it hard to carry on a conversation.”

“Yes, it’s very distracting. And the eyes? I don’t recall them being quite so…odd.”

“I beheld the wonders of Sovngarde.” The guards and Jarl Laila’s sons gasped, as did Maven’s guard Maul. Bryn found it very odd that the prior Jarl’s sons were still here; it seemed they should have followed their mother into exile in Ulfric’s court. “I battled Tsun, Shor’s shield-thane, and won entry to the Hall of Valor. I spoke with Ysgramor himself. With King Olaf. With Kodlak Whitemane. When I returned, my eyes reflected Shor’s glory.”

Annoyed by the girl’s showboating, Maven said dryly, “That must have been interesting. So, just back in Riften, I take it? Whiterun no longer suits you?”

“As you may have heard, I had a rather painful split with the current Harbinger. I thought it better to let Whiterun go its own way for a while, and honestly I wasn’t needed there anymore. Riften now…I’m needed here, and I do love this city, almost as much as Mjoll does.”

“As do we all,” Maven said carefully. She didn’t at all like the girl’s tone of voice, and it had nothing to do with that obnoxious rumbling. Bryn folded her arms, taking her hands off the pommels of her two swords, and Maven swallowed hard as her eyes lit on the sword on Bryn’s left. It was quite distinctive. Unique even. There was only one known glass sword in all of Tamriel that was blue instead of green. The girl was also carrying the Blade of Woe across her front, but at least Maven had been prepared for that. Bryn smiled slowly as those eerie gold eyes began to glisten. “Where did you ah, obtain such a distinctive weapon? If I may ask.”

“You may.” Maven didn’t reply, her tongue in her cheek. “Well, as you might or might not be aware, my Jarl, I’ve been back in Riften for nearly a week now.”

“Have you now.” And Maul was going to get the tongue lashing of his life for the guards not being aware of that. Damn that Honeyside for having a back door outside the city!

“I figured it best to lay low for a while. You see, thieves have been trying to break into my house lately. Quite bold, really, considering who I am. One might even say it was suicidal.” She smiled sweetly at the sudden, poorly-hidden alarm on the older woman’s face. “I know how hard you’ve been working at trying to exterminate this so-called ‘guild’ of theirs. Years, from what I’ve heard. Now that I’m done saving the world and all that, I had some free time on my hands and thought I would take care of that little problem for you, with Mjoll’s help. And so we have. Just finished up this morning as a matter of fact.”

Maven felt a flush of cold then hot rush through her, and she gripped the arms of the throne tightly, resisting the urge to look at Hemming next to her. She could hear his uneven breathing and his shifting in his seat. The entire court was trying not to react, along with the guards. She finally said in a somewhat even tone, “Is that so?”

“Yes. You see, the thieves have been a thorn in Riften’s side for so long that we had to do it. Skyrim’s side, really. One can’t go anywhere without seeing, what are they called, shadowmarks, on all the buildings. I’d noticed them when I first came here but never knew what they meant until I found this interesting book. One would think that once the Dragonborn moved into Honeyside someone would have scratched a ‘danger’ sign on the house, but oh well, that won’t be a problem anymore. So, since they’ve been such a nuisance, I wanted to make sure we got them all, and all at once. I’ve spent the last five nights shadowing the shadows,” she said, laughing slightly. Ah, but this was fun. Maven’s face was a strange, mottled mix of pale and flushed that made her look quite ill. Her son Hemming was staring at Bryn with flared nostrils as if he was planning her murder. As if they hadn’t already tried. “It wasn’t particularly hard. I mean, if I was able to completely eradicate the oh-so-scary Dark Brotherhood, oh, and kill Alduin, nearly forgot that one, what challenge was a bunch of pickpockets and petty thieves? And Thane Mjoll is a hero in her own right, so...”

“Indeed,” Maven muttered weakly.

“Did you know the Guild had a secret entrance in the graveyard? Appalling that no one ever noticed that. I’ve been down in the Ratway a number of times, but who knew that there was a whole other cistern area? They had quite a nice little set-up. And oh, the documentation. I found so many interesting little notes and letters, just like I did in the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary. You can be sure I’m keeping those very, very safe indeed. One never knows when they might be needed.” Maven didn’t answer, staring past Bryn, the muscles in her jaw twitching. “I’m fairly certain we got them all. They put up quite a fight, especially the handsome redhead. That one I felt bad about. And their leader nearly got away. He had a secret exit into his house. Riftweald Manor, can you imagine? I suppose that’s why no one ever saw the owner. He was too busy running the Thieves Guild.” She patted the blue glass sword. “Found this little delight though, which made it doubly worthwhile. I’ve been looking for a sword worthy of counterbalancing Dawnbreaker, and this is certainly it.” She smiled at Hemming and said, “You must be steward now. No need to reward me for my hard work, since I have the sword. I’m already so obscenely wealthy that it would be greedy to expect more.” Hemming grunted, still staring at her in a homicidal way. The housecarl Maul was red as a tomato, his eyes wet as he clenched and unclenched his hands. So he had someone he loved in the Guild. Shame.

Bryn turned her eyes back to Maven and bowed slightly to her. “Please, let me know if you need anything at all, Jarl Maven. I’m making Riften my base of operations for the time being, so you can be assured that I won’t tolerate anyone continuing to contribute to the sorry state of this city, which you have been working so hard to rectify. I may have to travel now and then, to continue my work in Skyrim, but I’m sure that after today no one would be foolish enough to move against any of my housecarls or properties, or Mjoll’s, or any of the folk we dearly love, for fear of the rather godlike retribution that would fall upon them and all they hold dear. I’m afraid that my draconic nature gives me a hellish temper at times, and I’m not sure what I would do if that happened. Oh, and the documentation. We mustn’t forget that. Wouldn’t want that getting into the wrong hands. Good day, my Jarl.” She bowed once more then turned and left Mistveil Keep, not waiting to be dismissed. She could imagine the scurrying that was going on in there as Maven tried to figure out what to do. There was very little she could do. Of course Maven could go ahead out of sheer spite and try to kill the people Bryn cared for, or burn her houses down, something, but it would enrage Bryn to the point of simply wiping out the entire Black-Briar family. Not Ingun though; she was a nice girl, though a bit too enamored of poisons for anyone’s good.

She met Mjoll at the base of the stairs, and the Lioness asked, “How did she take it?”

“What’s the word for it…apoplectic? Quietly apoplectic, yes.” Mjoll laughed softly at that, only somewhat relieved. “I told her that I would be staying in Riften for some time, to keep an eye on things. I also let her and her people know quite clearly that any attempts to retaliate against either of us or our loved ones would result in her extreme suffering.”

“She is not a fool,” Mjoll stated. “I would hope she knows when to cut her losses.” They fell into step beside each other and the Lioness linked her arm with Bryn’s, making the younger woman smile. There were few women taller than Mjoll, so it was nice to walk like this. “I was thinking…it’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to visit Aela. If you will be staying here for the foreseeable future, maybe this would be a good time to go see her. I imagine she must be getting nice and round by now. We write to each other, but…it isn’t the same.” She cared a great deal for the quietly fierce Huntress, and felt complete when they were together, but they were so rarely able to be together. The thought of her lover giving birth alone, to a fatherless child, was heartbreaking, especially after suffering such a loss. She would have someone with her, certainly, but it wasn’t the same as having a partner there.

“That’s sounds wonderful. Tell her and the other Companions hello for me.” She kept to herself her ultimate goal. Mjoll wouldn’t take well to charity, even as kind as she was.

“That I will. Thank you, my friend.”

“Would you do me a favor though?”

“Anything, just name it.”

Bryn licked her lips then quietly said, “Could you, um, explain? My…problems. If any of them ask how I’m doing?”

Mjoll sighed, “Oh Bryn.” She gently pulled the Dragonborn to a stop on the bridge over the canal. They could hear the children at the orphanage happily playing outside, kicking a leather ball from the sounds of it. Mjoll had actually considered adopting one of the children someday, now that Constance was hinting that they would become available soon. The current headmistress had been having counseling sessions with the priests and priestess of Mara and the children, trying to heal old wounds and make the children emotionally ready to join a real family. Mjoll would prefer helping Aela raise her daughter though, however to do that she would have to move to Whiterun. Maybe even become a Companion, since Aela had absolutely no intention of leaving Jorrvaskr. Mjoll wouldn’t mind, finding them a worthy organization; while she would never become a sellsword, she could use the Companions to do good, and she knew without vanity that she would be a valuable addition with their numbers down, and from what Bryn had said Tilma was getting extremely frail, so Aerin might be a good helpmate for Lydia, seeing as how he had no gainful employment of his own and would refuse to be separated from her. It would all be neat and tidy, if not for fear of leaving Riften permanently. But if Bryn were to stay here… She knew the Dragonborn had things to do, places to go, so she couldn’t always be here, but with the Thieves Guild effectively destroyed and Maven put on notice much of the problem here was solved.

“What am I going to do?” Bryn whispered painfully. “It’s so unfair! Everything I’ve done, for so many people, and I keep paying and paying. What did I ever do to deserve all of this? As if it wasn’t bad enough before!”

Mjoll brushed stray hairs back from her friend’s forehead and stated, “You are beautiful, no less now than before. Your eyes reflect the glory of Shor’s realm.”

“And my voice?”

“You speak with the Voice of Talos himself.” She shook her head and went on, “You weren’t raised Nord. You still can’t possibly understand how most of us feel about our religion, our legends. We revere those born of dragon blood—“

“I don’t want to be revered! I want to be loved!”

“But…you are,” the Lioness said in confusion. “All the people love you, and as for men, well, it is no different than before. Only a strong man, or woman, is fit to love women like us, or someone who is strong in their gentleness, like Aerin. Skyrim is full of worthy men who would be eager to love the Dragonborn, who wouldn’t be afraid of what you are. They only hesitate to approach you for fear of offending you.”

“But…I can’t…I won’t be able to…ugh,” she said painfully, her cheeks turning red. Mjoll stared at her patiently, waiting, and she whispered as softly as possible, her voice breaking, “I’ll never be able to have sex ever again without stuffing a damn gag in my mouth!”

Mjoll put her hand over her own mouth. “Oh! Oh, oh no. I didn’t…” She hadn’t even considered that. Mjoll wasn’t much of a screamer herself, and neither was Aela, but she had been with women who were, and while it was quite exciting to hear, the sound of thunder accompanying it could certainly prove distracting. Seeing Bryn on the verge of tears, Mjoll put her arm around Bryn’s shoulders and started leading her back to Honeyside. “You will find a strong man who loves you for what you are, who wants to marry you for yourself, and who is secure enough in himself to not be diminished by standing in your shadow. I think this was part of Vilkas’ problem, yeah? So tall, so handsome, so strong, so skilled, so honored, and yet suddenly no one sees him when you are around. I truly think this is why he couldn’t bear the thought of being your husband. He is a big, strong man, sure, but that strength is brittle. It doesn’t bend.” She gave Bryn a squeeze and said, “Maybe someday, after he has been Harbinger a while, he will find that he can love you enough to be content standing at your side and letting you lead. He has to be confident enough in himself to be measured in comparison to only himself.”

Bryn sighed and nodded. “That makes sense.” Still, she had no hope in that regard. None at all. Vilkas had bent, had tried one more time, and she had coldly shut him down. If she approached him now he would reject her, hurt too much to try again, and Divines knew how he would react to the changes in her. She wasn’t about to open herself to that. He had already rejected her once. They had wounded each other, more than once. Better to leave it alone and wait for the love to fade. She hoped to Mara it faded!

“Well, you don’t make it to my age without learning a thing or two.”

“Ulfric…he said nearly the same thing. About Vilkas.”

“Yes, about that,” Mjoll said in a wary tone, her eyes narrowed. “You would do well to avoid the Bear of Markarth. I will never entirely trust his motives. You told me that he knows he will never be King, but this peace is fragile. All of Skyrim is holding its breath, still. First to see if you could destroy Alduin, now waiting to see what is next.”

“This peace will last,” Bryn stated firmly. “I won’t stand for anything else.”

Mjoll smiled brightly at her and hugged her to her. “See, this is why the people love you. You want what is best for everyone, not just those who agree with you.” Her smile faded. “But you do yourself harm by trying to save everyone at your own expense. You can’t save Ulfric from himself.”

“I can if he wants to be saved.”

“Hm.”

“By saving him I save Skyrim. His death would make him a martyr. I know he isn’t a saint. He has done things I find morally repugnant, but the reasons for what he has done are understandable. He is honorable, I truly believe that. If he tells me he didn’t murder Torygg, I believe it. If he says he’ll hold the peace as long as Tullius does, I believe it.” Ulfric wouldn’t be happy to hear however that his _thu’um_ had killed Torygg, or Torygg believed that it had. It was possible to kill a person with all three words of Unrelenting Force, someone young and somewhat weak like the High King had been, by slamming them into a wall. Bryn had killed enemies with it plenty of times, usually by Shouting them off a ledge or cliff. As the old cliché went, it wasn’t the fall that killed you, it was the landing.

“Then I defer to your judgment, friend. I have never met the man.” What Bryn found interesting about the Jarl of Eastmarch was beyond Mjoll. He was an aging, racist warmonger, and not particularly attractive. He certainly couldn’t provide what Bryn was looking for in a mate.

“He wasn’t what I expected. He wasn’t unkind. I think it simply never occurred to him that there might be another way. And for him, there probably wasn’t. I’ve given him a graceful way to stop the war, without loss of face or the loss of any more life. Sovngarde was choked with Stormcloak soldiers and Nord Legionnaires, caught in the mist together. Which I fully intend to tell him first chance I get.”

“Well, let me go have a visit with my sweetheart in Whiterun, and when I get back to watch over the city you can go give Ulfric an earful. He respects our traditions and the old ways, if nothing else. It’s unfortunate you didn’t see his father there. A word or two from the old Bear of Eastmarch might set him straight.”

Bryn shook her head, saying, “It was strange, Shor’s Hall. I saw fewer souls than should be possible. A few hundred at most. So many have died over thousands of years, and yet...where was everyone? Where was my mother?” She had called out for Heska, mother of Brynhilde, and no one had responded. She hadn’t had time to run through the entire Hall looking for her mother, but surely Heska belonged there.

“In my travels I heard some philosophers say that the afterlife simply cannot hold an endless number of souls, that perhaps they go back to be reborn. This makes sense to me. Maybe your mother felt she had left things unfinished here on Nirn and didn’t linger long in Sovngarde.” Bryn’s eyebrows rose then she nodded slightly, looking relieved. “As for the dead not responding to your calls, who knows what mental capacity they retain after death? Perhaps she didn’t stay long enough for any to remember her. Perhaps they simply forgot. Who knows?”

“The souls I found out in the mists did seem a bit confused. Hazy, as if it was hard for them to think, but once they neared the bridge they got better. I spoke to Kodlak there and he seemed more coherent, but still not quite himself. I spoke to others inside the hall and they didn’t have a whole lot to say either.”

“You are alive and don’t belong there. I am sure they sensed this. The three heroes you fought with were plenty aware, were they not?” Bryn nodded. They arrived at Honeyside’s door and Mjoll let go of Bryn. “You should speak to a Bard of these things. Of your adventures. They should be written down while they are fresh.”

“I will end up going to Solitude before too much longer. Just to make sure the peace holds.”

“And to see if you still have a house, yeah?” The younger woman laughed at that, then she winced at the noise of it and bit her lip, going quiet. Mjoll shook her and said, “Enough of that. Let everyone hear you laugh. It is a good sound.” She let go and added, “Go get some sleep. I think I will take a nap as well after Aerin rubs my feet.”

“About Aerin…” Mjoll said nothing, gazing at her impassively, though there was a twinkle in her eye, as if she had been waiting for Bryn to finally come out and ask. She made a sound of frustration and quietly said, “All right, explain it to me. It’s been driving me crazy for half a year now. Are you or aren’t you?”

“Lovers, is that what you’re trying to say?” Mjoll laughed. “You and your delicate sensibilities! I can only imagine what that Elvish family of yours taught you growing up. It is amazing there are ever any baby Altmer born.” Bryn grumbled and blushed, making the Lioness laugh again. “Ah, you are a cute one, so tall and strong and yet still so shy. It must drive the men crazy.”

“Not really.”

“Hey, you know what, you need to get out there and live. Forget about husbands and babies and just go have some fun.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure that would work really well with this…this problem I have now!” And what would Vilkas think? Surely he wasn’t going to start sleeping around. Though now that he didn’t have the beastblood to contend with women would find him much more appealing, as appealing as they had always found Farkas. The thought sent a twist of pain through her that nearly took her breath away.

“Problem. Pah. Bite a pillow or something.” Bryn sputtered then burst into laughter, covering her mouth. “Go talk to the priestesses of Dibella. Surely they have some ideas. It would be criminal if one as pretty as you lived liked a hermit. You are young and famous. Go take a lover or two. You will regret it when you’re older if you don’t.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

Mjoll laughed, “And you are trying to get out of talking about you. I can just see you letting the flower of your womanhood grow dusty and dry, waiting for the perfect husband to come along.”

“Mjoll!” Bryn gasped.

“Go on, go to Windhelm and fuck Ulfric’s brains out. He wouldn’t be afraid of your _thu’um._ ” Bryn stared at Mjoll with her mouth open, her cheeks blazing. “Then go to Markarth and do that hot housecarl of yours that you’ve hardly laid eyes on.” Bryn put her hands over her face. “Then go to Solitude and have Tullius too. Maybe he will loosen up if he gets laid once in a while.”

“You’re terrible!” Bryn whispered, mortified. Tullius wasn’t much older than Ulfric, but he looked and acted like it, and Bryn had a complete lack of attraction to him. She really didn’t find Colovian men all that handsome. Or Breton men. Or really any men at all but Nords. Maybe because she was so damn tall that only Nord men were anywhere near her height. By all rights she should find Altmer males good-looking, having been raised by Elves, but her experiences with her uncle and cousin had left her finding their cold handsomeness repellent.

“I am a strong Nord woman and I take my pleasure where I feel like it,” the Lioness said with a shrug. “I have had more men and women across Tamriel than I could ever count. I have _lived_. I’m not a young girl anymore. I've seen thirty-six winters. I’ve had my fun and now I want a mate. A wife. You want to know about Aerin? Yes, we’ve made love, but he isn’t my lover. He is my friend, and I owe him my life. Sometimes we feel lonely and take comfort in each other, but he doesn’t prefer women, and I do not prefer men.”

“Ohhh.” Well that made perfect sense. Mystery solved.

“I love Aela and would like to make her my wife, but our circumstances haven’t worked out yet. Maybe now that Riften is straightening out, they will. I’ll have to go to Whiterun to see. But Aerin follows where I go, until he finds the one who completes him, the way Aela does me. Maybe he will never find that person, but I expect him to keep living until he does. I expect you to do the same.”

 _But I already have found that person,_ Bryn thought with grief, but she nodded and let her hands drop, giving Mjoll a brief smile. She didn’t know how she could ever take a lover without Vilkas’ face haunting her. Or his voice. His scent. She didn’t see how anyone else could ever compare. He had been such a thoughtful, skillful, passionate lover that anyone else would be inadequate.

“Ah, I see that sad look on your face. The Vilkas look.” She took Bryn by the arm and opened the door to Honeyside, ushering her in then closing the door behind them. It was near lunchtime and Iona was fixing slaughterfish steaks and potatoes for two. The Lioness motioned with her chin to the housecarl and said, “You tell her. She needs to go out and find a man or three to take her mind off that Companion.”

Iona stood up quickly, surprised, and when Bryn sighed miserably she said, “But…my thane, you’re the one who left him.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” she mumbled.

Mjoll told her sternly, “How will you ever know if he is truly the one for you if he’s all you’ve ever had?”

“He’s all you’ve ever had?” Iona said in disbelief. “You’re twenty-eight! Um, my thane.”

“Yes, she was a virgin when she came to Skyrim.”

“Mjoll!” Bryn cried, the sound thundering. “Ugh, I hate this! I can’t even…” She made a sound of frustration and sat down hard in a dining room chair and put her head down on her arms.

Mjoll went to stand over her and chided, “I am telling you, if you do not get out there and taste life you will regret it when you’re older. What if you do get back together with Vilkas, having known only him? You will always wonder what it would have been like with other men. You’ll always wonder if there was someone better out there.”

“Believe me, I already know there isn’t,” Bryn muttered, lifting her head. She saw Mjoll glance at Iona, and Iona shrugged and nodded. “Not you too!” she said in dismay.

“No my thane, but I do know women who have,” Iona said uncomfortably. “They, um, well, no complaints, and that’s all I will say.” The women she knew did seem to prefer the other brother though. Iona regretted that Farkas was already married. He had certainly been an impressive looking man. He had a kinder face and voice than his twin as well.

“I told you!” she said to Mjoll.

“So what,” the Lioness said, rolling her eyes as she put her hands on her hips. “So he’s a fantastic lover. That’s what you get for setting the bar so high from the start. You should have fumbled around as a teenager with a boy instead of waiting so long then going straight for the prime stuff.”

“Well it isn’t as if I planned it! I’ve told you how it was!”

“Well now it’s different, and you aren’t with Vilkas anymore, and I’m sorry but do you really think he is going to stay celibate? A man that looks like that—“ She stopped herself when Bryn’s lip began to quiver, tears welling up in her golden eyes. “Ah, my friend, I’m sorry,” she said with regret, and sat down across from her. “I didn’t mean to make you sad, but what do you expect? You left him. He refused to marry you. Surely you thought about what you would do when you came back from Sovngarde.”

Bryn whispered painfully, “I thought…I thought I would just keep fighting. Start a war with the Aldmeri Dominion or something.”

“Yes, but until then? Surely that isn’t going to happen very soon. And even during a war, people want the comfort of a lover now and then. Having sex the night before battle is a time-honored ritual. It is life-affirming to make love when you think you may die the next day.” She reached across the table and took Bryn’s hand. “Please, Brynhilde,” she pleaded softly. “I worry for you. I worry for your soul. You needn’t pursue it if you feel you can’t, but at least be open to it if it happens. You are so fearless in battle yet when it comes to your heart you’re like a frightened little rabbit. You are young yet. You can’t spend the rest of your life looking for things to fight, to keep you busy. Eventually you will run out of enemies.”

“No, I don’t think I ever will.”

Mjoll looked at Iona, who gazed back with concern. Neither woman knew what to do with the girl. Iona finally said in an awkward voice, “My thane…you, well, you’re very pretty. All the men say so. You really should take Mjoll’s advice and be open to a man’s interest, if you find him pleasing. You put a great deal of thought into leaving Vilkas. I know you did. So follow through and put yourself out there, and maybe you will find another man that moves you, and if he is worthy of you then he will ask you to marry him. I assure you that Vilkas was an exception. Any man in his right mind would marry you.”

Mjoll continued, “Did you not tell me that even Ulfric said he would marry you if you had that amulet on? If that cold bastard would, any man would.”

“He is not a cold bastard,” Bryn said, offended. “I told you what he did. Those weren’t the actions of a cold, heartless man.”

Iona asked curiously, “What did he do?” She had gone out to the Bee and Barb to have some drinks and relax the night Bryn had returned and had dinner with Mjoll, so she had little idea of what they had talked about.

“He combed and braided my hair for me. He said I was beautiful. He told me that after I returned from Sovngarde that he…wanted to further our acquaintance.”

“So go see him, my thane.”

Bryn shook her head. “It isn’t his problem. _I’m_ not his problem, and he has plenty of his own.”

Iona hesitated then suggested, “Haven’t you often found that by helping others you help yourself? Perhaps it might do the man some good. How many years has he thought of only vengeance, and war? How long has he been surrounded by like-minded men, without the benefit of a woman’s thoughts?” She shook her head. “He has agreed to the truce and has let everyone in Skyrim know that he intends to hold it as long as Tullius does. No one ever imagined he would do that, my thane. He’s a very private man. He may not be what everyone assumes him to be.”

“I know he isn’t.”

“Then if you found him attractive and enjoyed his company, what would it hurt to see where it goes?”

Mjoll said in disapproval, “Because she may be High Queen one day, that is what it would hurt. Go take a tumble with him, fine, but trying to form any kind of relationship with him is out of the question. How would that look to the half of the country that doesn’t favor his cause? It would make her look biased.”

“Oh,” Iona said with a grimace. “I hadn’t considered that.”

“He’s also old.”

“Not even fifty,” the housecarl said in dismissal.

“What, are you in love with him?” Mjoll teased, making the redhead blush as her eyes narrowed.

“He’s a very charismatic man, but to answer your question, no,” she said sourly, turning back to tend to dinner.

Mjoll turned back to Bryn, who was sullenly staring at the fire, and said, “I suppose it isn’t a bad idea to visit Ulfric. He was nearly a Greybeard. If any potential lover would understand your Voice it is him. Perhaps you could help each other, for a time. Reinforce to him that there is another way than his. Win over his officers. Then when you are done there, you head straight to Solitude and balance the scales.”

Bryn sputtered in horror, “I will never bed that stiff old—“

“No no no,” Mjoll laughed, entertained by Bryn’s prim fussing. “I was only joking earlier. I meant that you should spend time in Solitude talking to Tullius and his officers, to let him and the people of Skyrim know that you take both sides seriously. Equally.” She stood from the table and said, “I’m off to take a nap after our busy night. You eat and sleep. Rest,” she stressed. “You need to truly rest, all right? I’m going to head to Whiterun tomorrow and see my pretty Huntress.” Bryn nodded, and Mjoll bent to kiss the top of her head then let herself out.

Bryn huffed and got up from the table to remove her armor. Iona brought her warm water and a cloth to wash with, and when her housecarl looked at her speculatively she said in embarrassment, “Go ahead and tease me about it like Lydia used to. The Virgin Thane. Purer than the snows at the Throat of the World.”

Iona couldn’t help chuckling at that. Bryn grumbled and began to wash. Iona said, “Really, my thane, we’re only trying to help. I look at you and…it would be a waste, that’s all. Mjoll perhaps went a bit overboard, the way she always does. I don’t think you would be comfortable sleeping around. You…well, it seems you’re one who takes matters of the heart seriously. All Nords do, once they’re ready to marry, but you aren’t entirely Nord.” Bryn looked thoughtful at that. “From what I know of Altmer, mating is not a trivial business, for the most part, from the time they’re young, unlike the Dunmer. Maybe there’s some of that going on. Maybe monogamy is entirely natural for you and once your heart is given, there it stays. But I think Mjoll is right that you’ll regret it later if you don’t at least try someone else, if only to compare. I find Ulfric handsome, and honorable. I don’t make excuses for some of the things he has done, but then I think news of such things is often exaggerated.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Her lady’s tone of voice told her the subject was now closed, and Iona left the matter alone. Iona was more comfortable with Bryn now, and was sure even that would improve, but it still wasn’t easy broaching personal subjects with her. Iona just didn’t feel it was her place. Of course Bryn had gotten used to Lydia’s extremely familiar way, so Iona had that to contend with. Iona could never fill that spot for her thane, and wasn’t going to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere apologies to all those who have known and loved the Thieves Guild. Don't hate me!
> 
> Also, sorry that I didn't get into the battle with Alduin and all that. I really detest writing any kind of fight scenes and suck greatly at it, and I assume that most of us don't read fanfics for the fight scenes. At least I don't.
> 
> Thank you to all who have been reading and commenting; it means a great deal to me.


	31. Chapter 31

Bryn felt a gentle touch on her head, and she opened her eyes and looked up to see Dinya’s dark face. The Dunmer priestess of Mara smiled at her, and she swallowed back her tears and whispered to her, “Why does Mara hate me so? I pray and pray, and still she torments me!” In the week since getting rid of the Guild, Bryn had done nothing but rest and think about what to do with herself, wondering endlessly if she was doing the right thing by going to Ulfric. She did like Ulfric, and she did want him, but she loved Vilkas. It was his voice and smell and body she dreamt about, not Ulfric’s. It was Vilkas she missed, every minute of every day. Dinya knelt by her, no easy thing as huge as her belly was, the priestess due to have a child any day now. Bryn couldn’t really imagine what a half-Dunmer, half-Redguard baby would look like, but once again it seemed Mara was taunting her with things she would never have.

“Oh my child,” Dinya sighed in sympathy. “Have you thought that maybe Mara is telling you what to do and you aren’t listening?” The naked pain on the girl’s face was heartrending. The girl had been in here every day and spent hours on her knees.

“I want her to make me stop loving him!”

“Mara doesn’t capitulate to the demands of mortals, even one such as yourself,” she said in warning. “She granted you her peace while you saw to a very important task. That task is done. If thoughts of your beloved still haunt you, then go to him.”

“And have him reject me again? After what I did?”

“What you did was while you were operating under Mara’s mercy. You told Vilkas this, didn’t you? If you went to him and told him how you feel, surely he wouldn’t reject you. And if you fear so much that he would reject you again, then maybe he isn’t the one for you. Wouldn’t you rather go see him and know for certain? Better to know, and have the chance at a lasting love, or deal with the final sharp pain of knowing you aren’t meant for each other, than to keep suffering like this.” Bryn made a whining sound of grief. “If you love him, go see him and tell him so. If he truly loves you, then he will make things right and take you back with open arms.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“You keep saying that. Why would you want someone back who you fear would reject you? You asked him to marry you and he said no. It was a panicked reaction on his part.”

“Just as panicked as his agreeing to it later.”

“Yes, when he realized he was going to lose you. He didn’t want to lose you. He asked you one last time to come back to him and work things out, even as terrified as he was when you were on your way to Sovngarde. He did try. That tells me that he wouldn’t push you away if you went to him now. He is probably hurt, yes, but he did love you, so he still loves you, as much as you still love him. Go see him.”

“I…I have to think about it.”

“To give you time to talk yourself out of it, no doubt,” Dinya said in a tone of displeasure. She climbed to her feet, Bryn quickly moving to help her.

“Well…what if I wrote him a letter?”

Dinya wrinkled her nose and said, “Weak, but an acceptable compromise. However letters get lost. Couriers do run into danger on the road. How will you know if he even gets the letter?”

“I’ll send it along with a letter to Farkas and Lydia. If they answer my letter I’ll know Vilkas got his.”

“All right. I’m telling you though, with only your best interests at heart my child…you should go see him. If he looked into your face and heard your voice tell him you still love and want him, that would make all the difference. Words on a page don’t have the same impact.”

“Yes, I’m sure seeing my freakish eyes and hearing my voice booming at him would really seal the deal.” Dinya slowly shook her head, her lips pursed in disapproval. Bryn sighed, “You’re right, I’m sorry. He wouldn’t let that bother him.” Vilkas had told her to never be embarrassed by what she was, but what she was had changed. She had become something neither of them had ever bargained for. She would go write a heartfelt letter to her beloved right now, bare her soul to him, beg him to forgive her and take her back, ask him to come to Riften and marry her, and if he accepted they could work out the details of where to live after that. If he didn’t accept, if he wrote back and told her no, or simply ignored her and didn’t answer at all, then she would know for certain and could move on with her life. But not until then.  
-  
Ulfric sat down in a chair to remove his boots then gasped in shock to see a hooded figure sitting cross-legged in front of his fireplace. The servants had been in here just half an hour ago to prepare his room for the night and would have sent up an alarm if someone was in here. That someone had infiltrated his palace without anyone noticing was highly disturbing. His heart hammering, he slowly began to go for his war axe on the nearby table.

“I’m sorry to intrude.”

The soft echo and feminine voice made him relax, and he said with a touch of irritation, “Have you become a Nightingale, Dragonborn? You do seem to enjoy sneaking about my palace.” He should have known it was her. Only Bryn would have the sheer gall required to do such a thing, or the ability.

“Maybe it shouldn’t have so many shadows.”

Ulfric frowned at the odd statement, one that sent a shiver of foreboding through him, as did her strange way of returning to his city. He hadn’t heard much about her since her return from Sovngarde, other than the news that she and her friend Mjoll the Lioness had eradicated the Thieves Guild. Ulfric was sure that hadn’t sat well with Maven, and probably continued to stick in the woman's craw. In the month and a half since then though Bryn had seemed to simply linger in Riften, doing nothing that anyone could tell other than spending time every day in the Temple of Mara and some time at the forge, smithing. He had heard the rumors though about her eyes and Voice. He was sure that hadn’t gone over well with the girl. He bent down to pull off his boots and said, “So, Alduin is dead and your truce still holds. What are your plans now?”

“I don’t know. Unify Skyrim. Start a war with the Aldmeri Dominion. Hunt vampires. Something.”

“Hm.” He set his boots aside then shrugged out of his wolf fur and chainmail coat, the room growing comfortably warm. As he began pulling off his breastplate and gauntlets he said, “You’ve been quiet since Alduin’s defeat. I’ve been…concerned.”

“I stayed with the Greybeards for over three weeks. Trying to get control of my Voice. It didn’t entirely work. They couldn’t do anything more for me.”

“That seems hard to believe,” Ulfric said with worry. “Not that I don’t believe you; I do. It’s that Arngeir has completely mastered his own Voice. He should have been able to show you how to do the same.”

“He did, somewhat. It was worse than this, believe me. They think it’s because of my nature. The dragon blood. I am _dovah_ and this is what we sound like.”

“When did this start?”

“After I Shouted at the top of the Throat of the World.”

“Ah. We heard only echoes of it here.” All of Skyrim had talked of nothing else for weeks afterwards; those who had been close enough to hear it in all its terrible splendor had said it was like some terrifying and wonderful goddess was calling out from the mountaintop, like Kyne herself, with a massive storm swirling over the peak. Ulfric wished he had been close enough to hear more than distant thunder. He hadn’t even realized at the time that it was her, but word had moved quickly across the land.

“I focused too completely on my _thu’um_ , let my Voice go to its fullest, and I can’t put it back. This is permanent. The only time I have no _thu’um_ is when I whisper.” She rubbed her eyes, hearing Ulfric approach on bare feet. He hesitated then sank down next to her, grunting a bit as his knees creaked and his spine popped. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what? My battered old body?” he said in amusement. He studied her profile, finally able to see her face, framed by a fur hood; she was wearing the sabre cat cloak she had worn before, over simple but rich clothing of a yellow tunic and grey wool pants with finely tooled leather boots. The fire lit up her face in a way that made his heart ache anew, as did her expression of barely controlled grief. So it wasn't simply desire for him that had brought her here. Well, the reason she was here didn't matter, only that she was.

“For coming here.”

“Why should you be sorry for that? I’m not.” He reached out and pushed back the hood, saying, “You must be roasting in that.” She nodded slightly. He undid the silver clasp and pulled the cloak off her then carefully laid it aside. Her pale blond hair was loose on her shoulders, though messy from the cloak. He combed his fingers through it, the tresses shining in the firelight, fine as spider silk. He saw her swallow as a tear welled up, balancing there on the edge of her eye before spilling over and sliding down her cheek. He resisted the urge to wipe it off as he murmured, “You grieve something. What is it?”

“I wish I had died in Sovngarde.”

“You are the only one who does,” he said gravely.

“My mother wasn’t there, not that I could find, but I spoke with Ysgramor. King Olaf. Jurgen Windcaller. Kodlak Whitemane. King Torygg.” She heard Ulfric’s sharp intake of breath as he pulled his hand away. “He thinks you killed him with the _thu’um._ ”

Ulfric stated in a fierce whisper, “And I swear to you that I did not!”

“He told me on the steps of Shor’s Hall, ‘When Ulfric Stormcloak, with savage Shout, sent me here, my sole regret was fair Elisif, left forlorn and weeping. I faced him fearlessly, my fate inescapable, yet my honor is unstained. Can Ulfric say the same?’” She saw him shake his head out of the corner of her eye, and she said with regret, “I do believe you, Ulfric. I’ve thought about it since then, and if he was knocked senseless with the _thu’um_ then that was the last thing he remembered before dying.” He didn’t answer, his breathing strained. “Well, my honor is hardly unstained, is it? I murdered that old biddy who ran the orphanage. I frightened her to death.” Ulfric stayed silent at the confession. “Tsun said I would be welcome in Sovngarde and Shor’s Hall when I died, but I couldn’t get back in. I beat on the doors and they wouldn’t open again, but I could hear them singing inside, toasting my name. I should have slit my throat then and been done with it.”

“No, you should not have,” he finally said, keeping his tone even with an effort. What a terrible thing for her to wish!

“You should have seen it there,” Bryn said in a voice full of pained yearning. “All the colors were brighter, more intense. Flowers and water like nothing you’ve ever seen, and the sky…oh, the sky, more beautiful than the aurora ever is here, and the Hall of Valor was greater than any palace you could imagine. For days it was all I saw when I closed my eyes. Once the mists cleared the souls began to flow towards the whalebone bridge. So many, many Nord dead. Stormcloaks and Legionnaires, brothers and sisters again in death, no longer divided as they had been in life. The war ceased to exist for them there.”

Ulfric said in a choked voice, “As well it should. Yes.” Ah, how it wounded him to hear that.

“I thought I would spend some time here in Windhelm. A week, a few weeks…I don’t know. Then I’m going to Solitude to meet with Tullius, for an equal amount of time. I may have nothing else, but I will make sure this peace holds and the Thalmor are driven out of Skyrim.”

“Nothing else?” He used his thumb to wipe the drying tear from her cheek. “I ask again what you’re grieving, because I don’t believe it is Sovngarde.”

“I sent Vilkas a letter, from Riften. Asking him to forgive me and come to Riften, to be with me, to marry me. He never came, and he never wrote back.” Ulfric sighed and began to pet her hair. “I sent it with a letter to Lydia and Farkas, and they wrote me back, so I know he got it. I waited, and waited, and the day came and went, so I waited some more, just in case, but he never came. I really thought he would. He begged me to come back to him after Sovngarde, and then when I try he ignores me?” She could only guess how painful it would have been to be standing before him when he turned away from her one last time. Every day she had waited had ripped out a tiny piece of her heart, and now it was a tattered, bleeding mess in her chest.

“He is a fool, and that is all there is to it.” He gently grabbed her chin and turned her face to his, tired of staring at her profile. “Ah,” he murmured. “I hadn’t thought you could get more beautiful, and yet you are.” Her eyes were startling, but breathtaking, no longer Altmer but something else entirely that he couldn’t begin to understand. He didn’t need to. “People say your eyes reflect the glory of the Divines, and I see it is true.”

“I’m a freak!” Bryn whispered.

“No. The gods have marked you. Unfairly, yes, but there is nothing freakish about you. There is some reason they have set you apart as they have. Perhaps it is only to keep you from falling into the hands of a weak, unworthy man.” He ran his fingers back through her hair. “A woman like you…it would be tempting to put you on a pedestal. I think that is what most of Skyrim has done. You are something divine and untouchable to most men.”

“Most men?”

The question made him bite back a smile, as did the searching look in her eyes. The hope there. “Well, I must admit I am not like most men. For the good and the bad.” He wound his fingers in her hair, bunching it in his hand, then he let it fall again. He had never felt anything so fine, so soft, each strand shimmering in the firelight. “I see and hear the Divine in you, and I know what you are. I respect it without fearing it. I understand the _thu’um_ and your nature. I think Vilkas never quite comprehended that he had a dragon in his bed. A _rekdovah_.” She-dragon. Bryn blinked at the word, her eyes wide. He ran his thumb along her bottom lip, feeling warmth building in him at the thought that she had come here to him, to his private quarters, at his usual bedtime, wanting his comfort and understanding. It flattered and humbled him that she had come to him for that. There were plenty of women over the years who had wanted other things from him, but never that. “A…let me think… _brit yuvon rekdovah_ ,” he murmured. Her lips parted at the sound of the dragon tongue, and he nearly laughed at what Arngeir and the other dried up old priests would think of him using the sacred speech for seduction. Not that this was a seduction, when the Dovahkiin was so very willing. 

Ulfric smiled at her and let his hand fall, saying, “As romantic as this fireside talk is, I think sitting here on the floor is crippling me.” Bryn made a sound of dismay and sprang to her feet with enviable energy, and when she offered him her hand he took it without shame and let her pull him to his feet, and nearly off them. “By Talos, you’re strong!” he said in disbelief. He had known she was, and that was only a taste, but it was stunning nonetheless. She frowned and let go of his hand, but he kept hold of it and pulled her close, ignoring the aches and pains. Hopefully he would cease to feel them at all very soon. “I meant nothing by it, Brynhilde,” he assured her. “Your strength is part of your beauty. The sight of you in Candlehearth Hall is burned into my brain. You took my breath away. You could have had me then and there and I don’t think I would have even thought to lock the door.”

“And what about here and now?”

Ulfric laughed breathlessly at the soft yet fierce question, her eyes dilating and getting an intense look that he could only call predatory. “Gods yes,” he whispered. “If you have as little care for my scars as I do for your nature, then by Dibella you can have me any way you want.” He made a sound of surprise as she practically lunged at him, locking her lips to his. He returned her eager kisses, a hot lust surging through him that he hadn’t felt since he was a young man, and even then it hadn’t felt anything like this. Bryn broke away and practically tore off her clothes, getting them off before he could get his shirt over his head. He nearly told her to slow down when he felt the warmth of soft breasts against his chest and her arms going about his neck. He threw his shirt to the side and kissed her deeply, running his hands over her lithe body, hardly believing it was happening like this, and not about to question it. He didn't dare. Didn't dare think too hard about any of it, for once. Her hands trailed down his back and he ignored a twinge of self-consciousness about it, knowing what she had to be feeling, something he had never let another woman lay her hands on. She didn’t let it stop her, and he felt a tug at the waist of his pants that made him growl into her mouth.

“Ah, _kodaavi…_ ”

His breath caught at the word, shocked, and when she sank to her knees and pulled his pants down along with her then took him in her mouth he had to grab for the headboard of the bed to keep his knees from buckling. He watched, panting, as she worked enthusiastically at him, bringing him nearly to the edge within minutes. Her eyes flashed open when he stopped her, not about to let her finish him, and he pulled her up by the hair to kiss her again as he kicked off his pants. He pushed her toward the bed and she climbed up, and he went after her and flipped her onto her back so he could look at her. “Glorious,” he breathed. "Sweet Dibella, you are fucking glorious..." So tall and pale, golden curls above pale pink skin that begged to be tasted. Now if he could remember just how to do this, and do it right.

Ulfric bent down and did ran his tongue over her, making her moan and grab handfuls of his hair. She smelled and tasted mercifully, completely human, and he slid two fingers inside her and up, pressing, and she cried out and grabbed the blankets, the sound echoing around them and making him smile in relief and satisfaction. She whimpered and bit her lip, trying to stop the sound, but when she came there was no stopping it, and he didn’t care, finding the thunder of her pleasure outrageously exciting. He hoped the entire city heard it and knew he was the one responsible. He crawled up her body and plunged into her, making her cry out again, and held still there, savoring the feel of her. He bent to take a rose pink nipple in his mouth, murmuring against her, “Do you know how much I have wanted this?” Her long legs wrapped around his waist, and he leaned up to nuzzle her neck and moved slowly inside her. 

“Please,” she moaned, frustrated by the slow pace, but when she bucked her hips against him he laughed and slowed down even further. Then he suddenly reared up on his hands and thrust into her hard, making her cry out, and any thought of the noise she was making fled as she grabbed the headboard above her. He did it over and over again until she was nearly sobbing, arching against him, then he fell onto his elbows and kissed her hard. She tried to catch her breath as he slowed to a stop, shuddering against her as she felt him pulsing inside her, his breath coming in nearly silent gasps against her mouth. The sensation was strange, entirely different from anything Vilkas did. She pushed thoughts of him away before the grief returned. With Ulfric here it wasn’t hard to do, but she couldn't help feeling a pang of guilt that she had finally been with someone other than her first love. Well, he'd had the chance to keep her to himself. Ulfric's loving wasn't as sensuous as Vilkas' had been, but plenty good if he really had been with as few women over the last thirty years as he had claimed he had.

When Bryn’s legs unwrapped from his body and her hands let go of the headboard, Ulfric said breathlessly against her cheek, “Dovahkiin, do not think I will let you go after this. Not on your life.” He stayed inside her and leaned to the side enough to put his hand on her breast and knead it gently. He felt her twine one leg with his as he kissed her neck, then she put her arms around him. There was something oddly comforting about being with a woman his height, one so strong. She was no delicate flower that needed protecting. He wasn’t a man who found weakness in a woman enticing, or an affirmation of his manhood. Ah, to think he had claimed the Dragonborn… He understood the honor and glory of that a thousand times more than the Companion ever could. Now that he had seen her in all her naked glory, felt and tasted her, the thought of letting her go was intolerable. The thought of this being just as itch to scratch...well, he had been wrong before, and it wouldn't be the last time.

“I was too loud,” she whispered, mortified.

“Hell no.”

“Everyone heard me!”

“I doubt that. These stone walls are old and thick.” He sat up on his elbow to rub his nose against hers. “Like me.”

Bryn laughed merrily, the sound ringing off the walls, making him chuckle in response. She put her hands on his cheeks and gave him a gentle shake. “No old man could have done to me what you did, _kodaavi._ ” He wasn’t entirely wrong about the other part though. It was amazing how different he was from Vilkas, not quite as long but a bit thicker, more curved. It had certainly felt quite nice, naturally hitting a magical spot in her that Vilkas had to angle himself for. She pushed thoughts of him away again as Ulfric kissed her nose affectionately, unexpectedly.

“Ahh, I like that pet name, _rekdovahi_ , my sweet she-dragon.” She giggled, and he growled and dug his fingers into her ribs and tickled, making her squeal and laugh hysterically as she struggled, her muscles down there clenching around him enticingly. Her girlishness delighted him, though it couldn’t help but make him feel his age. He shivered, sweat cooling on him even in the warm room. He pulled out with a sigh of regret and rolled away from her to find something to clean off with. He went to a wardrobe and found a cloth then wetted it from a water pitcher and cleaned off then tossed it to her. She sat up on the bed on her knees and wiped off then let his seed drain into it, and as he poured a goblet of water then drank it down he watched her. She noticed his attention and blushed, looking away. He snorted a laugh and said in a wry tone, “You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you? You truly don’t.” Her entire body rippled as she shrugged one shoulder, frowning, and her hair was a golden halo around her head. Completely divine. He returned to the bed, handing her a fresh goblet of water, and pulled back the sheets to get under the covers. After a brief hesitation she got up to put the goblet away and toss the cloth aside.

“I um, made sure I wouldn’t conceive,” she murmured as she looked for her clothes.

“Thoughtful, but not the end of the world if you did.” It wasn't as if he wasn't well aware of his need for an heir at his age, and the thought of a Dragonborn child of his blood ruling Eastmarch, and perhaps all of Skyrim, was a highly appealing one. Ulfric rolled onto his side to see her staring at him with a look of either shock or hurt, he couldn’t tell which. He motioned to the socks in her hands and demanded, “Get rid of those and get into bed.” Bryn hesitated, a guarded look coming down over her eyes. “Did you bring a housecarl or hireling to Windhelm with you?”

“No.” Iona had insisted on coming and she had gently dissuaded her.

“Someone waiting for you somewhere?” She shook her head. He patted the pillow next to him. “Come. It’s been a long time since I’ve shared pillow talk with anyone. I’d like you to stay.” He hadn't spent all night with a woman since the Legion, and the notion of waking up to Bryn's face in the morning warmed him.

“All night?”

Ulfric frowned in confusion. “Of course. Why wouldn’t you? You can stay here with me the entire time you’re in Windhelm if you’d like. I would enjoy your company.” The offer seemed to pain her, and she bunched the socks in her hands so tightly that it seemed they would come apart. He wondered if maybe he was overwhelming her, and then he realized that her upset had begun when he had brushed off her concerns about a child coming of their lovemaking. Well, that had been stupid of him. He had been trying to reassure her, forgetting that she wanted a child desperately. And a husband. He had to admit that at the moment his thinking wasn’t particularly clear when it came to her.

“Maybe…maybe I should go.”

“Only if you want to, but I’d like to know why you would want to.” She seemed on the verge of tears all of a sudden, and he sat up in bed, venturing, “I’m sorry if my comment about conceiving upset you. I’ll be honest and say that it would make things complicated, but I’ve never been one to shy away from complications. I told you the last time you were in Windhelm that I’m not averse to marriage, though we both know that I would benefit from it much more than you would.”

“That isn’t true,” Bryn said in denial.

“I’m not a young man. I’m twenty years older than you and then some. Even that Companion was ten years older than you. You should find a man your age for marriage and children.”

“Men my age are boring. I like mature men. Strong men. Men who have lived.”

He could see that, and why that was. Most likely her nature would tolerate nothing else. “And what if you become High Queen?” She looked troubled at that, looking away from him to the fire. “Yes, you know that it’s a very good possibility at this point, don’t you. All of Skyrim, all of Tamriel, knows that you brokered peace between me and Tullius, something that should have been impossible.”

“Only the dragons made it possible.”

“And yet that is the reality. There is peace here now. It’s held for over two months. People are getting used to it. Frankly, so am I.” He paused then said in a lowered voice, “Your words about Sovngarde… they trouble me. I have always done what I thought was right, what I thought was honorable and best for Skyrim.”

“I know that.”

“You can’t marry me if you become High Queen. It would not sit well with a large number of people.”

“I’m not even a Jarl!”

“Yes, and I think that would actually be an advantage. What is it you told me, beholden to all and none? That is why you became thane in all the holds. All but mine.” He smiled suspiciously at her and added, “Is that what all this is about? You want me to make you my thane?” She threw the socks at him, making him laugh. He tossed them aside and patted the bed again. “Come. Get in bed and forget politics for now. There are enough hours in the daytime for that.” Just when it seemed she wasn’t going to do so, Bryn moved, sliding into bed next to him. He rolled over to face her, sitting up on his elbow to look down at her. She reached up to stroke his left cheek, running her finger along the scar, actually three running parallel to each other. “That was rightfully gained in battle, against the Forsworn over twenty years ago. Don’t worry on that account.” She moved her hand down to his shoulder, fingering a round, puckered burn scar that made her frown deeply, and he caught her hand and brought it to his mouth. “Do you think to mentally catalogue them all?”

“Why not? I want to know what they did to you. I want to know what kind of monsters they are.” Ulfric grunted, searching her eyes, hesitating as he licked his lips, then he nodded and let go of her hand. Bryn pushed down the covers to look at him, seeing a body that wasn’t as lean and toned as Vilkas’ but still impressive, more heavily built, only a slight softness around the middle that didn’t detract from his appeal any, and neither did the silver hairs sprinkled amongst the blond on his chest and stomach. But there were too many scars, many more than Vilkas had, who made his living fighting. She rolled him onto his stomach and felt a wave of nausea at the web of scars across his back, a criss-crossed web of old lash marks, left to heal on their own, some of them knotted as if they had gotten infected. She pushed the covers down further and saw them on his backside, even across the backs of his legs.

As Bryn pulled the covers back up to his waist he felt the hot splash of a tear on his back, and he sighed and rolled over again. “You see, this is what I did not want," he said in an uneven tone. "Those marks were made before you were ever born.” The thought made him feel incredibly old. And yet for all her youth she was still here, wasn't recoiling from his disfigurement, just as he had known she wouldn't. It was the only reason he had taken off his shirt in front of her, something he hadn't done in front of anyone but Galmar in three decades.

“I’m going to kill them all,” she choked.

“I would hope you would do so anyway, not just because of me.” He wiped her cheeks then pulled her down to him, and she made a sound of grief and laid her head on his chest, putting one arm over him to hold him tightly. She sniffed as he pulled up the covers over them both then petted her hair, staring at the ceiling. He smelled lavender coming from the fair golden strands, a scent that he would always associate with her from now on. He had to wonder if he had made a terrible mistake in fostering their attraction to each other, had to wonder if he had put them both on a path that couldn’t possibly end well for either of them. He wasn’t quite sure what he had been thinking, that he could be with a woman like this and not want more. Maybe some part of him had realized it and had pushed him to it. A being like her came along once in an era, and the thought of making her his wife was nearly irresistible. Not only because she was young and beautiful, powerful, but for the prestige and validation of having the Dragonborn as his partner. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t fantasized about what he could accomplish with her under his banner, as Galmar had said more than a few times. Well, it was the end result that mattered, not how it came about. If Bryn could drive the Thalmor out of Skyrim, freeing folk to openly worship Talos again and go about their lives as they once had, without fear, he didn’t care how it happened. If she could push the Thalmor and the Aldmeri Dominion out of Cyrodiil, back to Valenwood and the Summerset Isles, so much the better.

“But would you? Marry me if I asked?”

Ulfric laughed softly and answered, “If I said yes to that question back then, I would imagine this would make me even more likely to say so.” To have this all the time…well, he was no fool like the Harbinger of the Companions. He couldn’t imagine the vanity, or the insecurity, involved there. That Vilkas had rejected Bryn’s offer of marriage not once but twice was inconceivable to Ulfric. She would have been better off with the younger man, he didn’t doubt that. He knew with complete honesty that he himself was not a great lover, if only due to lack of practice, and he certainly wasn't a handsome man, not even when he was young. Vilkas and Bryn must have made a striking couple when they were together, and they would have had tall, gorgeous children. Fool, fool, fool…

“All right. I’m glad.” She lifted her head to look at him, and when he smiled it softened the harsh planes of his face. She kissed him tenderly, smoothing back his dark blond hair, shot through with silver. She played with one of his braids, tickling his nose with it, and he laughed then tweaked her nipple, making her squeak in surprise then lean in to kiss him deeply. He responded warmly with a growl, and when she ran her hand down his stomach to fondle him he was only slightly hard. No, he wasn’t as young as Vilkas, but at least he was willing to be _ahmul_ to her. At least he didn’t panic at the thought of children. With more stroking he hardened under her hand as his own slid between her legs. She would see where this went, secure in the knowledge that if nothing else Ulfric was willing. The dragon in her found him a fitting mate. Not her first choice, but not a bad one in any way. Ulfric understood that, and understood what she was and didn’t fear it, had never shrunk from it. Or from her, and from forever with her.  
-  
Galmar folded his arms as he saw Ulfric finally emerge from the hallway leading from his quarters to the war room, and when the girl followed he let out a sound of offended shock. “I’ll be damned to Oblivion!” he growled. “What the hell is this? How did she get in here?”

Ulfric laughed and said to Bryn, “See, I told you.” He left it at that, her pink cheeks telling him she knew exactly what he meant. Galmar’s room was just down the hall from Ulfric’s and he obviously hadn’t heard a thing, though the way his friend snored he might not have anyway, and Ulfric’s room was up the stairs from everyone else’s. He said to his housecarl, “We have a guest, Galmar. The Dragonborn has been here since last night. I would have her treated with respect.” Galmar grumbled and glared at Bryn, who gazed back unflinchingly, though she still blushed. “I’m hungry. Is breakfast served?”

“Breakfast was an hour and a half ago!” Ulfric laughed more loudly at that and Bryn giggled, her hand over her mouth, and the look between them made Galmar’s eyebrows rise. So they really had. Slept together. Ulfric was having an affair with the Dragonborn. The woman had spent the night in the Jarl’s bed, as no woman ever had. Ulfric rose at the same time with regularity, and if he had slept this late then it wasn’t hard to guess that he hadn’t slept much the night before, and the reason why. Ulfric gazed warmly at the girl, and she bit her lip and smiled back with obvious affection, and Galmar nodded slowly and pulled his eyes away, his heart aching with mixed sorrow and relief. He quietly stated, “Well then, I’ll have Sifnar warm it back up for you.”

“Thank you, Galmar.”

The housecarl went to the kitchen and ordered breakfast for the Jarl and a guest, since Jorleif was attending to things elsewhere, and the old servant didn’t blink an eye or ask any questions, just as he shouldn’t. When Galmar returned to the war room he saw Ulfric and Bryn leaning over the map, Ulfric’s arm around the girl’s shoulders. The sight threw him for a loop, complete unused to seeing his Jarl with a woman. Well, if there had to be a woman here, at least it was a worthy one.

“You see, there are three passes into Cyrodiil,” Ulfric explained. “The Pale Pass, where you were captured; those gates are kept locked now and only Tullius’ command can reopen them. Another in Falkreath, further west, near Halldir’s Cairn, and another to the southeast in Riften. These last two are open but heavily guarded by Imperials.”

Bryn stated, “Nothing a dragon can’t fly over, if I have to.” She heard a sharp intake of breath behind them, and she kept her eyes on the map as she said, “I’m sorry Galmar, I can’t turn it off. I’ve tried.”

He cleared his throat and stated, “You are Dragonborn, and that is all there is to it.” He moved around the other side of the table and said to Ulfric, “Remedial education, eh?”

“Something like that,” the Jarl answered. He glanced up at his old friend and saw Galmar looking between the two of them with a strained expression. He kept his arm around Bryn’s shoulders and she kept her eyes downward, not challenging Galmar in any way, deliberately. She was well aware now that Galmar meant more to him than any of her housecarls did, even Lydia. “My lady dragon here is the greatest warrior in Skyrim, however we both know that doesn’t always translate well onto a formal battlefield. The Companions have taught her well, but there are areas that are lacking, through no one’s fault.”

Bryn said with misgiving, “I may never get it.”

“If you are to be High Queen, you must.”

“Isn’t that what advisors are for?”

“Yes, but you must know enough to tell if their advice is sound.” She sighed and nodded, her brow furrowing as she stared at the map. Ulfric stood up straight and put his hand on her lower back, Bryn still leaning on her hands. He said to Galmar, “You’ve never steered me wrong in that regard, old friend.”

Galmar muttered, “In _that_ regard? Huh.” Ulfric snorted a laugh. “High Queen. So. Do you think they will call a Moot?”

“Balgruuf may. Brynhilde says he practically begged her to go if one is called. He is a neutral party, as is she—“

“You think anyone is going to believe that after this?” He motioned between the two of them.

Bryn said, “After this, I’m going to Solitude and spending an equal amount of time there.”

“Not doing the same thing, I hope.” Instead of growing angry she took the comment as intended and burst into laughter, the sound ringing off the stone walls. Ulfric seemed just as annoyed as he was amused, his eyes narrowed and his tongue in his cheek.

“Bedroom diplomacy, is that what they call it Galmar?” she said with a grin.

“Maybe,” he said with a chuckle. Her golden eyes gleamed at him, startling now that she was looking straight at him. _No hard feelings?_ was what she was saying, smiling sweetly at him, and he nodded with a snort. He hooked his thumbs in his belt. “So, why do you need to go to Cyrodiil, and on a dragon at that?”

“Oh, I don’t need to, not yet. Not unless I’m chasing Elenwen. Her neck has a date with my sword. Haven’t decided which one yet.”

“I haven’t heard that she’s tried to leave Skyrim. The Imperials watch the passes, and we watch both. By all reports she and most of the Thalmor left in Skyrim are holed up in the Embassy. Pretty tidy, eh?”

“A little too much so. I could only imagine how they have the place booby-trapped. They obviously don’t understand what I’ve spent most of the last year doing. I can pick any lock, disarm any trigger, skim over any pressure plate, and on top of that I learned about casting Wards during my brief time at the College.”

Galmar sneered, “Mages.”

“Hm. Well, I’m not a mage, but I did see many in Shor’s Hall. Tsun called it ‘the clever craft’ and said that Nords had forgotten the respect they once had for it.”

“Great Divines,” the housecarl breathed. “No shit.” He wasn’t about to tell Wuunferth that. The wizard already had trouble getting his big head through a doorway.

“Well, as I said, I’m no mage. I’m an expert healer, but other than that the only spells I’ve used with any regularity are Soul Trap for keeping my weapons charged and Wards when I’m faced with a Rune.” She stood and stretched her back, Ulfric’s hand falling away. “I’ll go to the Embassy after I deal with Tullius and Elisif. I need him on board before I start anything with the Thalmor.”

“Start! Wouldn’t you say you’ve already done that?”

“Oh no. Whatever I’ve done up here was minor, just picking away at their numbers. I could have had them all taken care of by now if I wasn’t worried it would force Tullius to do something he really doesn’t want to. He despises Elenwen. He’d be just as happy to have her head on a pike as I would.”

“Is that so.”

“He understood every word I told her at the peace conference.”

Galmar looked at Ulfric. “Is that true?” Ulfric had told him on the way down the mountain about the conversation, with a great deal of smug pleasure.

“She just said so,” Ulfric stated with a frown. “But if you’re wondering how she knew that, I saw it as well. Everyone who didn’t understand Altmeris was obviously confused, wondering what was passing between Elenwen and Brynhilde. Tullius however stared at the fire with an expression of complete neutrality. Tullius most likely knows Altmeris, and doesn’t want the Thalmor to know he does.” Which Ulfric couldn’t help finding somewhat admirable. He had no patience for political games and intrigue, too direct for that, and could only imagine the machinations Tullius was forced to deal with, or anyone of any rank in the Imperial City. Well, they had put themselves in that position.

“Huh,” Galmar grunted. “Well then, let’s hope Tullius does agree to work with you, Dragonborn. I should tell you that maybe the Thalmor haven’t been seen passing through the gates, but Imperial messengers have been.” Ulfric of course already knew that. Bryn made a sound of interest and looked back down at the map. Galmar leaned on the table and stabbed Riften. “We control Falkreath, so the passes there are cut off from Solitude, but the Empire controls The Rift now. They have to take the long way, but there’s definite movement through that single gate. No reinforcements coming in though, not even as a trickle to throw us off. _That_ we have been on a close look-out for.” He eyed Bryn and asked, “Did you notice anything while you were in Riften?”

“I did notice Maven receiving Imperial couriers fairly often, but she never seemed very happy after they left so I was content with that,” Bryn stated. She smiled and added with satisfaction, “In fact she hasn’t been very happy as Jarl at all.” She looked out into the main hall and asked, “Is Laila here?”

“Somewhere,” Ulfric said sourly. “I was not pleased when she came here seeking asylum. She blames you for her current status. I explained the matter to her once. She took the hint and has kept her mouth shut since then.” He heard the clink of dishes being set in the hall, and he took Bryn’s arm. “Let’s go eat, my beauty. I’m fairly starving at this point, for some reason.” She laughed and blushed, something she did so easily, so charmingly.

Galmar stayed in the war room while the two ate, hearing soft conversation and occasional laughter, and it made his throat tighten. He knew his Jarl was attracted to the girl, and Ulfric had said it was mutual, but this… Ulfric seemed genuinely happy. Maybe even in love, and the Dragonborn looked at him with obvious affection. He glanced out at the long table at one point when it grew quiet and saw Ulfric whispering in Bryn’s ear, then the girl giggled madly then clapped her hands over her mouth when the sound echoed, and Ulfric shook his head and pulled her her hands down.

“No,” he said firmly. “Be what you are.” Bryn gazed at him for a moment then smiled at him and nodded.

“All right, _kodaavi._ ”

Unable to tolerate it, Galmar went upstairs to his quarters, busying himself with sharpening his axe, though it hardly needed it. He had to do something to distract himself from worrying about Ulfric, something he was unused to doing, or at least had been for some time, other than the brief time he was in Imperial custody before escaping from Helgen. That had taken a year or two off his life. This was different though. It wasn’t Ulfric’s physical safety he was worried about this time. This...this was so much more risky than that.

He heard boots in the hallway half an hour later and wasn’t surprised when Ulfric showed up in his doorway. He grunted and asked, “Did your guest go on her way?”

“Only temporarily,” Ulfric said, coming in and closing the door. “She left her gear at Candlehearth Hall, and she had an errand to run to The White Phial. She’ll be back soon.”

“Huh. You’re closing the door. This can’t be good.”

Ulfric leaned against the door, folding his arms. “Go ahead, old friend. I know you’ve been dying to.”

“I hope to hell you know what you’re doing,” Galmar said intently, worried, and came to his feet. “Damn it, Ulfric! Everything is turned around now. You sleeping with the Dragonborn…what is Tullius going to do when he finds out? And he will find out. I don’t care that she’s going to Solitude after she’s done…doing whatever it is she came here to do, and I doubt it was just to warm your bed.”

“I’ve had women warm my bed, Galmar,” he said in a tone of warning. “Not often, but I know the difference.”

“All right, bad choice of words.” He knew bedroom matters were a touchy subject with his Jarl. Even as a young man in the Legion it had never been easy for him to casually bed women, and after being in Elenwen’s clutches it had been nearly impossible. Galmar had never reminded Ulfric of his duty to marry and produce an heir, knowing how painful the subject was to him. He knew better than anyone, having seen the tears Ulfric let no one else see. He couldn’t begin to conceive of what the Thalmor witch had done to Ulfric to make him so put off by sex, and Ulfric had never been able to come out and actually say it, but what he could imagine left him wanting to cry for Ulfric even now, thirty years later. That his Jarl was so smitten with this girl made Galmar want to do the same, and he was torn between tears of happiness for him and tears of anger, dreading that he would end up deeply hurt.

“Very. Between you and me—“

“You always know it’s only between you and me, damn it.”

“She has only ever been with that Companion. This was not a casual thing for her. For either of us.” Galmar frowned, clearly worried, and he said more gently, “I appreciate your concern, old friend. To be honest I have concerns of my own, but they are more for her sake than mine. I don’t want my association with her to cost her the throne. If I cannot be High King, then I will make sure she becomes Queen, for the sake of Skyrim as a whole, and the people finding out she’s my lover will not help her reach that goal with the half that support the Empire.” Galmar grunted in assent, already well aware that their dreams for Ulfric to take the throne were dead in the water. He wasn’t particularly sorry about that; his love of Skyrim was greater than his love of power. He said with difficulty, “I tried to remind her of my age, and hers. I told her she should find a young man to marry and have children with, and she wouldn’t hear of it.” Seeing Galmar’s mouth drop open he shook his head and said impatiently, “No, no, that came out wrong. We aren’t talking of marrying, or having children. She assured me last night that no children would come of it and I told her it wouldn’t be a tragedy if it did. She asked me the last time she was in Windhelm if I would marry her if she asked, hypothetically, and I told her yes, as any sane man would, and I told her so again last night. I was reassuring her, that was all. That idiot Companion rejected her proposal, twice.”

“His loss, I suppose.” Galmar himself would never marry a woman like that. His beloved late wife Eldi had been a strong woman, but in a woman’s way, running the household and raising their now-grown daughters with a firm hand. Brynhilde was a true warrior, a dragon in human form. If Ulfric thought he could handle that, fine, but Galmar frankly thought men their age had no business bedding young women, and even less trying to actually keep one around for any length of time, and this wasn’t any young woman. The girl would chew Ulfric up and spit him out again, and it wouldn’t matter if it was intentional or not. A young woman that age had a certain…energy that men their age simply couldn’t keep up with.

“Yes, I suppose,” he agreed, “and I know she still grieves the loss. I can’t ever be to her what he was.”

“No reason you should be.”

“True. Very true.” He stood away from the door and went to sit on the edge of Galmar’s bed near his friend. He sat there for a second then blew out a breath and laid back to look at the ceiling, hearing Galmar chuckle as he sat back down next to him.

“Tired, are you?” Ulfric barked out a laugh. “So?” Ulfric was silent, and Galmar poked him in the ribs. “Come on, give a lonely old man something to work with here.”

“A gentleman never tells.”

“Since when did you become a gentleman?” Ulfric gave him the middle finger, making him guffaw. He couldn’t remember the last time Ulfric had done that. “Kodaavi. What does that mean?”

“My bear, in the dragon tongue.” He laughed, “I was thinking last night how I would like to see Arngeir’s face if he ever found out we were whispering sweet nothings to each other in the sacred speech. He would be horrified, I think. But Brynhilde says she will never go back to them unless she has to, so that will have to remain a mystery.” Galmar was silent, and he looked over at his friend to see Galmar looking at him with a pained expression. “You worry for me,” he murmured. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a look like that on your face.”

“I don’t want it to end badly. She could wound you to death without ever meaning to.”

“There is always that possibility with any woman. _This_ is the one I choose to take that chance with.” He sighed wistfully and looked back up at the ceiling, putting his hands behind his head. “Ah Galmar, she was…splendid. Fierce, and yet in the next instant she would melt like a warm snowberry. It was as if one moment she was a dragon and the next a butterfly, and her body velvet and steel. I’ve never let any woman see the scars, and yet with her I was unafraid. She is so…damn strong, and when she vowed to kill the Thalmor just because of what they had done to me, it…I felt…peace. She was looking at the scars and I felt one of her tears fall on my back, and at the time it was simply sad, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.” He licked his lips, hearing only Galmar’s rough breathing, and went on, “This morning I woke up and saw her lying there, and I told myself it was a mistake that I had just taken a half-Altmer woman to my bed, and then I thought about that single tear. She was there at Helgen, there in that cart right next to me. There is meaning in that, Galmar. Maybe it was meant to happen like this, that it was a half-Elven woman who was sent to make me whole again, to fix what her father’s people broke.”

“Damn it, Ulfric,” Galmar choked, rubbing his eyes as he got off the bed. “What the hell are you trying to do, anyway?”

“Make you love her as much as I do, maybe.”

“After one night?”

“No. I think it started after she gave me the dossier. I never told you that, did I? How she poured me a mug of mead, knelt in front of me and wrapped my hands around it and vowed to protect me from Tullius? She didn’t even know me then!”

“No, you didn’t tell me that.”

Ulfric said in a tone of wonder, “Something has drawn us to each other since the night she gave me the dossier. Before that she only pitied me and hoped to make peace, but at that moment when she was kneeling there, something…changed. And now I’m lying here counting down the minutes until she returns.”

“Go count them down somewhere else,” Galmar demanded in a growl, making Ulfric laugh and rise from the bed. “How long is she staying?”

“As long as she wants. No doubt before long something will drive her onward. She isn’t one to stay in any one place for long. She’s a restless soul. Maybe once she has accomplished everything she dreams of she will finally settle down.”

“With you, eh?”

“I hope not, for her sake,” he said as they went to the door. “I told you, I am too old for her. Selfishly, I wish it would be me. I fear I’m not suited to marriage, but she makes me want to try.” 

Before Ulfric could open the door Galmar put his hand on it, stopping him. He put his hand on his Jarl’s shoulder and quietly said, “Look…she’s pretty, I don’t deny that. And she wants to see justice done. If anyone can pull off pushing back the Thalmor it’s her, sure. And you want her on the throne as High Queen, fine. I’d rather it was you, but fine, whatever puts the Empire in its place and lets our people live and worship freely again.”

“But?”

“I’ve…just got a bad feeling.” To his credit Ulfric took that seriously, as he always did. Sometimes nothing came of those feelings, but he never knew if it was because they had done something to avert whatever was going to happen, or if it was really just a hunch that amounted to nothing that all people got from time to time. Galmar shook his head and let his hands fall. “It’s probably nothing. I’m just not used to seeing you like this. I’m happy for you, and that should be all that matters, if she makes you happy. I’ll make sure I treat her with the respect she deserves.”

“Or at least as much as you show me, eh?”

Galmar laughed heartily at that, and as they went out into the hall he felt Ulfric’s arm go around him. He patted his Jarl on the back, unable to help being touched by the whole thing. Ulfric was happier than he had seen him…well, maybe ever. If the girl could heal some of Ulfric’s hurts then by Talos he would be her number one supporter.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of past rape, for those with tender hearts.
> 
> This is quite a long chapter as I felt this sequence shouldn't be broken up.

The sound of a thundering roar made Tullius and Rikke look up from the map, and the General sourly said, “I thought she got rid of the dragons.”

“She got rid of Alduin, sir,” Rikke corrected. “I thought I explained all that. Sir.”

“Yes, yes, a number of them are still alive. Why doesn’t she do her job and finish hunting them down?” Rikke didn’t get the chance to answer as a resounding boom shook the entire castle from the top down. “What the hell was that!” Tullius shouted. One of the Legionnaires guarding the door came running inside, his dark eyes huge with fear.

He cried breathlessly, “Dragon, sir! On the roof—“

“So shoot it down!” Aldis had a courtyard full of drilling archers out there to deal with the matter, which they should be doing without Tullius having to get involved. Aldis was the one responsible for the safety and security of the city, not Tullius.

“No sir, the Dragonborn…the Dragonborn is up there. She…merciful Akatosh, she rode a dragon here, sir!” Tullius and Rikke looked at each other, and the Legate was biting her lip as if deciding whether to find it amusing or not. Tullius was definitely not amused. “Sir, ma’am…Captain Aldis told the archers to hold their fire—“ There was another roar and the building shook again.

Tullius said through clenched teeth, “If she thinks I’m going to go running out there to watch her little show she is sadly mistaken.” Rikke opened her mouth to speak and he pointed a finger at her. “And you are not going out there either! That is what she wants, for everyone to see us oohing and aahing over her. It is not going to happen!” Rikke stared at him as if debating whether to obey him, then she nodded curtly. He pointed to the soldier. “Return to your post. Tell Aldis to let her land in the courtyard without harming her pet, and let her in when she comes. If she’s expecting anything else she can wait.” The young man took off at a run. Once he was gone Tullius said to Rikke, “What the hell is she trying to do? This is not the way to arrive if she wants to treat with the Empire.”

Rikke asked rhetorically, “Isn’t a dragon the symbol of the Empire, sir?” Tullius’ anger banked at that, though it wasn’t gone. “That might be her message to us.”

“Yes, yes, this supposed neutrality of hers. I’m supposed to believe that after the last month that she’s spent in Windhelm, in Ulfric’s bed?” That had not at all been welcome news, once it had started trickling out of Eastmarch. The Dragonborn and Ulfric hadn’t particularly flaunted it, but they hadn’t tried to hide it either. She was having a full-blown affair with a traitor and murderer. She had gone to the Stormcloaks first instead of the Empire.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean what you think it does.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’d all be dead if it did.” Tullius grunted, folding his arms. “Sir, you’ve said before that Nord ways don’t make any sense. Well, this is one of those things. She’s made it clear that she doesn’t approve of Ulfric’s actions and opinions. She doesn’t have to, to share his bed.” Tullius grimaced as if he found the notion distasteful. Rikke understood it though; Ulfric was a powerful, charismatic man. The Dragonborn was a powerful, beautiful woman. She frankly thought Ulfric was getting the much better end of the deal, on top of keeping his head. It was beyond her what the Dragonborn was getting out of the relationship other than an older man whose life had beat the hell out of him. “I think we should let her have her say, sir. She’s here for a reason.”

“It had better be a good one.”

“I think it would be safe to say it is, sir.”

They didn’t have long to wait; within a few minutes the outer door opened and the Dragonborn came walking towards them, completely silent. When Rikke swore softly in an admiring tone, Tullius realized the Dragonborn was wearing a crown of dragon teeth and bones…the Jagged Crown. The crown that Rikke had told Tullius months ago they needed to help legitimize Elisif’s claim to the throne. The one that Rikke said the Stormcloaks would try to gain for Ulfric, for the same reason. Tullius frankly considered it hideous, barbaric, but he supposed it went well with the dragonscale armor. He noted the girl no longer carried a shield but instead two swords. Very few people double wielded other than Redguards and Dunmer, the technique relying completely on speed and agility, two things that most Nords didn’t have in abundance.

He kept his arms folded as he watched her approach, and when she nodded to Rikke first it annoyed the hell out of him. He kept hold of his temper as he said in greeting, “Hello, Dragonborn. I trust no one molested your ride while you were showboating out there.”

Bryn replied, “That’s a rather ungrateful attitude to take, considering I was showboating for the benefit of the Empire. You know, the government you serve that has a dragon as its symbol? Quite a powerful image, I would say, for everyone to see a real live dragon roaring on the roof of Castle Dour.” Rikke flashed Tullius a look that screamed _I told you so!_ Tullius made a sound of acknowledgment. “And before you ask, no, I can’t speak in a normal voice anymore. I’ve given up even trying. The Greybeards couldn’t help me do more than moderate it. It was actually worse than this.”

“All right,” he said slowly, nodding. “All right, Dragonborn, I’ll try to take your entrance in the spirit it was intended. So, did you ride into Windhelm on a bear?”

Bryn laughed merrily at that, clapping her hands, and heard a stifled snort from Rikke. “Well, not _into_ Windhelm,” she stated with a grin. Rikke barked out a laugh then bit her lip, but Tullius stared at her with a flat expression. He was certainly a tough nut to crack. She had to wonder if he even knew how to laugh. Ulfric laughed easily enough, after all he had been through. How she missed him. They had spent nearly every minute of the last month together, and it had been the happiest month of her life. Ulfric had such incredible depths to him, the capacity for such deep rage and such incredible tenderness. The rage was never directed at her, but she had seen intense flashes of it from time to time. In many ways he was like Vilkas, both of them the product of terrible trauma in their lives, both having overcome it much better than she believed she ever would have if she had suffered the same. Unlike Vilkas however Ulfric however wasn’t afraid to love her unreservedly. He called her his healer. He bared himself completely to her, body and soul, in ways Vilkas never had, without flinching. She couldn’t help missing Vilkas still, and still loved him, still hurt over losing him, still wondered constantly how he was doing, but Ulfric’s love had moved her to the point of knowing someday she could get past it, and his easy acceptance of her nature had made her relax considerably about it, and so many other things. A month ago she never would have made a joke about riding bears in Windhelm. She supposed that was rather coarse of her, but it had been impossible to resist.

Tullius said dryly, “Right to the point. It doesn’t sit well in certain circles that you’ve taken Ulfric as a lover. In fact some find it a provocation and an affront.”

“Who, Elisif? Is she stomping her tiny feet and waving her little fists around in the air?” Tullius’ nostrils flared slightly as he blinked, and Bryn stared intently at him and murmured, “Fascinating.” His jaw clenched slightly then he glanced at the top of her head. She pulled off the Jagged Crown and tucked it under her arm. “I don’t think this would suit her. Frankly it doesn’t even suit me. It’s really quite ugly, actually.” Though impressive, and it did match her armor nicely. Supposedly it held a bit of the power of every High King or Queen who had worn it up to King Borgas, but Bryn hadn’t noticed any difference. She thought maybe she might see if she could enchant the thing and get some use out of it, otherwise she was shoving it into a chest somewhere.

“How did you get your hands on it?”

“I’ve actually been to Korvanjund before, trying to access a word wall, but the way in was blocked by a rock fall. I thought I would stop by there on my way here, and wouldn’t you know, a group of Imperial engineers and soldiers had thoughtfully cleared out the debris for me.”

“I hope you were equally thoughtful in not bothering those people on your way in.”

“They never saw me. Though I’m sure they heard the nasty fight I had to get into to get the Crown away from King Borgas. It seemed he had grown rather attached to it over the centuries.”

Rikke whispered in horror, “Mighty Talos!” Tullius gave her a sharp look, and she cleared her throat.

“Yes, Talos is mighty,” Bryn stated, fingering the Amulet of Talos that rarely left her neck, as Ulfric’s rarely left his. “I don’t understand the concern over Legate Rikke’s exclamation, General. There are no Thalmor around right now to haul her away and torture her.”

“It’s a bad habit to get into,” he stated, “because sometimes they are around.”

“Yes, and I have to wonder if you would just stand there and watch them drag her away. Or do they only drag away farmers and laborers?” Tullius didn’t answer, and when Bryn looked at Rikke the Legate was staring at her superior as if waiting for an answer. She went on more quietly, “Rumor has it the remaining Thalmor are holed up in the Embassy, as if they’re waiting for something. Reinforcements maybe? Or me?” Tullius grunted, and her voice grew more intent as she said, “Say the word and they’re gone, General. All of them. None would get out alive, I assure you. Not between me and Odahviing.”

“If you’re referring to that overgrown lizard of yours, I thought you were going to dispose of them all. The dragon menace was supposed to cease.”

“Hasn’t it, for the most part? Alduin is dead and the world will not be ending, and the remaining dragons are behaving rather well for now. Whichever ones don’t can still be killed.”

“ _You_ were supposed to kill them.”

“Anyone can kill them. Only I can master them.” She moved past him to the map of Skyrim. As she skimmed her gauntleted hand above the flags, slowly moving south, she murmured, “Imagine the sight, General. An entire flight of dragons, coming over the mountains into Cyrodill. Imagine how the Thalmor would absolutely piss themselves. And then, ha!” She brought her fist down on the table, making the flags jump, though none fell. “I jump off Odahviing right into the center of a Thalmor battalion and Shout _STRUN BAH QO_ , and the heavens open up and rain lightning down upon them for three straight minutes, extremely powerful and destructive lightning, and all the while I’m laying into them with Dawnbreaker and Chillrend, and once the lightning stops Imperial and/or Nord troops swoop in and mop up, and the dragons ride the perimeter to take out any stragglers. Can you imagine that, General?”

Tullius didn’t answer, looking at Bryn thoughtfully, and Rikke whispered, “I can, Dragonborn.” Bryn turned her gaze on her, that bizarre and magnificent golden gaze, full of approval, and it was all Rikke could do not to burst into tears or fall to her knees. It was like being in the presence of Tiber Septim reborn, and Talos forgive her but Tiber Septim never had so many dragons at his beck and call.

“I’m no strategist, but fortunately I’m sleeping with a very good one.” She glanced at Tullius but he didn’t rise to the bait.

“Well Dragonborn,” he finally said, “this is all quite an interesting exercise, but I’d like to know exactly why you’re here? Now?”

“Just checking in.”

“I’m not buying it.”

“I spent a month in Windhelm, getting to know one side of the equation. I will be spending the next month here in Solitude doing the same.” At that Tullis showed real alarm, and Bryn exploded into hysterical laughter. “Sweet Dibella, no!” she laughed. Rikke let out a guffaw then choked it back again, clearing her throat.

Tullius barked at her, “Legate, you are excused!”

“Yes sir!” she said crisply, and turned on her heel and strode out of the room. She would find out what they talked about later. When she was off duty her time was her own, and she had the feeling the Dragonborn could use a bottle of mead and a woman to talk to. A Nord woman. Tullius was going to mess up this opportunity if he wasn’t careful. The last couple months had been an exercise in extreme frustration for Rikke, trying to make Tullius understand how he could make Nord traditions work for him, and the Empire, and not getting very far. Maybe talking one-on-one with the Dragonborn would finally get through to him.

After she was gone Bryn said with resentment, “That was unnecessary. I like her.”

“Yes, you both like each other, a bit too much for my taste,” he said in aggravation. “No more games, Dragonborn. Tell me what you want.”

“I told you, General,” she stated, growing angry, and she kept in reined in with an effort. “I want to wipe out the Thalmor. I just gave you one scenario for how I could do that.” She set the helm on the table and said with almost a sneer, “You would let them drag her away, wouldn’t you. You would stand there with that stony, impassive expression of yours while she’s hauled away screaming.” He pursed his lips and she leaned her hands on the table and hissed at him, “Answer me, damn you! Would you let your own people get taken away and tortured, or only mine?”

“My people know better than to worship Talos openly, Rikke’s slip not withstanding.”

“The people _should_ be allowed to worship Talos openly.”

“We both know that. Everyone knows that. We all know the Thalmor arranged everything this way. Ulfric’s capture and torture, his escape, the banning of the Soldier’s God, this damn war, all of it. It makes me sick to my stomach how we’ve had to capitulate to them, but what else should we have done, let them destroy us all?”

“Why did they sign the treaty unless they were afraid they couldn’t, to buy time? Why have they left Hammerfell alone?”

Tullius made a cutting motion and said, “Don’t think that hasn’t been gone over time and again for the last thirty years. But this is what we have now—“

“And I’m telling you what we can do about it, now, right damn now! And you haven’t answered my question yet. I want to know if you would let the Thalmor take her away. How would the Empire repay all her years of service? The way they repaid Ulfric, by letting him rot in a Thalmor prison for an entire year? What do you think they had to do to him to break him? What do you think it would take to break you?” Tullius didn’t answer, angry and trying not to show it. That he was showing it at all told her how frustrated he was. “I want to talk to the Emperor.”

“No. Never.”

“What are all the messengers running back and forth about?”

“What messengers?”

Bryn rolled her eyes. “I live in Riften. I’ve seen Imperial couriers come and go.”

“That’s classified information.”

She shook her head and leaned on the table again. “You’re really going to do it,” she said in disbelief. “You’re going to let your complete and utter contempt for Nord ways and customs put us all in chains.”

“I do not have complete and utter contempt. I have no contempt at all. I’ve told Rikke an endless number of times that just because I don’t understand a thing doesn’t mean I can’t respect it.”

“You don’t respect me. You refuse to let yourself contemplate what I’m capable of.”

“On the contrary. And that is why you will never meet the Emperor if I can help it.”

Bryn sputtered at him and said, “I have a total lack of interest in his position. I love Skyrim. I’ve made it my home. There is nothing you could offer me to make me live in the Imperial City again.”

“Hm. Interesting.”

“What?”

“Not once have you asked me about your family. You haven’t asked Legate Rikke either. As far as I know you’ve made no attempt at all to find out how they’re doing.”

“Clearly Elenwen has already saved me the trouble, if she knows my childhood nickname. And since we both know you understand Altmeris, you know that I’ve already accepted that I’ll never see them again. I made that choice when I decided to come to Skyrim.”

“Just like that. Walk away from the folk who raised you and cut them off.”

“The alternative being staying in contact with folk who made me feel like a fat, loudmouthed, grubby little pet cow my entire life.” She lifted her chin and said in haughty Altmeris, “Oh Brynni, are you sure you want that second piece of cake? You’re already outgrowing your new clothes. Oh do get out of the dirt child; you’re starting to look like those potato-grubbing wretches your mother came from. For Auri-El’s sake girl, must you always laugh so loud? Why are you so loud? Great Mara, what man will ever want to marry a half-breed girl like you if you don’t learn to stop eating and be quiet?” Tullius looked away from her, frowning slightly, and she went on in the human tongue, “I love my aunt and grandmother, and they loved me in their fashion. It would upset me if anything happened to them, but I can’t go about my business worrying about that. They would be utterly horrified by what I am now. I was horrified by it, until Ulfric.”

“Ulfric.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to chop off his head, but you know what, it really is better this way. No martyrs. He doesn’t get to be High King, and frankly he doesn’t care.”

“Because he thinks you’re going to get the throne.”

“He was fine with that well before we got involved. He loves Skyrim more than he wanted to be King. And you know what? I’m going to tell you this once and only once: he did _not_ murder Torygg. Torygg was free to refuse the challenge, but he accepted and faced him honorably. Torygg told me so.”

“Ah yes, this trip to…wherever it is you people go when you die.”

“Again with the contempt.”

“Fine, Sovngarde.”

“You don’t believe I went there? I just imagined the whole thing?” Bryn shook her head and said in confusion, “How do you go about your life in such a dry, barren fashion? Is there no room for the fantastic? All black and white, with no shades of gray, and Divines forbid, no color? I suppose the statue of Akatosh in the Temple of the One is just a nice sculpture to you. Why were you sent here, Tullius? Who requested to have you of all people stationed in a place so steeped in emotion and spectacle?”

“I was sent here by the Emperor himself, for the very reasons you mentioned, because I _don’t_ let myself get caught up in emotion and spectacle,” he stated calmly. “You’ve seen how Rikke reacts to you. She’s a Nord first and a Legionnaire a close second. Nords are too damn emotional. Ulfric let his emotions get us all into this mess.”

“No, the Emperor’s lack of emotion got us into this mess. Nord emotion will get us out of it, because we’re all very, very pissed off. I’m trying to get us to stop being pissed off at each other and turn it toward the Thalmor.” She moved close to him and pleaded with soft intensity, “Please, put me to use. I came here to you hoping you would see what I can do and how it could make the difference. You will never, ever come across as asset like me ever again. I’m the last Dragonborn. If I’m not used against the Thalmor in a coordinated fashion with the Imperial Legion and Nord forces then humanity will have an eternity to curse your name, and Titus Mede II’s, if they won’t already. I can hurt the Thalmor on my own, keep them busy and off everyone else’s backs, but I can’t completely destroy them alone. I’m only one person.”

Tullius gazed up into those eyes of molten gold, not particularly happy about having to do it or how close she was standing. She smelled of a nose-wrinkling combination of lavender and sulfur he found distasteful, no matter how beautiful she was. Her beauty was an unearthly one and he had an utter lack of attraction to her. Maybe it was because she didn’t seem human. She never had to him, and now even less so. Of course Ulfric would find a creature like her to his liking, a legend come to life, the female embodiment of his beloved Talos. After nearly half a minute he asked, “So Ulfric is able to ignore the half-Altmer thing?”

Surprised, Bryn laughed shortly. “He told me that maybe loving a half-Elven woman was the only thing that could heal his wounds. He says I’m his redemption.” Tullius looked deeply troubled by that for some reason. “Look,” she said softly, “I know his faults. I am not naïve or blinded by love. He has done terrible things, but not all of the things he is accused of, and many of the things he has done have been exaggerated. I spent my time with him and his people looking for reasons to walk away. I knew going to him would make me look like a fool or a collaborator in your eyes. I took that chance because while I find you a bore, you are a very practical man.”

“My, I’m flattered.”

“I went to Ulfric because I knew he was the one person in Tamriel who could help me accept what I am now. In his healing my hurts, and me healing his, I’m trying to heal Skyrim. I am something sacred to him. Do you hold anything at all sacred, I wonder?” Tullius didn’t answer. She resisted the urge to ask him about Elisif. They were making progress and she wasn’t going to cause a setback. Bryn slid her pack off her back and reached inside, and to his credit Tullius waited silently for her to do whatever it was she was doing. She took out two small leather-bound booklets and handed them to Tullius. “Please read these. They’re short, so it will only take a minute. I found them in the Thalmor Embassy.” It was easy enough to assume he could read Altmeris as well as he could understand the spoken language.

“All right,” he said warily. He opened the first, seeing it was a dossier on Esbern, the elderly Blade who had made such an impassioned speech at the peace conference. It was only mildly interesting, though of course unfortunate. He read the second on his associate Delphine, then when he was done he frowned and set them both on the table, open to the first pages. He stared at the words there then lifted his head and looked across the room at nothing in particular.

“There was a third dossier. On Ulfric. It referred to the ‘First War’ as well, and how he was tortured and allowed to escape with the intent of destabilizing Skyrim, and how he has been manipulated since then into accomplishing that. An uncooperative asset, they called him. I spent a year reading and re-reading that dossier, carried it all over Skyrim, until I had it memorized. I gave it to Ulfric, and that was the beginning of the end of the Stormcloak Rebellion.”

“What did it say?” The question came out in almost a croak, and he cleared his throat and went to pour a goblet of water, drinking it down quickly.

“It was a bit longer, but the last paragraph was the one I found most relevant: ‘As long as the civil war proceeds in its current indecisive fashion, we should remain hands-off. The incident at Helgen is an example where an exception had to be made; obviously Ulfric's death would have dramatically increased the chance of an Imperial victory and thus harmed our overall position in Skyrim. A Stormcloak victory is also to be avoided, however, so even indirect aid to the Stormcloaks must be carefully managed.’”

“Son of a bitch,” Tullius whispered.

“So you didn’t know all this.”

“I’ve always known they were playing us. We all have. We just…” He laughed bitterly and said, “I have to wonder, just what did Elenwen plan to do if Ulfric went to the block? What diversion did she have up her sleeve to keep him from being executed?” Elenwen had tried to talk him into sending Ulfric to the Imperial City for execution, all the way up until the cart was rumbling into Helgen, probably to give her more time to find a covert way of setting him free. Tullius had said no but had never guessed she would be the one to try to do so, fearing a Stormcloak rescue instead. And if the Thalmor wanted to avoid Stormcloak victory, that meant that they still feared a unified Skyrim, and the Nords.

“What are the Thalmor doing inside the Embassy?” Bryn asked quietly.

“I’ve got no goddamn idea.” He poured a second goblet of water then refilled his own, bringing one to her. “It isn’t mead, sorry.”

“I’m not much of a drinker by Nord standards. Thanks.” She sipped the water then asked, “Are you sure they’re even still there?”

“My scouts haven’t seen anyone coming or going in weeks.”

“Even out the back way?”

Tullius nearly spit out his water. “What back way!”

“The way I got out when I was there. A trap door in the torture chamber that drops down into a smelly troll cave. I killed the troll. All right then, you didn’t know about the back way,” she said into her cup. She swallowed and said, “You might want to check and see if anyone is home.”

“Lights have gone on and off and someone is moving around inside the buildings at night.”

“Probably that skooma-addled cook of theirs putting on a show. It would be extremely easy for the remaining Thalmor to slip out the back through the cave then out to the coast, all within a night. I’m sorry, but I think they’re gone.” Tullius set down his goblet on the map table with a clank, his face flushed. “I could go check it out if you’d like. They would never see me, if anyone is there to do so.” Tullis rubbed his face then blew out a long breath and began to pace, his hands claspsed behind his back. She quietly stated, “You want to know why I came here, now. I’ve spent the last month watching Ulfric trying to redeem himself in my eyes. I’ve seen him struggling to face up to everything he has done, trying hard to re-evaluate his stance on many things. He’s still trying, but he has convinced me that I did the right thing in letting him live. As he told me the day I invited him to the peace conference, he and his allies still hold half of Skyrim despite all your best efforts. We need someone like that, and we need his people. I am convinced Ulfric is worth my time and effort. I came here hoping you could convince me that the Empire is as well.” Tullius grunted, acknowledging her words, though he still seemed like he was wresting internally with something. Bryn watched him for a while, wondering what he was struggling with. It was as if he was trying to make a decision, weighing something tremendous, and it was more than if anyone was left at the Embassy. She stayed silent, letting him do his thinking without her interference, hard as that was.

Tullius continued pacing as he finally asked her, “You really think you can make a difference? In this Second War it seems we’re doomed to?”

Relieved, she stated, “Yes sir, I most definitely do. If you had ever seen me fight, or seen the _thu’um_ , so would you.”

“You think the dragons will follow you?”

“Odahviing will. A few others might. They’re torn right now, between following me or the Way of the Voice like the Greybeards, or simply going their own way. Frankly Odahviing’s value to me would be more as transportation, getting me in and out of a battle. That Storm Call Shout I told you about has a serious down side: I can’t Shout again for ten minutes after I use it. It takes everything I have.” She put her hands on the pommels of her swords and went on, “The Thalmor have given up on Skyrim. They knew it was a lost cause when the peace conference succeeded. They’ve tried to kill me multiple times with no success. They know I could unite Skyrim and end the civil war. It’s all but ended now, as long as neither Elisif nor Ulfric end up on the throne.”

“I promised her she would be High Queen.”

Bryn sighed at the disappointment in his voice, and was flattered that he was allowing her to hear it. She gently said, “I’m sorry I was a bit harsh with her at the conference. She’s a good person from what I can tell, a nice girl, and I do think she has the potential to be a good Jarl, with more experience. But for now she looks to you too much, and you shelter her too much. I sympathize, believe me. I was a fragile, whiny mess when I came to Skyrim. It was one thing after another for months on end and I don’t know how many times I nearly crawled into a cave somewhere to lie down and die just to get it over with. I’m only what I am today because of Balgruuf and the Companions, and my housecarl Lydia. What if Elisif did become High Queen? Are you always going to be standing behind her throne telling her what to do? Will you always be here in Skyrim?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I thought about retiring before I was assigned here. Now I have to wonder if I will ever be able to.” His brow furrowed and he said, “I’ll be damned if I retire up here and spend the rest of my life freezing my ass off.”

“You might want to try putting on some pants.” Tullius laughed at that, the first full laugh she had heard out of him, and it turned a rather stern looking man into something halfway attractive. “So, General… tell me what you want me to do. I’m at your disposal.”

His smile quickly faded, and he closed his eyes for a long moment then quietly said, “All right. Okay.” He nodded slowly and stopped pacing to face her. “I sent couriers to the Imperial City once it became apparent that Ulfric was serious about peace. I have to admit I was wrong and he’s a man of his word, whatever else he might be. We’re all sick of this war. Trade between provinces is at a standstill, women are afraid to have children, farmers are scared to plant more crops than they need to feed their families, neighbors are eyeing each other in paranoia wondering if they’re going to get turned in for worshipping in the privacy of their own homes. This has to end. If the price is Ulfric keeping his head, fine. He’ll keep his head and get a pardon from the Emperor, and I’ll do what I have to, to put you on the throne and start putting this Empire back together.”

Bryn’s eyebrows rose in surprise as she felt a thrill of excitement go through her. “All right then. Let’s do this.”

“The Emperor himself wants you on the throne, if you’re everything he’s hoping you are, however he left it up to me to judge your worth and whether that’s truly the case. I’ve decided it is, today.” She looked even more shocked at that, and he added, “You and I are the only two people in Skyrim who know this, Dragonborn.”

“You have my word that I’ll keep it that way.”

“It wouldn’t go over well with many people to know you have the Emperor’s backing, or even mine. When the Moot meets, the Jarls will have to decide amongst themselves whether they want you as High Queen. I think it’s a foregone conclusion, frankly. Ulfric will tell his supporters how to vote and they’ll do it. Balgruuf obviously favors you. Idgrod of Morthal seems to as well. Maven hates your guts but will do what she’s told if she wants to maintain her lucrative ties to the Empire.”

Bryn resisted the urge to complain about Maven, knowing it would get her nowhere. “And Elisif?”

“Elisif is still very upset about the loss of her husband. She’s…well, I wouldn’t say fixated, but she spends more time than she should thinking about ways to avenge herself on Ulfric. She was extremely distressed when she found out you had…taken up with him.” Elisif felt betrayed by someone she had trusted and relied on becoming the lover of the man who had killed her husband. Falk Firebeard had tried to impress on her that one had nothing to do with the other; he still thought Ulfric a criminal, but the Dragonborn’s honor shouldn’t be stained by association. Falk was a strong supporter of the Dragonborn, a friend even, and saw things with the clarity Elisif didn’t.

“Do you think there’s any way I can fix things with her?”

“Honestly, I’m not so sure. You’re not likely to get her vote no matter what you do, as long as you’re with Ulfric.”

“It isn’t her vote I’m worried about. It’s finding out someday that she felt driven to hire someone to stick a knife in Ulfric’s back.” That Tullius didn’t protest it told Bryn enough, and she said, “If she feels that way, then she should understand why Ulfric felt driven to do what he did.”

“She won’t understand. She won’t let herself.”

“And you wanted to put a mentally unstable woman on the throne?”

Tullius stated firmly, “Elisif is _not_ mentally unstable. She’s a grieving widow. It’s been well over a year but sometimes that doesn’t matter.” He had never married himself, but he had seen enough grief over his career to know what it sometimes did to people.

“Well maybe she needs something or someone to take her mind off it.”

Seeing her pointed look, he stated in annoyance, “Not amusing, Dragonborn.”

“I’m not joking. I am the Agent of Mara, you know.” At least Mara had finally answered her prayers with as good a compromise as she could ask for. Just knowing Ulfric was willing to be a husband to her and father her children someday was enough for now. She supposed Dinya had been right in that no one could truly know the ways that Mara worked until it was done. Mara had given her Ulfric to heal her heart, and Mara had given her to Ulfric to heal his soul. Better late than never.

“This discussion is over,” he demanded. “I’d like you to head up to the Embassy and see what you can find out. I’m going to send a runner with you to pull back my people. If the Thalmor are still in there go ahead and let the Praefect in charge know where the back door is so she can set watch on it. If they’re gone, get up on that dragon of yours and see if you can find where they went. There are a hundred coves along Haafingar’s coastline they could have hidden a ship in without us knowing it.”

“And if I find them?”

“Take them all out and bring me the heads. The Emperor has a use for them.”

Bryn grinned, her eyes shining. “Tit for tat, eh?”

“I’m glad you’re following.” If the Thalmor had thought it entertaining to dump the heads of a hundred Blades in front of the Emperor, they shouldn’t get too upset about a couple dozen Justiciar heads getting dumped right back. The heads arriving at the Imperial palace would be Tullius’ affirmation to the Emperor that the Dragonborn had been found worthy of his faith. “How are you going to get onto a ship? Or for that matter land in the middle of a battalion of Elves without getting your pet killed?”

“He isn’t a pet, General. He’s an ally.” Tullius grunted, not caring. “I’ll do it the same way I got down off the roof of the castle. _FEIM ZII GRON!_ ”

“Bloody hell!” Tullius gasped. The Dragonborn had gone transparent right before his eyes, the Shout accompanied by a clap of thunder.

“Go ahead, hit me.” He didn’t hesitate, swinging at her shoulder, and his fist passed through her. 

“I’ll be damned!” he whispered in amazement. And he was not easily amazed.

“I can fall from heights that would otherwise seriously injure or kill me when I use this. Odahviing can drop me from a hundred feet and I’ll come down light as a feather. I’ll only need to defend myself for thirty seconds or so after it wears off to be able to Shout again and bring down the storm.”

“Extraordinary.” And he meant it.

“It was Ulfric’s idea.”

“Huh. Well, at this rate he just might redeem his crimes in another century or two.”

“Maybe,” she said without concern. He would have to do better than that to rile her. She picked up her pack and she became solid again. As she settled her gear she asked Tullius, “So, let’s say I do become High Queen. Where am I going to hold court?”

“The King or Queen has always held court in the Blue Palace.”

“Not always. Windhelm, Winterhold and Whiterun have been home to the King or Queen in the past. Obviously those are all out of the question, and I am not about to kick Elisif out of her home or her position.”

“We’ll work all that out later.” He honestly wasn’t sure how they were going to manage that. Elisif had to at least stay Jarl of Haafingar. He had to leave her that much, and the people of her hold loved her.

“How about I kill Maven and take Riften? I like it there.”

“Goodbye, Dragonborn.” Bryn laughed and strode out of the room, and he called, “You left your hat.”

“Whoops.” 

Tullius tossed it to her, and she put it on her head as she walked out. He watched her go, unable to help being impressed. For the first time in the year and a half he had been in Skyrim he felt a bit of hope, and it was instinctive to push it back down and not let it flourish. _One thing at a time, old man_ he told himself. Still, he couldn’t help feeling positive. Maybe, just maybe, he would live long enough to retire.  
-  
 _You’ve got to be kidding!_ Bryn thought with a touch of panic as she looked at the ship riding on the waves below. The Thalmor had set out from a cove sometime last night and their sails were unfurled, taking them out of the Sea of Ghosts toward the Padomaic Ocean. It had seemed a good idea when she and Tullius were discussing it, but now the thought of falling onto the ship turned her insides to jelly. She wasn’t a particularly strong swimmer if she missed, and her armor would make it almost impossible not to drown. She knew a waterbreathing spell but didn’t have the skill to cast it. It made her wish she had brought Volsung; wearing that, if nothing else she would just sink to the bottom and start the long, cold walk back to shore. It wasn’t far off, but far enough. She saw one of the glass-armored Altmer below glance up then yell in alarm and point, and she sighed and patted Odahviing’s neck.

“Let me burn them, _briinah,_ ” he suggested. He could feel _YOL TOOR SHUL_ bubbling inside him at the thought of it. The ship would look lovely in flames, bobbing on the gray waves, reflecting off the ocean’s surface.

“I need the heads.”

“They will still have heads.”

“Yes, but they need to be recognizable, _zeymahi_. Not burnt to a crisp.”

The dragon grunted. “As you wish. Call me when you are finished.”

Bryn bit back a startled scream as he suddenly dove, and she barely had time to shout _FEIM ZII_ before he rolled and dumped her off his back as he passed over the ship. Elves shouted and scattered as she hit the deck, undamaged but completely rattled, cursing the damn dragon for being so thoughtless. It probably hadn’t even occurred to him that what he had done would scare the living hell out of her, but then even if it had he probably wouldn’t care. She didn’t have time to feel sorry for herself long as she was descended upon by the Elves on deck. At least she knew the ethereal Shout would work the way she wanted it to, though clearly she needed to practice her landing.

She pulled out her swords with a yell and began defending herself, waiting for the strength of her Voice to return. It didn’t take long, and she shouted _“STRUN BAH QO!”_ making the Thalmor fall back and gasp. When the first got hit by lighting several broke and ran for the cabin door. The others redoubled their efforts to take her down. Bryn was grateful that wind wasn’t part of the Shout; she had never been on anything more than a rowboat on Lake Rumare and did not have sea legs, though thankfully she didn’t seem to get seasick.

Storm Call worked fantastically, leaving the Thalmor unable to fight well, or for any length of time, and within minutes she had the deck cleared. She spent the time waiting for her _thu’um_ to regain strength collecting heads, lopping them off the bodies and putting them in a large burlap sack she had brought for the purpose. She removed the helms, worried they would cut holes in the bag. She cinched up the sack and tied it to a mast to keep it secure then glanced up at the gloomy sky to see Odahviing flying in lazy circles overhead. She didn’t bother to loot the bodies; the Thalmor she had fought had always had a surprising lack of coin and treasure on them and she wasn’t going to waste the time.

Once Bryn’s Voice was ready, she pulled out Dawnbreaker and Chillrend again and walked silently to the cabin door, finding it locked. It seemed typically cold-blooded of the Elves to lock out their comrades to save their own skins. She considered picking the lock but was sure they were waiting for that. _“FUS RO DAH!”_ The wooden door blasted inward, along with part of the walls on either side. She saw a Thalmor wizard lying on the ground and ran at him, running him through with both swords before he could regain his feet.

The narrow passageways of the ship made her job disappointingly easy, and by time she made it to the Captain’s Quarters the ship had grown silent other than the creak of wood and the slap of water on the hull. “Oh Elenwen…” she called in Altmeris. “Come out, come out wherever you are…” She knocked on the door then rattled the locked handle.

“I’m open to negotiation!”

Bryn laughed at the terrified offer then Shouted _“FUS RO DAH!”_ at the door, blowing it inward. She found Elenwen cowering behind a large wooden desk, secured to the floor as all the furniture was. “No negotiations!” she thundered. “No compromises!”

“Just kill me and be done with it!”

“Oh no, I have much more exciting plans for you.” Elenwen tried to lunge to her feet, her hands beginning to glow with purple lightning, but Bryn punched her, making her cry out and fall down. “Doesn’t feel good, does it,” Bryn said, suddenly furious. She wondered how many times Elenwen had stood over Ulfric like this.

“Ah, so that’s it, is it? Plan to deliver me to your barbarian lover so he can have as much fun with me as I did with him?” She smiled up at Bryn, satisfied to see her eyes wide with rage. “Those Nords, they’re certainly…well built, aren’t they?” The girl’s nostrils flared as she flushed, her right hand flexing as if she was resisting grabbing the Blade of Woe on her belt. “Of course I myself would never sully my superiorly bred flesh with Man meat, but others are not so picky, especially those beast folk. Ulfric got a taste of everything life has to offer. It never ceases to amaze me how little control Men have over their orgasms. And I could swear when he was being taken by the men that his groans were ones of pleasure, though of course it was hard to tell through the gag. Well, there’s always one dependable way to tell, isn’t there, and at times it was most certainly there.”

Bryn blinked, feeling a dizzying surge of pure fury go through her, unable to help picturing it and how helpless and dirty it must have made Ulfric feel. The words were calculated though, intended to get Bryn to kill Elenwen, which she had no intention of doing. She said through gritted teeth, “Unluckily for you, that isn’t going to work. But feel free to keep talking. Every word out of your mouth guarantees a thousand more Elven dead.”

“There’s no way you can pull it off, you little whore,” Elenwen hissed. “Go ahead and let these filthy, smelly animals crown you Queen. It makes no difference in the end. Man will live with an Elven boot on his neck forever, as is the natural order of things, until we can escape this mortal coil.”

“If the Divines thought so I would not exist.” She took off her pack and got out the shackles she had brought just for the Altmer sorceress. “What does it say about who is the barbarian that Nords would never dream of doing what you had done to Ulfric? Be glad of that, or you would soon be enjoying the attentions of many, many filthy, smelly, well-built Nords, and whatever else I could round up.” Elenwen tensed as if to make a break for it, and Bryn shouted, _“FO!”_ The Altmer woman cried out and fell to her hands and knees, covered in frost, moving stiffly as she tried to stand, but Bryn grabbed her by the hair and forced her to the floor. She pulled her hands back and secured them tightly then began looking through the desk and chest for anything valuable or informative. She found a tidy sum of gold and gems and put those in her pack, unable to help continuing to pad her finances. It certainly never hurt. In a deep drawer of the desk she also found dozens of leather-bound dossiers, and it made her despair when she realized there was no way she could take them all, plus the heads and Elenwen. She didn’t really have time to sort through them either; without someone at the helm the ship could very well wreck against the shoreline, taking her with it.

Unable to tolerate the thought of leaving them behind, sure they had a purpose and had come from the Embassy, Bryn piled them all onto the blanket on the bed then tied the corners together to form a sack. Odahviing could carry it by a foot if necessary. She slung the sack over her shoulder then nudged Elenwen with her foot. “Get up. If you cooperate I won’t let Ulfric beat you before he takes your head off.”

“The beast won’t be able to help himself,” Elenwen stated hatefully. “You’ll see. You’ve thrown in your lot with animals.”

“And yet wild animals don’t rape and torture.”

“They’re lower than animals, these Men. They think themselves cultured, noble. What a joke!”

Bryn listened to Elenwen rant on in that vein in her obnoxious voice as she sighed and set the sack onto the floor then went to the bed and cut a strip of cloth from the fine linen sheet. She wasn’t about to listen to this all the way to Windhelm. She stuffed the gag in Elenwen’s mouth and tied it securely, and the woman put up a surprising lack of fuss about it. Bryn supposed she thought she was being dignified, or was going to make Bryn complacent and give her an opportunity to escape, or take her own life. There was absolutely no chance of either happening.

Once they reached the deck Elenwen surged forward, probably hoping to throw herself off the ship into the frigid ocean. Bryn caught her by the collar and yanked her back, making her choke, then knocked her feet out from under her and grabbed some nearby rigging to tie around her feet. She rolled her onto her back and said, “Stupid move. Do you really think drowning is preferable to a quick beheading?” Elenwen’s golden eyes glared back hatefully, and Bryn shook her head and said, “You Thalmor brought this on yourselves. There was no—“ She cut herself off and shook her head again. “No. Waste of time.” There was no point trying to convince someone who was going to be dead before the end of the day. She lifted her head to the sky, seeing the dragon still circling far overhead, and she shouted, _“OD AH VIING!”_

Elenwen shuddered at the sound, and when the dragon began to dive her eyes widened in terror. Bryn smiled at her and said, “Just imagine half a dozen or so of those, coming down to fry and freeze your comrades. I imagine they will be just as terrified as you are.” Odahviing flapped his wings as he came down carefully onto the ship, but it still rocked violently under his weight, making Elenwen scream beneath the gag. Bryn had to admit she hadn’t really considered how she was going to get back off the ship, which was not made to have creatures weighing many tons landing on the deck.

“That _fahliil_ still has its head,” Odahviing commented, craning his neck to look at the bound Elf, who stared back shivering. He lowered his nose to her and breathed deeply, hearing her whimper. He could smell her maar, her terror. It smelled delicious.

“She won’t for long. I’m taking her to the _kodaav jun_. She caused him great harm in the past, so I will let him kill her. _Nahkriin_.”

“ _Nahkriin_ ,” he said in agreement. He shifted his weight and the ship rocked. “Let us go, Dovahkiin. I do not like this _veysun_. It is no place for a _dovah_.”

“It is a place for only the _dilon_ now. A ghost ship on the Sea of Ghosts.”

“Hmm, fitting.”

It took some doing, and a great deal of grumbling on Odahviing’s part, but they eventually got Elenwen secured on the dragon’s neck with Bryn behind, and as he lifted off Odahviing grasped a sack in each foot. “ _Krosis, zeymah_ ,” she said with regret. “You are not a beast of burden.” Elenwen screamed in fright as they took to the air, making the dragon laugh.

“Her terror is all the thanks I need.”

Bryn held Elenwen by her arms and said in her ear, “What’s wrong, high and mighty mer? Are you afraid of seeing the world as only a dragon can? Dragons are the children of Akatosh, of Auri-El, and I am Dragonborn. What does your great god Auri-El think of what the Thalmor have done, that he brought about my birth?” Elenwen didn’t answer, shaking uncontrollably. Bryn patted Odahviing’s neck and said, “You can burn the ship now, if you’d like.”

“A poor compromise, but I will take it,” he stated. 

Bryn laughed as Elenwen let out a muffled shriek as they circled around then dove toward the ship, and when Odahviing roared fire at the ship as Bryn shouted _“YOL TOOR SHUL!_ ” she felt the sorceress go limp. “That is for Ulfric,” she muttered, though Elenwen wasn’t conscious to hear it.

The Altmer woman came to again just as Odahviing was circling down to land in the courtyard of Castle Dour, and the soldiers below nearly opened fire before Captain Aldis’ sharp eyes saw the Dragonborn and ordered them to hold. Elenwen screamed again as the ground came at them, making Bryn laugh unrepentantly. She knew she was being cruel, but such was a _dovah’s_ nature at times, and the mer had asked for it. Odahviing dropped the sacks then moved back to land. “These sacks are for General Tullius only,” Bryn called out, her voice echoing off the walls of the courtyard. “I can’t leave until they’re in his hands.”

Aldis nodded and said, “Ah, yeah. Sure, Dragonborn.” He could see that one sack was oozing blood. He could also see very clearly the form of Elenwen in front of Bryn. The soldiers were as far back from the dragon as they could get. He had to admit it was a magnificent creature, and the Dragonborn struck an awe-inspiring figure up there.

Tullius came running out of the castle with Legate Rikke on his heels, both of them coming to a sharp stop right outside the door. It took a few moments for him to come to grips with what he was seeing. He couldn’t help whispering, “Merciful Akatosh!” He wasn’t going to forget this moment as long as he lived. The dragon lifted its head and roared, spreading its wings, and when the Dragonborn’s shout of _“FUS RO DAH!”_ rang out into the sky in answer he felt an almost overwhelming urge to kneel. He knelt only to the Emperor, but the Emperor didn’t inspire like this. No one else could. It made the need to keep the Dragonborn focused on Skyrim all the more apparent, and it made him uncomfortably wonder if maybe the Empire would be better off with another Dragonborn on the Imperial throne. Someone whom half the populace of the Empire didn’t feel had let them down.

“These sacks are for you, General,” Bryn called.

“Yes, ah, thank you Dragonborn,” he replied, his voice nearly cracking. “I trust you didn’t run into any trouble?”

“It was dicey getting on and off the ship, but as you can see the mission was successful. Odahviing left it in flames on the Sea of Ghosts. The Thalmor will trouble Skyrim no more.” She saw the soldiers whispering to each other, and many of the Nord Legionnaires were either in tears or nearly so. Rikke certainly was. Bryn patted Elenwen on the head and said, “You can guess what’s in one of the sacks. I’ll get you this one when I’m done with it. Clean and quick, I assure you.”

“Yes, please.” He didn’t bother protesting that it was highly improper to deliver the First Ambassador to Ulfric for beheading. The Dragonborn was going to do whatever she wanted to, and she wouldn’t allow Ulfric to torture or abuse Elenwen, no matter how the witch deserved it. He gazed into Elenwen’s eyes and she looked back with obvious terror, her eyes pleading with him to save her. He slowly shook his head at her and she screamed, then Bryn laughed and patted the dragon’s neck and the beast took off, with the Altmer woman shrieking all the way. Tullius glanced at Rikke and she was gazing at the sky with tears running down her face, and they sure as hell weren’t for Elenwen. He walked away to give her some privacy, wondering what it was like to feel things the way a Nord did, though he was glad he didn’t. He wasn’t sure how they got anything done up here. They were all either arguing, singing, fighting, drinking, or fucking, some of those things at the same time. It was exhausting to contemplate.

Aldis met him at the sacks, saying, “The Dragonborn said these were for your hands and eyes only, sir.” Tullius nodded, gazing thoughtfully at the bloody sack. “So…”

“So it begins, Captain. These are Thalmor heads that will be sent to the Imperial City, for our Emperor.”

“Aye sir. I’ll get them boxed up with some ice wraith teeth.” It sent a wave of relief and fear through him, but mostly immense satisfaction. He could swear he had seen that Elenwen had pissed herself at some point and wondered if the dragon knew. “Damn amazing sight, eh General?”

“Oh yes, there’s no denying that.” It made him wish he had listened more closely to Rikke during the last year. When he thought of what they could have done all this time with her in their ranks! And now she was in Ulfric’s bed. Well, if the girl became High Queen and the truce became a real, permanent peace, they would need those former Stormcloaks. “So, Captain…there’s talk there might be a Moot soon to choose a new High King or Queen of Skyrim.”

“I’m thinking Queen, sir.”

“So it would seem.” And he would have to be the one to break it to Elisif.

“And Ulfric isn’t going to the block?”

“I’m afraid not. We need his troops to pull this off. It’s going to be the Dragonborn’s job to get this province put back together. We can’t have former Stormcloaks and Imperial soldiers getting into fisticuffs over past resentments. Ulfric’s men idolize the Dragonborn, and as distasteful as I find it, her relationship with him is part of that. Once Brynhilde is High Queen I’m going to tactfully suggest to her that the Stormcloak camps be disbanded and the soldiers dispersed back to their respective hometowns and holds, sans Stormcloak gear. I will have Rikke pull our people back here at the same time.”

“And this ship the Dragonborn was talking about?”

“The Thalmor were making a run for it. The Embassy had a back door we didn’t know about. They obviously made it to the coast and were sailing for Alinor.”

“Ah shit. Well then we’ve got time.”

“A little bit, yes. Eventually the Dominion is going to wonder why they haven’t heard anything from Skyrim lately other than that the war is over and there’s a new Queen. They’ll put two and two together and then we’re in for it.”

As Tullius waved over a couple Legionnaires to deal with the bloody sack, Aldis said, “Say, I’m not the only one who saw that Elenwen had, ah…”

“No, I saw it too. And so will Ulfric.” He snorted and said in a wry tone, “You know, between you and me, this might be the one and only time I’m going to envy the man.”

-

“Jarl Ulfric! My lord!”

“What is it, boy? Can’t you see we’re getting ready to eat?” Galmar barked at the young guard, then the roar of a dragon and an earth-shaking thud were heard, making the men leap from the table. “Shit, dragon attack?”

“No sir,” he said breathlessly. “It’s the Dragonborn sir, and…oh Great Divines…” Ulfric started for the doors, Galmar, Jorleif and Yrsarald following. “My lord, she has an Elf woman with her! A captive, sir! Thalmor by the looks of it!”

Ulfric’s steps faltered for a moment, and Galmar said, “All right lad, off with you.” The boy scampered back out the front doors, not a day over seventeen, eager but green as they came. Galmar clapped Ulfric on the shoulder as they continued to the doors and murmured, “Your lady love brought you a gift, eh?”

“Yes, the best possible one I can think of,” Ulfric replied, trying to keep his voice steady. He fingered the haft of his war axe, his heart hammering. Bryn had sworn she would bring him Elenwen’s head but had been clear that she wouldn’t bring the witch alive. But then that had been before Bryn loved him, before she realized the extent of what Elenwen and her lackeys had done to him. Ah, how he was going to savor this moment, for as long as he lived!

As they came out the front doors they saw the red dragon lifting into the sky, and Yrsarald whispered, “Holy fuck!”

“Indeed,” Ulfric muttered, giving the dragon only a brief glance. It was the captive kneeling at Bryn’s feet near the brazier, bound and gagged, that drew the bulk of his attention. Bryn gave him only a small, quick smile; she understood just what this moment meant to him, understood the gravity of it. He noted with a touch of amusement that she was wearing the Jagged Crown; she must have detoured on her way to Solitude last week. He could see townsfolk at the edge of the courtyard, whispering excitedly amongst themselves, or fearfully perhaps. The Dragonborn’s entry had been masterfully done, intended to engender awe, and it most certainly had.

Bryn raised her voice and stated, “Jarl Ulfric, I am happy to announce that this is the last living Thalmor in Skyrim.” Galmar barked out a laugh of triumph, and there were gasps and scattered cheers among the townsfolk. She heard a moan of fear from Elenwen, and she murmured to her in Altmeris, “Do not be afraid, highborn. It will be over soon, and I will not let anyone abuse you.” She couldn’t help feeling a kernel of pity for the Altmer woman and the absolute terror she must be feeling. It was a very tiny kernel, to be sure.

“Excellent work, Dragonborn,” Galmar said in satisfaction, coming over to look down at the sorceress alongside Ulfric.

“Thank you, Galmar. It’s been a busy day.”

“You can tell us tonight over dinner and a mug of mead.”

Ulfric squatted down and took a handful of Elenwen’s hair, feeling a wave of nausea at the texture of it, so much like Bryn’s, and roughly pulled her head up to look her in the face. Elenwen stared back, shivering, her eyes rimmed with red and snot caked around her nose, a fresh bruise on her cheek. “Well now,” Ulfric murmured, “isn’t this what they call the boot being on the other foot? Did my love frighten you? I smell piss, Elenwen.” She grimaced then squeezed her eyes shut, fresh tears leaking out. “Ah, tears. So you are capable of shedding them. Well, you showed no sympathy while I was drowning in mine, so expect no sympathy from me now.” He resisted the urge to spit in her face or start beating her, overwhelming as it was. Gods, but it was hard not to. He let go of her and climbed to his feet, and Bryn was gazing at him with an expression of controlled grief, trying not to show it. Divines only knew what Elenwen had told her. It suddenly occurred to him that whatever the witch had told her might be the reason she had delivered Elenwen here to him alive.

Galmar called out, “Someone bring a block!” The guards ran to haul over one of the stone blocks nearby. He murmured to Ulfric, “There are children here.”

Ulfric nodded and looked at the crowd, which had pressed in as more people tried to see what was going on. He raised his voice and said to them, “Those of you with young ones, take them home. This is nothing they need to see.”

Somewhere to the right Grimvar Cruel-Sea yelled, “No fair, I want to watch!” His Dunmer nanny took him firmly by the arm and dragged him off, the boy complaining the entire way.

The crowd was barely thirty feet away by time the guards were able to haul over a block, placing it in front of Elenwen. Bryn leaned down and pushed Elenwen onto the block, hearing a whimper of fear from her, and as she brushed her hair aside from her neck she said in Altmeris, “Do not be afraid. He will make it quick, and if the Altmer afterlife is anything like Sovngarde, you have nothing to fear.” As she stood she said more loudly in the human tongue, “Say hello to my father for me.” The folk here needed reminding that Bryn herself was half Altmer. She could see the situation degenerating into something ugly, and she had no intention of allowing it.

Ulfric pulled out his axe, feeling sweat trickling down his back. How he had longed for this day. That Bryn had done this for him, that she had created such a potent example here, meant everything to him. He said to Elenwen, “This does not even begin to make up for what you have done, wretch. We will not rest until the Thalmor and the Dominion are pushed all the way back to Alinor and Valenwood.”

Bryn added, “And you had better hope I stop there.” She put her foot on Elenwen’s back to hold her in place, feeling another twinge of pity. For all the people she had killed, this was different. As Ulfric’s axe came down it sent a shiver of old dread through her to think this was what had nearly happened to her. She had been seconds away from her own head rolling away, back in Helgen. Droplets of blood sprayed her armor, but it wasn’t the first or last it would see. She would be soaked in Altmer and Bosmer blood before it was all over.

A roar went up from the crowd, and Ulfric shouted to the sky, “This was for you, mighty Talos! This was for all who have died simply for uttering your name! Elves dictate the fates of Men no more!” Another cheer went up, and when Ulfric glanced at Bryn she was scanning the crowd intently, no doubt waiting for things to get out of hand. He could see a cluster of Dunmer off to the left, looking terrified, probably wishing they had never come to watch this. Niranye and the stable masters were nowhere to be seen, probably having sensed early on how dangerous it would be for Altmer to be here. He felt blood on his face and resisted the urge to wipe it off, which would only smear it.

“Now the rest of them!” someone shouted. “Bring them all out!” There were more cheers in answer to that than was comfortable.

Ulfric sighed and murmured to Bryn, “You can deal with this.”

“This is your city, your hold,” she softly reminded him. Ulfric frowned, not taking his eyes from her, and when he did nothing she turned away, trying to keep her expression calm, then she heard Galmar yell at the agitators before she could do it.

“Are we no better than the Thalmor?” he yelled, walking toward the source of the voice. Not that he didn’t know who it was. His worthless coward of a brother was hiding in the mass of people, who had fallen silent. Galmar waved his hand at the Dunmer, who were clearly frightened, huddled together. “These are citizens of Windhelm, citizens of Eastmarch, citizens of Skyrim. Anyone laying hands on an Elven citizen or their property, any other citizen and their property, will have me to answer to, got it?”

Bryn called out, “And you had better hope Galmar gets to you before I do.”

“Aye, Dragonborn,” the housecarl growled. He motioned to the crowd and said, “The show is over. Everyone back to your homes and businesses.” People began to turn away, talking softly to each other, and he watched for Rolff but the lazy bastard had disappeared. He looked at the Dunmer, who were waiting for everyone else to leave, and he gruffly said to them, “Anyone causes you trouble, you tell Jorleif or Brunwulf. You’ll be heard.” They nodded, dozens of pairs of blood-red eyes blinking in surprise or lingering worry. He turned away, leaving it at that. He didn’t like Elves much more than Ulfric did, but he wasn’t about to allow his own people to turn into a bloodthirsty mob, and he wasn’t about to have it said that Ulfric had allowed it. He sure as hell wasn’t going to leave the Dragonborn to deal with a situation that it wasn’t her place to handle. He had seen the disappointment in her eyes. There was no way he was going to let Ulfric risk losing Bryn because he couldn’t bring himself to defend Elves. The crowd dispersed and he noted the guards were doing their jobs, keeping order and not allowing anyone to molest the Dunmer. He grumbled and returned to the bloody scene. Ulfric was still watching Bryn, frowning, and it worried Galmar.

Bryn retrieved the head, picking it up by the hair, though she kept it turned away to avoid looking at Elenwen’s face. That she could not handle. “Well Galmar,” she quietly said, “it seems I may have miscalculated. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry, lass? What the hell are you sorry for?” he said in a rough voice. “I’m sorry that my idiot brother still hasn’t learned his lesson. The greyskins at least work, which is more than I can say for him and his crony Agrenor.” He motioned to Elenwen’s body. “What do you want done with that?”

“Burn it, throw it in the river…I don’t particularly care.” She looked over her shoulder at Jorleif, who was still back by the doors, wanting no part of the bloody business. “Can I have a sack for this, please Jorleif?” The steward nodded and hurried inside. Bryn turned back to Galmar and smiled at him, putting her hand on his shoulder, then she let him go and looked at Ulfric. Those soulful eyes gazed back sadly, making it impossible to stay irritated with him. She asked softly, “Am I still invited to dinner, _kodaavi?_ ”

Ulfric let out a shaky breath and whispered, “Hell yes.” Of course she forgave him. It would take more than a single instance, even a major one like this, to make her write him off. Especially if she had put up with that Companion for a year.

“I have to go back in the morning, but…I’m exhausted. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”

“Then come tell us about it over dinner, but not before we get cleaned up. This is not appetizing.” Now he knew why headmen always used those long poleaxes. 

Jorleif came running out with a leather sack and held it open for Bryn, gagging a bit as she lowered the head in. “I hope you’ve got a good reason for keeping this, my lady,” the steward said with a grimace. He tied the bag shut and handed it to her.

“Just adding it to my collection,” she said lightly.

“You’re joking.”

“No, I am not. Twenty-seven Thalmor heads will soon be on their way to the Imperial City.”

“Talos be praised,” Yrsarald said fervently, the men around him echoing the sentiment. “This is a story I think we all want to hear.”

Ulfric offered Bryn his arm and led her upstairs. Once they were in his room he closed the door and took the head from her, setting it in the corner nearby, as far from the banked fire as possible. Bryn shrugged out of her backpack then took off the Jagged Crown. Ulfric watched as she began to unbuckle her armor, wishing he could find the process as arousing as he usually did. Such things were the farthest from his mind. Bryn didn’t look at him, and he couldn’t say whether it was to give him space she thought he needed or because she was still upset with him. When she was down to her doublet and pants and she still hadn’t spoken, he said with difficulty, “I’ve disappointed you. Haven’t I.”

“Yes, but perhaps my expectations were too high.”

“I know that they’re…hm. I know they’re my people. In that I am responsible for them.”

“No one says you have to love them.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. But because they’ve earned it. I’m willing to love anyone, as long as they don’t give me a reason not to. It’s surprising how little consideration you have to show desperate people to earn their loyalty.” She dug through her pack then sighed, seeing she had nothing clean to wear. She hadn’t had the chance in Solitude to even see if she still owned Proudspire Manor. 

“You have a few gowns here. In the wardrobe.” It comforted him to see her clothes hanging there, as a wife’s would, though she had left little other trace of herself here other than the occasional golden hair he found in the bed, each one a tiny treasure. She nodded and made a sound as if she just remembered, though she had left here less than a week ago. “What did she say to you?” he asked as Bryn stripped down to her skin. He wished he could enjoy it more than he was.

“Who?”

Suddenly angry, he stated, “You know who. Stop this…whatever it is you’re doing!” Bryn turned slowly on her heel to look at him, her face expressionless and golden eyes flat. “I’m sorry I did not defend the Dunmer. I…I can’t do it. I can’t look at an Elf and not want to strangle the life out of them, no matter how innocent they really are. I can’t tolerate the sight of them, or the beast folk. I know why that is, and I should be better than that, stronger than that, and I am not.” At that Bryn’s expression crumpled as her eyes began to glisten, and when a tear fell he whispered, “What did that bitch tell you!” She shook her head and dropped her gaze, and when she moved to the bed to lay out the dress he swiftly moved to grab her shoulders. “What did she tell you!” he shouted. Bryn gasped, flinching back, and he yanked his hands back and whispered in horror, “I’m sorry!” He looked at his hands and realized they were bloody, that the bloody axe hung off his belt, that he was splattered with blood. She stood there so pale and fair, naked and vulnerable, and he felt like a filthy beast. “I am,” he whispered. “I’m just a filthy beast, aren’t I? Just as she said I was.”

“No,” Bryn moaned, putting her hand over his mouth as she shook her head vehemently, more tears spilling onto her cheeks. “Don’t ever call yourself that. Never. You’re…you’re a fine man.” Her voice broke, Bryn unable to stop a little sob from escaping.

“What did she tell you?” he asked in a pleading tone.

“She was trying to make me kill her, that’s all.” Ulfric waited, not about to take no for an answer, his blue-green eyes boring into hers, and she shuddered and whispered, “She…she told me about…the people who…the women, and…and the men, what they did to…ugh, I can’t say it!” Ulfric nodded slowly and looked away, blinking, his jaw clenched and cheeks red. She couldn’t help flashes of it passing before her eyes, though her imagination had trouble coming up with the images. She wasn’t sure what she had thought when he had first told her he could barely bring himself to touch a woman because of it, but she hadn’t imagined he had literally been raped, and by both women and men at that. She was still so sheltered in so many ways that she really couldn’t imagine what Elenwen had had done to him. She then suddenly realized why Ulfric never allowed her to be on top, and it made her nauseous. He was playful in not allowing it, but in hindsight she could see he had deftly tried to redirect her to keep her from thinking too hard about the reasons for it.

“Say something,” he demanded in a near whisper.

“I love you.”

Ulfric made a sound of pain and closed his eyes. “You must, to tolerate what you do.” Ah, to finally hear those words, and under these circumstances, words he had always believed no woman would ever say to him.

“There’s no tolerance involved. You’ve been nothing but sweet and kind to me.”

“You love something that is used up and broken.” He felt Bryn’s arms go around his neck, heedless of the blood on his face and clothing, and he put his arms around her and held her tightly, trying not to crush her against his armor. “Gods, why won’t you leave me?” he choked. “You waste yourself!” He felt her shake her head and kiss his neck. He breathed in the smell of lavender and human sweat, her own particular scent, and felt her soft white Nord skin, and it made him want to cry. All of it did. She did. “I don’t deserve this. You. I don’t deserve your love, your patience, your understanding, your smiles, your kisses…none of it!”

“My love is mine to give where I see fit.” She lifted her head and kissed him tenderly, and he kissed her back ferociously, digging his fingers into her flesh, and she let him do what he wanted. She had heard somewhere, maybe from Mjoll, that men often sought comfort in sex. If he thought this would make him feel better then she couldn’t protest it. He kneaded and caressed her roughly then pushed her back onto the bed, undoing his pants then pulling her to the edge and shoving himself into her. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, the lack of foreplay making it slightly uncomfortable but the spontaneity of it was so exciting it more than made up for it. It was terribly erotic to get taken on the bed while he was fully clothed, and it caused her a pang of grief to remember Vilkas doing something similar when they first came together. She pushed thoughts of him away and focused on Ulfric, watching his face; his eyes were closed, squeezed shut, a look of pain on his face, and it was alternately unsettling and arousing in a dirty way to see the blood splattered on him.

Ulfric opened his eyes as he grabbed her ankles and put them on his shoulders, and when he leaned over her and plunged in deeper she couldn’t help letting out a moan of delirious pleasure. She clutched at the blanket on either side of her to hold herself, and before long the angle and depth massaged that certain spot just so and made her entire body shudder in a climax that left her head spinning. He pushed her legs aside to lay his forehead against her chest and groaned, moving his hips slightly as she felt him harden further inside her. She had never heard him make any noise before when he came, and she couldn’t help wondering with sorrow if he had conditioned himself so long ago to be as quiet as possible, in an attempt to hide it, to deprive his tormentors of at least that small bit of satisfaction. She cursed Elenwen all over again and lost whatever small sympathy she had felt for her before her miserable head came off.

She began to pet his hair as he pulled out of her, and she could see silver strands mixed in with the honeyed ones. He didn’t move except to bring his hands up to hold her as he caught his breath, an occasional shudder going through him. She brought her legs up to wrap them around his waist, and he turned his head slightly to lay it on her chest between her breasts, nuzzling at one of them then giving it a soft kiss. She murmured, “You are not filthy or a beast.” Vilkas had called himself the same, though for different reasons, and it made her wonder what drew her to such tormented men. Maybe it was her drive to help people, to give aid. Maybe it was the dark complexities to them that fascinated her so. Maybe it didn’t pay to think about it too hard.

“You are much too fine for me.”

“Nonsense.” She shifted slightly, his breastplate digging into her stomach, and he quickly stood away from her, his expression one of self-loathing, then he made a sound of disgust as he looked at her. She sat up on her elbows and looked down at herself to see blood smeared on her body, and the sight of it seemed to make him almost nauseous, Ulfric grimacing as he squeezed his eyes shut and held his middle. Bryn slid off the bed and hurried to him, but he avoided her touch, shaking his head. She looked around for a napkin or something to clean off with, and found washcloths in the wardrobe, and she poured water in the washing bowl and quickly washed herself off. She rinsed the cloth out then tried going to him again, and though he was stiff this time he let her touch him. She began gently cleaning his face, and she was nearly done when he finally opened his eyes. The haunted look in them made her want to cry for him, but she couldn’t let herself. He would feel compelled to be the strong one if she did, and this wasn’t about her.

Once his face was clean she took his hands and began wiping them off, and Ulfric let her do so, not protesting when she began to remove his gauntlets, then his chainmail coat and the rest of his armor. She didn’t look at his face, and he appreciated that, though he grieved it. She was so careful of him, so considerate, and it made him feel like a child, when she was young enough to be his daughter. It was mostly soothing, being cared for, but it made him angry at himself for making her feel it was necessary. When she tried to clean the sex off him he finally grabbed her wrist to stop her, taking the damp cloth from her. She looked at him with worry, and he muttered, “I wish I had never touched you that day. Started all this.”

“I don’t wish that.” He shook his head and turned away to clean himself off, and as he pulled up his underclothes and sat on a chair to remove his bloody boots Bryn said, “I meant what I said: I love you.” It wasn’t until she had said it earlier that she realized that she did. It wasn’t the wild, passionate love she had for Vilkas, and still did, but it was love all the same.

“I wish you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I am not worthy of it.”

“No one is, really.”

“Do not joke, it isn’t the time.” Ulfric threw a boot aside and said angrily, “I took you like some animal, after you told me what she said to you. You couldn’t even bring yourself to say it, how they raped and used me, and yet in the next breath I take you like that!”

“Obviously it did me no harm.”

“It…you had…” Blood, all over her, afterward. He shut his eyes, feeling ill. It had made it seem like she was the spoils of war, something no decent man would ever partake of. He knew that wasn’t what he had been feeling at the time, but it seemed like that afterward. He wasn’t even sure what he had been feeling then. Maybe he had only wanted comfort and acceptance. Wanted to know that she wouldn’t shrink away from his touch, knowing what she knew now. He leaned forward and put his face in his hands, his elbows on his knees, and wished again that he hadn’t started this between them. It had been the ultimate in selfishness, wanting something clean and good, someone young and innocent, when he was old and damaged beyond repair. He felt her hand on his back, another in his hair, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to shrug her off and make her leave, if only to protect her. Save her from him. She gave and gave, to everyone around her, always sacrificing herself and her own happiness and getting so little in return, and soon she would be High Queen and the demands would never cease after that.

“I could have stopped you at any point,” Bryn stated in a gentle tone. She could feel the tension in him, as if he were about to flee.

“And you didn’t because you pity me.”

“No, I didn’t because you seemed to need it.” He made a sound of disgust, and she knelt at his side, ignoring the cold hardness of the stone floor. “Please don’t torment yourself, darling—“ He made a choking sound of pain and pulled her close, startling her. Bryn wrapped her arms around his leg and said, “It was my choice to love you. I knew how old you are. I knew you’d had terrible things done to you. My body and my affections are mine to give where I feel like it, and I chose you, because of all the men in Skyrim only you were not afraid of me, and only you truly understand what I am and don’t shy away from it, and you taught me to accept it when no one else could have. This is…it’s a mutually beneficial relationship. Don’t think that I get nothing out of it. I wouldn’t keep coming back if that were so.”

“All right, all right,” he whispered, nodding, letting out a shuddering breath as he blinked back tears. He should have known better than to treat her like some addle-brained girl-child who didn’t know what she wanted. If she wanted him then he had no right to try to drive her away. She was certainly no coward, and if she thought she could deal with his trauma over the long haul then that was her choice, and he was selfishly glad for it. After that month of having her in his bed every night, waking up to her every morning, having someone always there to talk to, to touch…if she left, if he never saw her again except at a distance…the rest of his life wouldn’t be worth living. It would be desolate and unbearable. He wasn’t sure how Vilkas lived with himself, knowing what he had so foolishly lost.

“I love you,” she insisted.

He let out a sad laugh and replied, “So you do. And the love I have for you frightens me.” He buried his face in her pale hair. “You have brought sunshine and warmth to this cold house. How I wish…” Wished he could marry her and fill the palace with golden-haired children. But he would grow old by time they reached adulthood. He would be fifty soon, and Bryn not even thirty yet.

“Come on,” she said, letting go of him to stand. “Let’s get dressed and go downstairs and eat. Everyone is waiting for us, and I still have a grand story to tell.” Ulfric nodded and took a deep breath, and she stroked his scarred cheek, sighing at the look in his eyes. Those beautiful sea-colored eyes that never lost a touch of sadness. “So handsome,” she murmured. She hadn’t thought so at first, but his looks had grown on her, that strong Nord face with its rugged features.

“Handsome!” he scoffed.

“Yes, you are.”

“You’re delusional, clearly.” Bryn laughed and moved away to get dressed. He went to the wardrobe to find clean, unbloody clothes, and when he looked up she was watching him, a smile on her face.

“I love you, Ulfric.”

He felt his face grow warm and demanded, “Stop it.” She giggled and he couldn’t help laughing quietly at the sweet sound. He felt spent and tired, sad, but no longer angry. He glanced at the bag in the corner and couldn’t decide how he felt about it. Relieved, certainly. Elenwen had paid for her crimes and would commit no further ones. Skyrim might never be free of the Empire, but it was free of the Thalmor, and maybe once the Aldmeri Dominion was pushed back the Empire might become something worth being part of again. The High King or Queen had always been a member of the Elder Council; perhaps once Bryn was part of it she could flush out the corruption there and advise the Emperor on how to get things back on track, if that was even possible at this point. Well, first things first. Bryn needed to be crowned Queen and knit Skyrim back together, and as quickly as possible. The Thalmor would wonder why their emissaries were so silent and would either send more to find out why, or assume the worst and forge ahead with their plans to start the Second War. It was all just a matter of time before it began, but Skyrim couldn’t face it in its current condtion, one he had sadly contributed to.


	33. Chapter 33

Farkas came running into the Harbinger’s outer quarters, Vilkas’ quarters, a wide grin on his face, but before he could blurt anything out he realized his brother had company. It had been over four months since his twin had become Harbinger, and Farkas still wasn’t used to seeing him sitting in Kodlak’s old seat. He had to admit though, Vilkas made a good Harbinger. He was a lot more hands-on than Kodlak had been, anyway, which had caused some grumbling at first, but after everyone got used to it they'd realized it was an improvement having someone who actively involved himself in how things ran in Jorrvaskr, instead of just letting everyone do whatever the hell they wanted. Vilkas felt that controlled chaos was no way to run a business, and from the number of jobs that kept coming in that must be true. Farkas nodded to the Jarl’s younger brother. “Hey Hrongar.”

“Farkas,” he said with a nod of greeting. “How goes it?”

“Lydia’s pregnant!” The Jarl’s brother smiled broadly at the news, while Vilkas’ smile was strained. Farkas frowned at his twin and asked, “What’s wrong?” Vilkas hadn’t been a particularly pleasant person to visit with since Bryn’s departure, and it had gotten worse since the news a couple months ago about who she had replaced him with, but Farkas had expected more than this. Vilkas cared for Lydia as a sister, a vital part of Jorrvaskr now, especially since Tilma had fallen again and was now confined to bed. It had been an interesting last few months: the arrival of Aela’s newborn a few weeks ago; Mjoll’s joining of the Companions with Aerin tagging along, though that had been a good thing since he was a tremendous help to Lydia; the elopement of Jon Battle-Born and Olfina Gray-Mane a month ago; and the news that Bryn had removed the Thamor presence from Skyrim entirely and the Emperor had pardoned Ulfric. Every time the name of the Jarl of Eastmarch was mentioned Vilkas looked ready to explode, or start bawling. 

Farkas had actually been fairly shocked when word had started circulating that Bryn was Ulfric’s lover, and even Lydia had been taken aback by it, seeming stunned and almost hurt by it, maybe because she’d had no clue that Bryn was going to do anything like that. Maybe because like everyone else in the world she had always believed Bryn and Vilkas would fix things and get back together. Bryn had spent an entire month in Windhelm, living in Ulfric’s private quarters, before going to Solitude and meeting with Tullius, riding there on a dragon no less. A real honest-to-gods dragon, the same one she had captured here in Whiterun. People said she had jumped from the dragon onto the Thalmor ship and slaughtered everyone on board, kidnapping First Ambassador Elenwen then delivering her to Ulfric to execute. Farkas and Lydia had found that last part upsetting, though no one was sorry for it. That Bryn was capable of such a thing was hard to accept, but it was obvious that something had changed in her since returning from Sovngarde. A being who could Shout from the top of a mountain loud enough for people to hear a hundred miles in every direction wasn’t anything to be underestimated. Still, Farkas and Lydia both were anxious to see her again, if only to reassure themselves that she was all right, mentally.

Vilkas stated, “Jarl Balgruuf is calling the Moot.” Farkas nodded, surprised but not unduly. It hadn’t been unexpected that one of the Jarls would call for it soon. Seeing his twin wasn’t getting it, he added, “The Jarl who calls the Moot hosts it. It will be held in Dragonsreach, one month from today.” Farkas grunted. “All the Jarls are coming here,” he said impatiently. “And her.”

“Bryn.” He didn’t think Vilkas had said her name even once since finding out she was with Ulfric, and he hadn’t really said it much before that either.

“Whatever.”

Hrongar knew enough about that business to steer clear of it entirely. He said, “Balgruuf asks that you attend, Harbinger. It is a momentous occasion. The Harbinger has usually attended the Moots, down through history. I would hope this would be no different.” Vilkas didn’t reply, staring at his brother, who stared back, unfazed, and it made Hrongar more than a little uncomfortable. Identical twins were strange in any case, extremely rare, but being stuck between these two was like being caught between two sabre cats. Hrongar cleared his throat, and Vilkas finally turned back to him, his silvery-gray eyes cold. “So? Will you attend?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I.”

“Yes, you do,” Farkas said in annoyance. “A choice between attending and looking like a fool.” Vilkas sneered at him, angry, but Farkas wasn’t intimidated by it. For most of their lives he had followed Vilkas’ lead, and still did, but when it came to Bryn his brother was an idiot and Farkas wasn’t going to put up with it.

“I will be there,” Vilkas told Hrongar. He hesitated then forced out, “Please tell Jarl Balgruuf…thank you for the invitation.” An invitation to sheer misery. He knew the Companions’ history better than even Vignar did, since he had access to the Harbingers’ private archives, the organizing of which had taken up most of his free time for the first two months of his job. He knew damn well that the Harbinger was expected to witness historic events like the Moots, and this was a Moot like none other. For the first time the candidate expected to become the ruler of Skyrim wasn’t even a Jarl. Being the lover of one didn’t count. If he was called upon to give his opinion it would be expected that he give it, though he found the notion that being Harbinger gave him any special wisdom ridiculous. He wasn't even sure what opinion he could give at the Moot; the Companions were traditionally neutral when it came to politics. They refused to involve themselves as a whole in wars or inter-hold bickering. And then there was the fact that it was Bryn. How could he say she should or shouldn't be High Queen when he couldn't get his own head straight when it came to her?

Hrongar nodded and rose from the seat, eager to get away from Vilkas and his attitude. The man had always had one, but it had lessened considerably while he was with the Dragonborn, and soured considerably since she had left. People still weren’t sure why the two had split, though everyone knew it was Bryn who had ended it. Considering Vilkas’ temperament it wasn’t hard to see why she had. He said to Vilkas, “I take my leave then, Harbinger. Good day, Companions.”

“Good day,” Farkas replied with a nod, and Hrongar gave Vilkas one more concerned look then left the room, a bit faster than was warranted. Once he was gone through the door at the end of the hallway, Farkas said to Vilkas, “Try to have some goddamn dignity, would you?” Vilkas came to his feet with a snarl of anger, and he said, “She hasn’t done anything wrong. Stop being so damn pissy all the time!”

Vilkas said hotly, “You expect me to be all smiles seeing her here with Ulfric?”

“No, but I expect you to not be like this. There’s nothing wrong with her being with Ulfric, as long as he’s good to her.” This really wasn’t how he wanted to talk about this with him, or the time for it, but better it come out now and get it over with. Vilkas had said not one word to anyone about who Bryn was with now. He'd hardly said a word to anyone about Bryn at all.

“He’s old enough to be her fucking father!” Vilkas shouted.

Farkas went to close the doors as Vilkas began to pace, and once they were closed he retorted, “So what. Did you ever think that maybe he was the only one she thought would understand her? You’ve heard everything I have about what happened to her. She can’t even talk in a normal voice anymore, Vilkas. They say her eyes are gold because they reflect Shor’s glory. How the hell do you think she felt to come back from the land of the dead and find out she had changed like that? She already felt weird and different from everyone else, and then that. She had to stay with the Greybeards for weeks to be able to control her Voice even a little. Ulfric was nearly a Greybeard. Maybe he was really the only choice she felt she had.” Vilkas rubbed his face, still pacing, and Farkas said in aggravation, “I’m tired of you being angry all the time. None of this was her fault.”

“I never said it was. I’m angry with myself.”

Farkas’ own irritation subsided at that. “Well that would’ve been nice to know a few months ago, instead of all of us thinking you’ve been pissed off at her this whole time.”

“I was but…” He huffed and sat back down hard in the chair and leaned his forehead on his hands, saying roughly, “I don’t want to see her again, Farkas. It still hurts too much. I keep expecting her to just show up, the way she used to. It doesn’t seem possible that she isn’t coming back. That she’s with someone else. I can’t…I don’t understand how it all went so wrong, so fast!”

Farkas sat down in the other chair, feeling sorry for his twin and wishing he had talked to him sooner, after they had found out about Ulfric. “Maybe to her it wasn’t fast. She spent all that time alone, after the peace conference. She had a lot of time to think.”

“Yes, think about how she would be better off with Ulfric than me.”

“Uh uh,” Farkas said with a shake of his head. “Don’t even go there. Lydia would have known if that was Bryn’s intent. The girls talked constantly the last two weeks they were together, and maybe Bryn said she felt sorry for Ulfric but she never planned to go to him. I don’t think she did until she came back from Sovngarde changed. Lydia said all Bryn wanted to do when she came back was spend some time in Riften cleaning it up and being alone. She was there for a month and a half, alone.”

“So what made her leave and go to him?” Farkas shrugged helplessly. “Has she…”

When his twin trailed off then shook his head Farkas prompted, “What?”

“Written. To you or Lydia.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t say anything about Ulfric.”

“Or me?” Farkas didn’t answer, looking away instead. “Was it…bad?”

“I don’t know,” his brother muttered warily. Vilkas made a sound of anguish and got up again to pace. Farkas tried not to grit his teeth at the habit, one he had always found unsettling and annoying. Vilkas seemed to never stop moving. Farkas had hoped curing the beastblood would get rid of the pacing and he had been very disappointed in that regard.

“So she, what, hates me then? She’s never going to forgive me for it, is she? How the hell can she be so vindictive!”

“That isn’t…she never…ugh, Lydia told me not to get involved,” Farkas said in a tone of dread.

Vilkas said in an apologetic tone, “Ah, Lydia. I’m sorry. Congratulations, I know this isn’t what you wanted it to be. I’m…I’m happy for you both. I truly am.”

“Thanks.”

“Can I read—“

“No,” Farkas said firmly. “No way. I promised Punkin you wouldn’t ever see it.”

“What did it say! Tell me, damn it!”

Farkas grimaced, feeling stuck between his wife and brother. He didn’t know what to say. “She doesn’t hate you. She isn’t mad at you. She’s just…sad. That’s all.” There was no way he was telling Vilkas that she had written that she missed him terribly, that she thought she had made a horrible mistake by leaving him, that she wished things could work out between them, and that if he ended up coming to Riften before that month was out that she would go back to him, marry him even. The letter had made both Lydia and Farkas swear not to say anything to Vilkas about any of it, to leave it up to him, but neither of them could figure out how Vilkas would even know that Bryn wanted him to go to Riften. The month had come and gone and next thing they knew everyone in Skyrim was buzzing about the Dragonborn being in Jarl Ulfric’s bed. He couldn’t ever tell Vilkas that there had been a narrow window of opportunity there, a window he hadn’t known existed. It would kill him to know that. Farkas had believed all this time that Vilkas was still angry at Bryn, but knowing that he was grieving and missing her instead…the information would send Vilkas over the edge.

“Sad,” Vilkas said with a short laugh. “That’s nice, isn’t it? Just sad.”

Farkas saw Vilkas fingering the gold bracelet, and he warned, “Don’t do it, Vilkas.”

“I have no intention of taking it off. I’m going to flash the fucking thing all over the place so she can see that at least my promises mean something!” His twin slowly shook his head, his tongue in his cheek. Vilkas suddenly headed for his bedroom, throwing the door open, and Farkas grumbled and followed him. He got out the key to the large chest and unlocked it.

“What the hell are you doing?” Farkas asked tiredly.

“I want you to fit Kodlak’s ebony armor to me.”

“I can’t work ebony,” he reminded him. “Not yet, and why now?”

“I’m not going to stand before the High Queen and all the Jarls of Skyrim in this shitty wolf armor.”

“I took the wolves off.”

“Whatever, you know that I mean! She wanted me to wear it, Kodlak wanted me to wear it, so I’m going to wear it. If I’m the goddamn Harbinger then by Ysgramor I’m going to look like it.” Farkas didn’t protest, standing patiently as Vilkas piled the armor into his arms. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Bryn’s face when she saw him standing in front of her, resplendent in full ebony plate, taller and more handsome by far than her old, worn-out, horse-faced lover. The Jarl of Eastmarch would look very inadequate in comparison.

“You’re doing it for the wrong reasons,” Farkas warned.

“It doesn’t matter what my reasons are.”

“It does if you try to embarrass her in front of the whole province.”

Offended, Vilkas said, “You really think I would do that.”

“You said not five minutes ago that you couldn’t believe she would be vindictive, and here you are thinking about being vindictive. You’re going to regret it. You always regret what you do when you get like this.” To his relief, Vilkas deflated slightly at that. Farkas said with some difficulty, “Look, Bryn… please just let her be, okay? Things are hard enough for her. I promised my wife I wouldn’t get involved but I can’t go letting you do something dumb and hurt Bryn, or make yourself look bad.” Vilkas glowered at him for a long moment then nodded and looked away. He looked down into the chest and the Amulet of Mara was still there, and he narrowed his eyes and slammed the chest shut. Farkas said, “I’ll take this up to the old man and see how much he wants for fitting it and polishing it up. The straps might need replacing too after all this time.” Vilkas nodded, and Farkas sighed and turned away. He should have known something would happen to ruin his announcement, and that something would be due to Vilkas.

Vilkas grumbled and followed his twin, saying, “So…how far along is she?”

Relieved, Farkas said, “Danica thinks only about a month at most. Sounds about right.” His brother patted him on the back and Farkas gave him a bright smile. “I can’t believe I’m going to be a father. Our baby can grow up with Skjorta. They’ll be running around Jorrvaskr all the time just like you and me did. Won’t it be great?”

“Yes it will.”

“Uncle Vilkas.”

He made a sound of horror and said, “It makes me sound like I’m sixty.” He sighed sadly. “I wish Kodlak was here to see. He would have loved the little ones.”

“She saw him, you know. In Sovngarde.”

“Well that would have been nice to know!” Vilkas spat, furious all over again, this time with this brother. “What the hell? What else haven’t you told me?”

“I just forgot!” Farkas exclaimed. “It happens!”

“Well?”

“She just said that she saw him there, and after Alduin was defeated he made his way to Tsun to cross into Shor’s Hall. He was happy.” Vilkas’ anger drained out of him. “I’m sorry,” he said with regret. “We got the letter after she had been in Riften for a couple weeks. She wanted us to know she was okay and what she saw. She saw Ysgramor himself there, can you believe it? He greeted her at the door! He said that Shor told them to stay inside the hall and not face Alduin, to wait for the Dragonborn to come and three heroes of old joined her in the battle. She saw King Olaf there, and the first Greybeard, Jurgen Windcaller. She said it was…well, she said there aren’t words for it. She said Tsun forced her to go back. When she woke up she was up at the top of the mountain and dragons were all around her.” He paused then said, “That’s all I can remember right now. Maybe Lydia can remember more.”

“Maybe you can just let me read the damn letter,” Vilkas muttered.

“Forget it. If she wanted you to read a letter she would have sent you one.”

“Well she didn’t,” he said with resentment. “She could have at least told me about Kodlak and Ysgramor.”

“She probably expected me to, and like I said, I forgot. I’ve been kind of busy lately, you know?”

Vilkas sighed, “Yes, I know.” He tried to smile but couldn’t. “I’m happy for you and Lydia. I swear it.”

“If it’s a boy, we’re going to name him Jergen.”

“Of course.”

Farkas stared at him for a few seconds, trying to figure out if he was being snide, then gave up. Some days with Vilkas it just didn’t pay. “I’ll let you know what Eorlund says about the armor, okay?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Come to dinner at our house tonight. Lydia probably could tell you more about the letter.” And Lydia would know what should and shouldn't be said about it.

“Sure.”

Farkas walked away and Vilkas let him go, feeling like a jerk for ruining his brother’s happy news, but there was no way either of them could have known it would come at the same time as news of the Moot. Here, in Whiterun. As he turned back to return to his quarters he saw someone coming out of Aela’s room, and he watched Mjoll closing the door carefully, Skjorta in one arm. The Lioness put a finger to her lips and Vilkas nodded. When the woman neared he quietly asked, “Is Aela getting some sleep?”

“Yes, little one here has a full belly of milk so Mama can catch a nap,” Mjoll answered. “I’m taking her to see Tilma. She loves holding the baby.”

Vilkas watched her cradle the half-awake infant, rocking her gently, and it sent a pang of grief through him out of nowhere. He hadn’t spent much time around the baby girl, or any baby in general, and seeing Skjorta in Mjoll’s arms made him suddenly miss Skjor terribly. Bryn had told him that Skjor never even knew Aela was pregnant; Aela herself hadn’t known until he had been dead for a few weeks, the child probably conceived right before he died. Vilkas supposed Skjorta was a good baby, as far as he could tell. He rarely heard her cry, but then she had two devoted mothers constantly in attendance, when Mjoll wasn’t running a job in Aela’s place. The Lioness wasn’t part of the Circle, something Vilkas thought he might have to rectify before too much longer, but she might as well be, the way she bossed around the junior members, and that she was a skilled trainer went without saying. Vilkas had sparred against her a few times and it had been a challenge.

“So, Harbinger,” Mjoll said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Vilkas nodded, looking at the baby with a sad expression. “I want to marry Aela. Is that going to be a problem?”

He laughed shortly in bewilderment, caught off guard. That was Mjoll; always brutally direct. You always knew just where you stood with her and what she was thinking. It was refreshing, if still shocking at times. “Why would it be?”

Mjoll smiled brightly. “Ah, excellent! I was afraid it might cause problems, but it shouldn’t if no one lets it.”

“I don’t see how it would be any different than it already is.” Mjoll already shared Aela’s quarters. Nothing would change that he could tell if they married. It still felt odd being asked his opinion on things. He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to it.

“Shouldn’t be. Aela told me it has been custom that Companions leave Jorrvaskr after marriage, but then she told me Kodlak and Skjor always considered the Companions a family. Why would you leave your family to make a family of your own? Just make the family you’ve got bigger, that’s my take on it.” Vilkas smiled briefly and nodded. She studied him for a moment then said, “You seem troubled, brother. What is it?”

Vilkas chewed at his top lip for a few seconds then said, “The Moot will be held here in one month.”

“Ahh,” Mjoll said sadly. “I see. And you’re Harbinger and expected to attend, I take it?” He nodded. “Well, no one says you have to visit with her or even talk to her. This is a meeting of the Jarls, a dignified occasion. It isn’t as if you’re going to see her making out with Ulfric in a corner.” Vilkas made a choking sound and covered his eyes, and Mjoll couldn’t help giving him a nudge with her elbow, laughing. “You’re as bad as Bryn, and that’s just funny. She at least has a good reason to be all dainty and shocked.”

“I am not dainty and shocked,” he said angrily as his hand came down. “I am simply… _appalled_ that you would say something about…them. Together. To me.”

Mjoll rolled her eyes. “So what. So she’s with another man now. Big deal. I told her to go out and fuck her way across Skryim to get over you, but she wouldn’t hear of it, and she was so self-conscious about her Voice the thought made her want to die. Could you imagine that, never being able to enjoy sex because you’re afraid everyone for miles around will hear it?” Vilkas stared at her with wild eyes, his face flushed. She shook her head and him and said, “You two are a real piece of work, Vilkas. Truly. You both had a chance to figure things out. Even after she came back from Sovngarde there was still a chance. She was still whining about how she thought she had made a mistake. She spent so much time praying in the Temple of Mara I thought she was going to wear her knees out. Well, it didn’t work out with you two. If Mara answered her prayers with someone else then it isn’t our place to question it.” His jaw clenched as he glared at her with a wounded expression. “If it’s any consolation, I told her I don’t trust Ulfric and that she should stay away from him, and she gave me some line about saving him from himself and saving Skyrim at the same time. Always the martyr, always trying to help others before she helps herself. And what if she becomes Queen, eh? She will cease to belong to herself at all. She will belong to the people, to everyone.” Vilkas’ anger seemed to diminish somewhat at that. She made a sound of sympathy and said, “Look, what you two had was nice, but maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”

“What was meant to be then?” he countered in a hurt tone. “Her wasting her life on a man old enough to be her father?”

“I told her as much when she was getting ready to leave Riften, after I decided to come back to Whiterun to be with Aela. I told her it was a bad idea, but she was so upset and angry she wouldn’t listen to me. She would hardly even talk about why she was so upset, only that she’d waited and nothing happened. Well how can anything happen when you’re just sitting around waiting for it to happen and you don’t go make it happen? You can’t spend all your time praying for some distant Divine to fix your life for you. I told her one more time that I didn’t think going to Ulfric was a good idea, and she said even with all his faults he was the only man in Tamriel who would accept her for exactly who and what she was, and that he was the only man she had ever met who didn’t fear her in some way. If that is so, well…it is her choice. Maybe for her it was the only choice.”

Feeling wounded to the core, he stated bitterly, “What choice? How is that a choice? So she waited in Riften and prayed to Mara for me to magically appear and marry her, is that it? And I didn’t show up so she went to Ulfric. A scarred-up, aging murderer. That is the choice she felt she had to make. How the hell was I supposed to know she still wanted me? I tried making things right with her one last time. I did right up to the minute before she mounted that dragon and flew away, and she was cold. She pushed me away. I thought that was how she wanted it.”

Mjoll sighed, “She couldn’t respond then—“

“Yeah, yeah, Mara’s mercy,” he spat. “Well where the hell was her mercy after that? There was no way I could know Bryn still wanted me when she came back. All it would have taken was seeing her again. A letter. Something. Even hearing from someone that she still wanted me. It would have taken the smallest hint and I would have gone to her, but I got nothing. I don’t want to hear about her whining over me when she came back when she did nothing to make what she wanted to happen happen. I’m not a fucking mind reader!”

Her eyebrows rose, though she was unfazed by his temper. She had to admit that he was certainly a sight when he was in a tizzy. She shrugged one shoulder and said, “All right then. You both screwed up. This will end up being one of those life lessons, eh?” She saw Vilkas’ tongue run along his teeth as if he was debating whether to punch her, and she laughed, “So fierce, Alpha wolf. Better be careful about tangling with Alpha females.”

Vilkas gasped, rearing back as if cold water had been thrown in his face. “What?”

“Oh, don’t get your underclothes in a bunch. I didn’t take the beastblood, and I never would. But for gods’ sake, do you think I’m dumb? Aela had to tell me what she is. You can’t imagine how hard that was for her, especially after all the tales I’ve told her of the werewolves I’ve put down in my travels. She explained that she wasn’t a regular werewolf, that her nature is a direct gift of Hircine, not a curse, that she has complete control of her transformations. I have to admit I almost left her for that, but…I couldn’t. I’ve seen her change since then, and I’ve seen that she does have control. She said both her parents were werewolves. I told her if I was going to stay that she had to swear to me that it ends with her and the little one is never offered the Blood, and she swore to me it would be so. When Skjorta is an adult we can start telling her about it, and you and Farkas can help with memories of Skjor.”

Grieved and embarrassed, Vilkas whispered shakily, “But I’m not…not anymore. You know that, right?”

“Yes, yes,” she said in unconcern, waving him off as she began rocking the baby again. “I’ve seen the wolf armor the Circle wears. Wore. Farkas stopped wearing his, the wolf on yours is gone… I can figure things out. Once I did Aela told me everything. You can be sure I’ve kept it to myself and will take it to my grave.” She smiled at him and said, “From what Bryn told me of Sovngarde…you made the right choice. Such glory! She said that Kodlak told her he would be the first to greet her at the door of the Hall of Valor, and Ysgramor promised to serve her first drink. She said when she tried to go back inside she could hear them toasting her name and singing songs in her honor. She said she wanted to stay there and Tsun wouldn’t let her, saying the land of the dead was no place for the living. She said she thought about killing herself right then and there so she could stay but Tsun suddenly scowled at her and Shouted her back to Nirn. Like he could tell what she was thinking! Can you imagine?” Vilkas closed his eyes, pained, and she patted him on the shoulder. “Hey, she would never do that. She’s too strong for that. I know she seems like this fragile girl at times, but no delicate flower could Shout the top off a mountain, yeah?” She let her hand fall. “So Ulfric is old and his motives suspect. The peace has lasted nearly four months now, and he’s holding it when no one thought he would. Maybe I have misjudged him. Maybe we all have, and who knows, maybe he even misjudged himself. If he can help Bryn accept her nature, make her feel better and stronger, then that is a good thing. She was really having problems, you know. She couldn’t tolerate her own reflection and kept whispering to avoid using the _thu’um_. It was as if what she was horrified her. Ulfric was nearly a Greybeard. He understands those who are Dragonborn, as much as anyone can.”

“Sure,” Vilkas murmured. He gave her a twitch of a smile. “Thanks.” She gave him another pat then walked away with the baby.

Vilkas grumbled to himself then returned to his quarters, no longer angry but still upset. Sure Ulfric could help Bryn. He helped her so much that she didn’t blink at delivering Elenwen to him to execute, right in front of her, in fact she had helped by holding the Altmer woman down if rumor was correct. He supposed it wasn’t much different than if she had killed Elenwen on the ship in battle, but there was just something more cold-blooded about it. Maybe that was part of what frightened him about seeing her again: seeing how she had changed. The eyes of pure gold, the constant _thu’um_ , the ungodly strength she supposedly had… Of course Ulfric feared none of those things. He had spent half his youth immersed in the world of the _thu’um_ , learning the dragon language and the lore of the Dragonborn. He had probably jumped at the chance to get his hands on her, so powerful and young and beautiful. He had probably considered her quite the prize. He probably couldn’t believe his luck every time he bedded her.

Sick with jealousy, Vilkas went into his bedroom and shut and locked the door. He knew he wasn’t fit company for anyone right now. He just wanted the Moot over with so he could go on with his life, somehow. But it wasn’t for another month, so he had four more weeks to stew over it all. Over her. Four weeks to helplessly remember what they’d had, how they used to love each other. Or rather how she used to love him. Remember the things they used to do together and wonder if she was doing all those things with Ulfric. To Ulfric. He refused to believe she actually loved the man. Even if she did have some kind of care for him it couldn’t be the way she had loved Vilkas. It simply wasn’t possible to love anyone else the same way. Surely she didn’t.

He threw himself onto the bed face-down, trying desperately not to cry like a lovesick idiot and not entirely succeeding. If only she had told him she still loved him. If only she had sent him some kind of message. Mjoll had come here and said nothing to him about Bryn, in fact had gone out of her way to not talk about her at all in his hearing. If Bryn had missed and loved him so much that she was praying constantly to Mara about it, why hadn’t she let him know, somehow? If she was too afraid to face him again, a simple note would have sufficed. Anything. Instead she had left him with silence, while she stayed alone in Riften waiting for him when he didn’t even know she was waiting, resenting him for something he hadn’t known to do anything about. It was completely, utterly unfair. Now he was stuck doubly grieving the loss of her, now that he knew that for just a little while she would have been open to reconciliation, if only he had known. It made him furious with her that she hadn’t let him know. How could she not let him know?

Fine then, Ulfric was welcome to her. Maybe she thought only a Jarl was good enough for her at this point. She was the high and mighty Dragonborn, maybe soon the High Queen. Of course a Jarl, a very powerful and influential Jarl, was a better match for her than some lowly warrior whose worldly possessions barely filled one small bedroom. His position as Harbinger was something honorary, holding no real power and of course no wealth. The other Companions listened to him and respected him, but he didn’t actually lead them. Everywhere he went he was treated with more respect than before, but still, what did it really mean in the end? It wasn’t as if he respected himself any more than he had before. Bryn probably didn’t respect him a whole lot either. And so he was going to wear ebony to the Moot, so he wouldn’t have to see her wrinkle her nose and imagine her thinking: _You’re still wearing that wolf armor._ It might not mean much, but he was Harbinger and by Ysgramor he was going to look and act like it.  
-  
“My thane? You have a visitor.”

“Thank you, Jordis,” she called back. She sighed in frustration as she looked at the outfits on the bed, still not sure what to wear to the Moot in two weeks. She didn’t want to show up dressed to the nines the way Elisif always did, making it look like she vainly just assumed she was going to be Queen (again, the way Elisif had). But if she wore her dragonscale armor she feared she would look like she was trying to intimidate everyone. She felt like she couldn’t win.

She left her room and peered over the edge of the balcony to see Legate Rikke standing at parade rest by the front door. She pulled her head back, surprised by the visit, and not displeased by it. She liked the older woman, always unable to help wondering if her mother had been anything like her. She hadn’t had much chance yet to get to know her, and wondered if that was what Rikke was here for. She had noticed that the Legate was wearing civilian clothing, Nord clothing, something Bryn hadn’t seen her wear before.

Making her way downstairs, she heard Jordis offering Rikke refreshments, which the Legate accepted, which meant she intended to stay for a bit. That was fine. Bryn was rather lonely here in Proudspire Manor, though glad she still had it. She had returned to Solitude assuming the house and title of thane were still hers, giving Elisif the benefit of the doubt, and when she had unlocked the door and walked in Jordis had greeted her as if nothing was amiss, and questioning had revealed that she hadn’t even been aware of Elisif’s threat. No doubt Tullius had had a talk with the pretty young Jarl. She hadn’t had the chance to ask him about it. She might have to soon, if for no other reason than the kick she got out of seeing him squirm when the girl was mentioned.

Rikke smiled at Bryn’s approach. “Dragonborn,” she said in greeting.

“Bryn, please,” she said tiredly. “Or Brynhilde. I know I’m not a normal person, but I like to pretend sometimes.” The Legate was taken aback by that, and she said in apology, “Sorry. I’m just feeling a little morose today.”

“Uh, of course. Um, Bryn.”

“Would you like to sit down?”

“Yes, thank you.” 

As they took their seats Bryn studied the older woman, who was wearing a fur coat over wool pants and tunic, looking completely Nord. She had to be in her early fifties, very close in age to Ulfric. She had served with him, and Galmar, during the war. Bryn was reluctant though to pick her brain about those days. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Rikke must have been a beauty back then though; she was still lovely. Much lovelier in civilian clothing, that was for certain.

Seeing Bryn’s intent gaze, Rikke laughed slightly and asked, “Wondering why I’m here, eh?”

“Yes. Not that it isn’t a welcome visit.” She snorted. “Solitude. I get plenty of that here.”

“Well, the people…they don’t want to impose. You’d have the whole city knocking on your door otherwise.”

“Oh, certainly.” Rikke frowned at the sarcasm. Bryn apologized, “I’m sorry, I’m just…I’m in a mood. I don’t particularly like it here. Everything is so…tidy. Regimented. People are stiff and distant. It… it reminds me of growing up in the Imperial City. I hated it there.”

“You get used to it, eventually.”

“No, I don’t think I will. I have no intention of getting used to it.” Rikke was astounded by that, and she sighed, “That’s not it either. I don’t really mind it here. In Solitude. This house. It’s…since Jarl Balgruuf called the Moot everyone is acting weird around me. Before, people came up and talked to me. Since Sovngarde it’s been different, but lately even worse. At least in Riften and Windhelm it wasn’t so bad.”

“Well, to be honest…”

Bryn pleaded, “Please, I wish you would be.” She leaned towards Rikke and went on, “You have no idea how much I loathe rigidity and formality. I can’t tolerate the idea that for the rest of my life I’ll be separate from everyone. I like walking through Skyrim, helping farmers pick crops and clearing out bandit caves. I like gathering flowers and mushrooms to make potions. I like poking through old crypts and finding treasure and sneaking in the shadows and picking locks. I love smithing. How can I trade all that for sitting on a throne all day, listening to people complain and try to curry favor? I don’t think I can do it!”

Rikke listened to the outburst patiently, trying not to show her bewilderment. She was flattered that the Dragonborn was confiding all this in her, but then she had the feeling Bryn didn’t have much trouble talking plainly to anyone. It was why the people loved her so. When it seemed the girl was done she said, “So, to be honest…the folk in Solitude, much as they revere you…they love Elisif. They want to see her crowned High Queen, but if it wasn’t for her they would be behind you all the way. The people know you’re better for Skyrim. They do. But…again, in the interest of honesty…” Bryn nodded for her to go on. “Your relationship with Ulfric doesn’t help. Even in the holds of the Jarls who supported him.”

“He isn’t what everyone thinks,” she said with quiet intensity. “He’s a good man, I swear it. He regrets what he’s done. Not all of it, but a lot of it. He made the choices he felt he had to, with what he knew at the time. He would take a lot of it back if he could.”

Rikke’s eyebrows rose and she haltingly said, “That…helps. It helps to know that.” The housecarl came out with a tray of cheese, bread and fruit along with two mugs of mead and the bottle. “Thank you. Ah, Honningbrew. Never could stand that Black-Briar swill. I wouldn’t put it past Maven to lace it with skooma to make it addictive.”

“I wouldn’t put anything at all past Maven.”

Jordis stated, “I’ll be downstairs if you need me, my thane.”

Bryn nodded and the young woman made herself scarce. She said, “Maven was trying to pressure Sabjorn into selling to her. I’ve found her little notes in all kinds of interesting places. I have a veritable treasure trove of documentation showing just how dirty she is.” She kept to herself that one of the places she had gathered information from was Maven’s own house. And her hunting lodge. And Mistveil Keep.

“Yes, well, the documents you found onboard that Thalmor ship certainly helped in that regard. You have no idea just what a boon that was. There were letters and dossiers identifying both Maven and thane Erikur as having business dealings directly with the Thalmor.” Bryn blinked, surprised by that. “I haven’t often seen Tullius purely happy, but he was just about cackling over what you brought him.” She paused then said with regret, “I hate to say it, but it also implicated Jarl Igmund. He was accepting coin directly from the Thalmor in exchange for allowing them to station Justiciars there. I know you liked him, but…”

“Oh,” she murmured in disappointment. She nearly asked if Rikke was sure, but of course she was.

“Maven has been put on notice that she’s being watched. Asgeir Snow-Shod has been notified of her dealings and is taking a more active role in the running of the meadery, though it isn’t easy for him now that he’s married to Vittoria Vici and living here most of the time. I have my doubts about some of Vittoria’s dealings as well, but she’s the Emperor’s cousin so she’s untouchable.” She handed one of the mugs to Bryn, who nodded her thanks. “You get used to the backroom dealings after a while. You learn what to ignore and what to crack down on. How to pick your battles.”

“I don’t know if I can do that. I don’t pick my battles. I just…”

“Win them?” Bryn shrugged one shoulder and sipped her mead. “This is different. Politics are different, even here in Skyrim. We are more direct up here, but there is still that element to it. Just be glad you aren’t a Breton living in High Rock. I don’t know how those people sleep at night.” She fixed a piece of bread with cheese and offered it to Bryn, who shook her head. She took a bite herself and chewed it slowly, giving the girl a chance to speak, her fair brow furrowed.

“Will I be allowed to marry Ulfric?” Rikke nearly choked on her food. “I suppose that’s a no, then,” Bryn whispered.

“No, it isn’t a…well, not final, it’s just…” She grimaced and asked, “Really? You really want to do that?”

“I love him.” Rikke waited, frowning deeply. “He’s flawed, yes, but not beyond help. If you had any idea what those monsters did to him…whatever you might imagine they did, the reality was worse. That he is able to love me the way he does is a testament to his strength. Neither of us wanted this to happen, but it did.”

“He’s old enough to be your father,” Rikke said in a gentle tone, deeply saddened. _Ulfric, my old friend,_ she thought with sorrow. _What did they do to you?_ She never really had known. She couldn’t imagine what it must have done to the old Bear of Eastmarch, Ulfric’s father Fjonnar, to see what had been done to his son, his only child. He had probably died of grief when Ulfric had ended up in Imperial custody after the Markarth Incident, unable to contemplate anything else happening to him. Fjonnar had been a warm, expressive man, deeply loved by his people, but fierce; it had to have made him feel helpless in his rage over the atrocities that had been perpetrated on Ulfric by the Thalmor.

“Yes, we’re both aware of that,” she replied testily. “He’s told me multiple times to leave him for a man my age. He’s more than willing to give me up for my own happiness, but…he makes me happy. He helped me accept what I am. He was the one who put me back together after Sovngarde. He told me himself that it would be wrong to marry me if I became Queen, because of the possible backlash. Well if the people of Skyrim are so petty that they would deny me happiness after everything I’ve done for them, they can go fuck themselves.” Rikke blew out a long breath, her eyebrows raised. “I mean it. I’ve fought and bled for this damn country as much as any Legionnaire has, and if I can’t finally get a husband and children out of it then I won’t take the position. I’ll still fight the Thalmor when it’s time, but nothing more.”

After a moment Rikke softly said, “If the Jarls and the people of Skyrim put conditions on you, then you would be within your rights, Dragonborn. At the Moot, tell them that. Let them choose you, then make that stipulation, that you make your own choices and do things your own way. If they can’t live with that, then walk away and go marry Ulfric and be the Lady of Eastmarch. Do what makes you happy. You have sure as hell earned it.” Bryn suddenly beamed at her, and it was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.

“Oh Rikke, you have no idea how much that means to me,” she gushed, reaching out to put her hand on the older woman’s arm. “I wish you would give Ulfric another chance. Get to know him again, and not as adversaries.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to. Which brings me to my original reason for coming here.”

“Really,” Bryn said in surprise, sitting back. “How so?”

“I told Tullius that I’m retiring from the Legion. To serve you, in your new capacity as High Queen.”

She stammered, “Y-you would do that? Give up your career?”

“To start a new one. I’m not cut out to be a General. Most aren’t. Most Legionnaires do retire in their fifties, and I’m fifty-two. A still hearty fifty-two, but I’m ready to come back home to Skyrim. I want to be part of making her whole again. I feel the best place for me to do that is at your side, as your senior advisor and chamberlain. If you’ll have me.”

“Absolutely,” she whispered, her eyes shining. She put her hand on Rikke’s arm again and the older woman laid her hand over it, smiling with eyes that threatened to grow damp. She added, “And what’s funny is…I don’t even know what a chamberlain is.”

Rikke laughed, “Something like a steward.”

“All right.” Bryn brightened further and said, “In fact there’s something you can help me with right away! Come on.”

Rikke let the girl take her hand and lead her upstairs, and she went along readily, her heart singing. In her mind there was no doubt that Bryn would become Queen. It seemed inevitable. All that was needed was an overwhelming majority, so any possible holdouts like Elisif or Maven would be overridden. Ulfric’s people would vote as he did; Balgruuf favored Bryn heavily; Idgrod liked the girl, but maybe it was just her supposed ‘visions’ telling her that Bryn was meant to be Queen. Maven would probably vote for Bryn under pressure from Tullius (in other words, blackmail). Elisif was the only Jarl with any likelihood of voting against Bryn, and Rikke knew that Tullius had been having regular meetings with the girl over the last few weeks. He had a great deal of influence with Elisif. Rikke just hoped Elisif’s hatred of Ulfric wasn’t so overpowering that she was unable to be swayed by that influence.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fairly long chapter, since this string of events didn't have any breaks in it.
> 
> Ah, the Bards...I had such high hopes for this faction's quests, and ended up sadly disappointed. I tried to give them a bigger role here, in order to provide a bit more grandeur to the Moot, which I still feel is missing something, but I did the best I could. Though I realize that Skyrim's Bards were based on the skalds of the Scandinavians and the bards of the Celts, I have to say that my entire view of bards was shaped by Anne McCaffrey's Harpers, from her world of Pern. I spent my entire teens and twenties immersed in that world, and to me that is forever what a formally taught bard should be...entertainer, historian, teacher, and sometimes kingmaker. I wish I could have done more with them in this story.

“It is an awesome sight, isn’t it?”

Vilkas glanced over his shoulder at Jarl Balgruuf then nodded and turned back to the battlements. “Aye, my lord, it is,” he said quietly. The tents and banners of eight holds were arrayed on the plains below Dragonsreach, each with just enough troops to be polite, except for poor Winterhold; Jarl Korir’s tent was threadbare, his banners tattered, and he had but a handful of guards. Ulfric’s camp was on the end farthest to the right, his blue bear as far removed from Solitude’s red wolf as possible. From up here little detail could be made out, but all looked peaceful. It didn’t hurt that Balgruuf had hired the Companions to patrol the area. All of them were out there except Aela, even Farkas and Vignar, though the elderly man was staying closer to the city gates. The Companions were traditionally neutral, not involving themselves in wars or politics; this was edging uncomfortably close to doing just that. Only the fact that Balgruuf had established Whiterun as neutral territory had made Vilkas agree to it, and even then there had been grumbling in the ranks. He had left it up to each Companion to make their own choice, to decide for themselves whether it was honorable, and of course coin had won out in the end. It usually did.

As the Jarl came up next to him Vilkas asked, “So…is she going to ride in on a dragon?”

Balgruuf laughed loudly at that. “While that would be guaranteed to impress…by Akatosh I hope not. Most exhilarating day of my life, that was, and I hope to never see a dragon on the Great Porch ever again.” He sighed and leaned on the battlement. “Honestly, I don’t know how she’ll be arriving, or from where. I imagine she won’t be with any given Jarl’s party, to avoid the appearance of favoritism. Lots of rumors flying around the last month. I’m sure you’ve heard some of them.”

“Aye.” Foremost that Legate Rikke had resigned her commission with the Imperial Legion to attach herself to Bryn’s service. That would make it rather hard to ride Odahviing to the Moot; Vilkas doubted the dragon would submit to that, though it was possible Rikke would stay behind. The other rumor was that the Bard’s College had asked to attend, both to witness the historic event and perform. The _entire_ College. Usually at least one Bard attended any given Moot, in their capacity as not only entertainers but historians. This request had been unusual in that most of the Bards were planning to attend and put on a large scale performance that they had been working on for some time, to the point of recalling all the bards in Skyrim back to the College to prepare for it. It was all rather exciting, or it would be if he wasn’t sick with dread over seeing Bryn again.

“She’ll be staying here at Dragonsreach, when she does arrive.” He patted Vilkas on the back, saying with sympathy, “I don’t doubt this will be uncomfortable, but…I wasn’t really thinking of that when I called the Moot. Sorry.”

Vilkas snorted and replied, “You are a better Jarl than to let crossed stars keep you from doing what is right.” Over the last few months, since becoming Harbinger, Vilkas had started taking lunch or dinner with Balgruuf every so often, and it had made him come to admire the Jarl of Whiterun a great deal, and forged what he liked to think was a friendship, if a casual one. They mostly avoided one touchy area, after getting it out of the way at their first lunch. That had been painful indeed, but he’d had to do it, and to his credit Balgruuf had seen both sides of the problem between Vilkas and Bryn, and it had been a relief to talk to a man who would listen and not instantly leap to Bryn’s defense. Someone who wasn’t Farkas, in other words.

“Crossed stars,” Balgruuf murmured. “Ah, is there no greater tale than that of ill-fated lovers? I should warn you, with all the Bards about you had best keep a low profile, eh Harbinger?”

Vilkas couldn’t help laughing quietly at that, his face growing warm. “I’ll do my best not to attract any unwanted attention, my Jarl.” He supposed he was behaving in a rather self-absorbed manner. It wasn’t as if he was going to sit around mooning over Bryn or glowering at Ulfric. He hoped. Who was he kidding; of course he was going to do both those things, no matter how he tried not to. He had one of those faces that hid absolutely nothing.

“Well, a man like you doesn’t have much choice in that, especially when you walk around in armor like this,” the Jarl said in admiration. He rapped his knuckles on the ebony pauldron, chased with gold. “Magnificent. It’s old Kodlak’s, isn’t it?”

“Aye. He left it to me when he passed. I didn’t feel worthy of wearing it, but…I decided that if I waited until I did, I might never wear it.” That was close enough to the truth.

“I distantly remember seeing him in it, when I was a boy. My brother and I used to sneak out of Dragonsreach and sit on the walls, to look down and watch the Companions train, and oft times there was Kodlak in this gleaming ebony, looking like one of the knights of old Cyrodiil. Then Hrongar and I would get out our wooden swords and proceed to beat the tar out of each other, arguing the whole time about who was the Companion and who the bandit. Good memories.”

Vilkas hesitated then said, “Farkas tells me that Bryn said she saw Kodlak in Sovngarde. She said that Ysgramor himself greeted her at the doors of the Hall of Valor.”

“Is that so?” he replied in wonder. “What a tale that would be to tell. I’m glad you mentioned this, Harbinger. I’ve been considering asking her to relate some of her accomplishments before the Jarls, just to drive home to them that she is our only real choice. I want to believe that no one is stupid or selfish enough to make this difficult, but you never know. The War of Succession was fought because of stupid, selfish Jarls who refused to crown Hanse of Winterhold.”

“She is no Hanse of Winterhold.”

“Oh, aye, aye, that goes without saying. I’m not too worried. Any Jarl that votes against her will end up looking like an idiot. She’s the damn Dragonborn. One does not refuse to crown the Dragonborn. They are born to be Kings and Queens, and more.” He shivered slightly and rubbed his hands together. “Such a strange feeling, to feel history forming around us and the old prophecies unfolding before our eyes! I never would have dreamed that day that the skinny, doe-eyed girl in front of me was destined to change the world. I feared the lass wouldn’t survive a week in Skyrim, and then a few days later I’m hearing my men whispering, ‘Dragonborn!’” He saw Vilkas frown as he folded his arms. “Ah, sorry. This isn’t helping, I’m sure.”

“No, it isn’t that. Just…remembering. The day she came to Jorrvaskr. I know now that Kodlak had dreamt of her, a gift that supposedly ran in his family according to Tilma, but at the time I was so… _offended_ that someone like her would try to join us. I thought he was getting soft in his old age and he felt sorry for her. He had me take her into the yard and as much as I hated to admit it, she had promise. I kept waiting for her to wash out, even after it became known she was Dragonborn. I have to confess that until I sat there and watched the Greybeards Shout at her that some part of me refused to believe what she was.”

“It didn’t really come home to me until I heard her Shout for Odahviing. Just about knocked me out of my damn boots, let me tell you.” He paused then said in a sad tone, “And now the lass can’t even speak without the _thu’um_ , as if she were a Greybeard herself. Or a dragon. I don’t like Ulfric. I never have, since we were young men, and I like him even less since finding out he was planning to take my city out from under me. But if it’s true that he was the one who made the Dragonborn finally accept what she was, without fear or embarrassment, then he has done us all a service. Girl can’t be Queen if she’s ashamed to even open her mouth.” Vilkas was completely silent, staring at the tents below, and Balgruuf was sure it was the tents of Eastmarch he was staring at. He quietly said, “It’s Elisif I worry about. She has good reason to hate Ulfric’s guts, and now I hear she despises Bryn by association. Grief…well, it does things to people. I know that all too well. I lost Nelkir’s mother in childbirth, just…one of those things that happen all too often. But to look across the table at the person who killed your husband? And she won’t have Tullius here to keep her in hand, either. No, we aren’t going to get through this day without some kind of ugliness, Harbinger, mark my words.”

“Aye, my Jarl.”

“Jarl Balgruuf!” The two men looked up at Proventus’ call. “My lord, the first of the delegates has arrived. Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone of Hjaalmarch.”

“Interesting,” Balgruuf murmured. “She’s a bit early.” The Moot was set to begin at noon, and it was a little past eleven.

“Typical old people, eh?” Vilkas murmured back, making Balgruuf laugh and slap him on the back then walk away to meet his steward. Vilkas stayed where he was, seeing movement below among the different camps. No doubt word had spread that Idgrod had already entered the city and gone up to Dragonsreach, and at a reasonable pace it would take at least half an hour for all the Jarls and their housecarls to make their way up here. He nearly turned away when he saw two figures emerge from the main Eastmarch tent, obviously Ulfric and his housecarl Galmar even at this distance. 

He watched the dark blond head until it disappeared out of sight around the bend of the hill, and he stood up from the battlement and took a deep breath, feeling sweat trickling down his back beneath the ebony armor. It was going to make him ill to look at the man and know that he was Bryn’s lover. He wasn’t sure how he was going to manage it. He had to keep reminding himself that it wasn’t Ulfric’s fault, and even if it was, it wasn’t wrong. Ulfric had done what any sane man would. It wasn’t as if Ulfric had taken her from Vilkas. It was Vilkas who had pursued her, even knowing what she had come to Skyrim for, and after she had hung in there and invested a year of her life into the relationship he had refused to marry her. He knew how much it had hurt her, because she had hurt him every bit as much by turning around and leaving him. So they were equal. Fine. He would do his best to keep that in mind, and he would shake Ulfric’s hand when he greeted him, because he knew he was expected to meet all the Jarls now as Harbinger. It was his responsibility to foster relations with all of them, to keep the jobs coming in, something that in hindsight it didn’t seem Kodlak had done enough of. For the sake of the Companions and their honor, and his own personal honor, he had to do this, and with some goddamn dignity as Farkas would say.

Half an hour later it was beginning to rain, and he forced himself to go inside. He had stayed out there brooding on the Great Porch half hoping he would see Bryn ride in on Odahviing. He supposed that would be a bit over the top, even for a gathering like this. Vilkas imagined the dragon wouldn’t enjoy being used as a horse, especially when so few were out here to see it and feed his ego.

He went inside the palace and heard the hum of conversation, and after nodding to the guard he went downstairs. The main hall was full of well-dressed Jarls and their entourages, housecarls and spouses if they had them. No children were present, even Jarl Balgruuf’s. He stayed in the doorway and took everything in, looking for Bryn, and didn’t see her, and as tall and fair as she was she would be impossible to miss. He saw Jarl Skald the Elder off to the side with Ulfric, who had a look of forbearance on his face as he listened to the old man rattle on about something. Vilkas felt a hot flush of jealousy go through him as he watched the older man, who stood with his arms folded and had an easy air of authority and power about him that Vilkas knew he himself did not. He knew he attracted attention wherever he went, and he was respected, but it wasn’t the same at all. Ulfric had commanded troops in the Legion when he was still a very young man. He had been Jarl for twenty years now. Ulfric was the most controversial and infamous man in Skryim, maybe in the Empire. Of course Bryn was attracted to that.

Ulfric rolled his eyes and looked away from Skald, and Vilkas felt a pang of anxiety when Ulfric’s gaze landed on him. The two men stared at each other, and Vilkas was determined that he was not going to be the one to look away first. That tactic backfired when Ulfric held his hand up to Skald then excused himself and headed Vilkas’ way. _Ah shit!_ he thought in a panic, feeling sick with nerves. This was not at all what he had wanted or intended. Not one bit. He would rather battle a dragon alone than be confronted by the Bear of Markarth. He couldn’t imagine what the hell Ulfric wanted with him. He had planned to introduce himself briefly at some point, because he had to, but Ulfric wasn’t the very first Jarl he wanted to talk to, and not in this manner.

Ulfric snorted a laugh to himself at the poorly-hidden worry on the younger man’s face. He couldn’t really blame him for it, either. He stopped a few feet away and looked Vilkas over, unable to help admiring the imposing figure he presented. Tall, dark and handsome, dressed in a Jarl’s ransom of vintage, gold-chased ebony. Bryn was going to feel a knife in her heart when she saw him. He had his own suit of ebony armor in the works, something he had commissioned from Oengul months ago when he had still hoped to be King, but he knew with complete honesty that he wouldn’t look like that in it. He said to him in a wry tone, “Forgive me, Harbinger, but you provided an easy excuse to get away from a pompous windbag.” Taken aback, Vilkas laughed shortly. Ulfric held out his hand, and Vilkas stared at him for a moment then slowly took it.

“Pleased to meet you, Jarl Ulfric,” he said with difficulty, letting go as soon as was polite. It made him ill to shake a hand that had been on Bryn. To look at a mouth that had kissed and tasted her, though how Ulfric managed to do so with that enormous beak of his in the way was beyond Vilkas. He couldn’t even imagine why Ulfric would come over here of his own volition other than to gloat.

Seeing the sudden animosity in the other man’s eyes, Ulfric murmured, “Are you?” Vilkas’ eyes widened slightly but he refrained from answering, though the corner of his upper lip twitched as if he was fighting not to sneer. Ulfric said in a wary tone, “I only intended to make your acquaintance. If there is a problem, I would ask that you make me aware of it now, quickly, before the Moot begins. Brynhilde doesn’t need to see you burning holes into me or her when she arrives.”

“I…this is…I do _not_ want to talk about it. My lord.” It horrified him that the man was just coming out and saying it. Now. In front of all the other Jarls. When Bryn might walk in any moment.

“I am a very direct man, and I would rather know what I am dealing with. There should no ill feeling on either of our parts, Harbinger. Neither of us has caused the other harm.” Vilkas stared at him for a moment then blinked and nodded curtly as he looked away. “Say whatever it is you want to say and I will not judge you for it. There will be great need for you Companions when the new war against the Dominion begins and most of our forces are pulled from Skyrim. Someone must be here to defend the common folk and keep the lawless from overrunning the country. I would not have my hold go defenseless because you resent me for some reason.” It was extremely annoying that the Companion was giving him attitude when he had done nothing wrong and Vilkas was the one who had rejected Bryn multiple times. He had no right at all to glare at anyone but the man in the mirror.

Offended, Vilkas looked at him again and said in a disbelieving voice, “I would never allow such a thing to happen. The Companions’ honor, my own honor, would never allow it.” His eyes narrowed and he went on, “I don’t deserve your doubt, Jarl Ulfric. I have not behaved dishonorably, or cowardly. I don’t know what she’s told you—“

“That is where you can stop,” Ulfric said in warning.

“You told me I can say whatever it is I want to say without censure. I’m telling you that my honor is unstained. I may have behaved like a fool, but I didn’t willingly wound her. I tried to mend things with her up until the moment she flew away on that dragon, and she turned herself from me. Whatever drove her to you after Sovngarde was not my doing.”

“Or your lack of doing?” Vilkas’ jaw clenched as he suddenly looked furious, and Ulfric shrugged and folded his arms. “You started this, Companion. I came to you in good faith, and you glared at me, as if I had done something wrong. I tell you I have not. I told her to leave me, if it is any consolation to you, and who knows if it is. I told her she would be better off with someone her own age, not mine or yours, and she refused to hear of it.” Vilkas looked away, clenching his fists inside the ebony gauntlets as if he wanted to punch the Jarl, his pale eyes burning with anger. Ulfric shook his head and said in confusion, “I don’t understand where your bitterness comes from. You had the chance to make things right. She begged your forgiveness and asked you one more time to marry her, to join her in Riften, and you left her with nothing but silence.”

Vilkas scoffed, “Is that what she told you? All her praying endlessly to Mara, is that it? I’m sorry but Mara didn’t tell me. If Bryn had spoken to me one more time I would have tried to make things right. If she had given me any sign at all I would have gone to her. I was the one left in silence, not her!” Ulfric frowned deeply and chewed at his bottom lip, looking troubled, and Vilkas made a sound of aggravation and continued, “I have no ill will towards you, Jarl Ulfric. You’ve been caught in the middle of whatever it is she—“

“She sent you a letter.”

A flush of icy cold ran through Vilkas as he whispered, “W-what?”

Ulfric sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a terrible dread. “You didn’t receive it, then.” The younger man looked so pale Ulfric feared he was going to pass out, his breathing rapid and shallow. “She told me she sent you a letter, a couple weeks after she had been in Riften. She sent it along with a letter to your brother and his wife.” Vilkas slowly shook his head, his eyes shining as he blinked rapidly. Grieved, Ulfric muttered, “Ah, shit. Gods, I am sorry. This...she should know this. She needs to know.” Vilkas swallowed then slowly shook his head again in refusal. Ulfric moved closer to him and whispered, “Mara’s sake, man, you have to tell her!”

“No.”

“Then I will!”

Vilkas caught his arm, though Ulfric hadn’t moved. “Don’t. Don’t tell her.” _Ah love,_ he thought with grief and fresh loss. It seemed to never end, the punishments Mara heaped upon him. So Bryn had wanted him back and sent for him after all, and somehow it hadn’t made it to him, and so of course she thought that was his answer: nothing. He could imagine quite well how it had cut her to the bone, waiting day after day, week after week, with not even the courtesy of a no from him. Farkas and Lydia had gotten their letter, and written her back, so she’d had every reason to believe he had received his and decided to ignore her. She had waited and waited until she couldn’t bear the waiting any longer, and had moved on to Ulfric, who had undoubtedly welcomed her with open arms. 

“And let her continue to think you rejected her, again? Why would you let her think that?” Vilkas’ adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed convulsively, taking his hand away. “You speak of your honor… well mine is tarnished and bloody, but I cannot stomach the thought of taking my happiness at the expense of another’s.”

“And neither can I.”

“Look, that is thoughtful of you, but—“

“Not you, her. My Jarl.” He cleared his throat and asked, “What do you think it would do to her, to find out now? What do you think it would do to her to have to make a choice between us?”

“Still, the choice is hers to make.”

“Not if she doesn’t know.”

Ulfric shook his head. “No. I will not live a lie. I’ve done many terrible things in my life, but lying isn’t one of them.”

“Which of us do you think she would choose at this point?” Ulfric didn’t answer, which was answer enough. “I see,” he whispered. Well, he had expected as much. Of course Bryn loved Ulfric. But then he had known that when he had decided to leave her ignorant of the letter.

The Jarl said with difficulty, “I cannot say it would be me, in fact I fear it would not be, but… she does not enter into things lightly. I told her she was wasted on me. I told her I was too old for her, too damaged. Everything I said she simply…deflected. And yet, there is no way she could love me as she loved you. You were together a year.”

“A year that she waited, and waited, and prayed for a day that never came. A year that we fought and wounded each other time and again.” Vilkas paused then asked, “Do you love her?” Ulfric sighed, looking pained. “Would you marry her?”

“Yes, and yes. I would have asked her already, if she weren’t destined to be High Queen.” The thought of her going back to Vilkas was unbearable. He wanted to believe she would choose him, but looking at Vilkas it was hard to see why she would. He repeated, “I will not live a lie.”

“It wouldn’t be a lie. Simply not saying anything is not a lie.”

“It is much too close to one.”

“Does she hate me?”

“No,” he answered firmly. “Absolutely she does not. That I can guarantee.” There was no way he was going to tell the man that Ulfric had sometimes caught Bryn staring into space with a sorrowful look on her face, her thoughts obvious. And then she had always turned to Ulfric with a smile and open arms.

“I can live with that.”

“I can’t!” He grabbed Vilkas by the shoulders and gave him a shake, saying intently, “I will step aside. How will I live the rest of my life knowing that she was with me only because of a mistake? A lost letter?” He honestly couldn’t fathom how the letter had gotten lost; the couriers were nearly faultless at their jobs, and Vilkas’ brother had received his. He didn’t see how it was possible that Vilkas hadn’t received the letter, but he knew the younger man was being truthful. His reaction was one that couldn’t be faked.

“No.”

Ulfric pleaded, “No Vilkas, I can’t.”

“Neither can I, and honestly…I can’t say she would choose me at this point either.” That Ulfric had so readily offered to step aside, for the sake of Bryn’s happiness, told him enough about Ulfric’s devotion to her. Vilkas had caused Bryn pain; Ulfric hadn’t. Ulfric was willing to marry her, even after such a short time together. There was a small commotion near the front of the hall and cries of “Hail, Dragonborn!” rang through the space. Vilkas and Ulfric stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, then Ulfric shook his head again.

“Don’t put me in this position, Harbinger,” he demanded. “She would hate me if she ever found out.”

“There’s no reason she ever should, because I’m not telling anyone. No, just leave her in peace. It’s enough to know it was…just a mistake.”

“How can you say that!”

“She’s already gotten over the worst of the hurt. Do you want to be the one to reopen that wound?” Ulfric grimaced, torn. “Tell me one thing. What does _ahmul_ mean?” Ulfric drew in a sharp breath then yanked his hands back. “The dragon asked her if I was _ahmul_ , and she told him _‘Zu’u lost nid ahmul’_. What does that mean?”

“Husband,” Ulfric murmured in sorrow. “It means ‘I have no husband’.”

Vilkas laughed faintly. “Of course it does. That makes perfect sense, doesn’t it.” The dragon had asked if Vilkas was her husband and she had said no, she had no husband, and so she wasn’t coming back. And yet she was here today. Right now. But only because she had little choice.

“By the Nine, you have to tell her,” Ulfric whispered. His presence was going to be missed, and quickly. He could hear the greetings growing nearer, and the thought that Bryn might see them talking to each other made him feel panicked. He was not a man that panicked. He refused to lie to her. He wouldn’t know what to tell her.

“No.” He paused then added, “Would you walk up to her with me, and see who she looks to for reassurance? Who she trusts more?”

“It would only be because she doesn’t know the truth.” Vilkas looked at him as if he knew that wasn’t entirely true. Yes, Bryn would look between the two men she loved and wonder why they were talking to each other, then she would look to Ulfric for an explanation, and comfort afterward. She looked to Ulfric in ways she most likely had not with the Companion, and like it or not maybe it was a product of his age. It probably was a result of Ulfric baring his soul to her in ways Vilkas hadn’t wanted to. Ulfric had no pride when it came to Bryn. None. Vilkas…well, Ulfric supposed if he looked like that he would be a little proud and vain too. Looking at the man drove home to him just how much Bryn must love him if she was with him after sharing a bed with someone like that for the last year. They must have been beautiful together. The thought made him want to weep for them both.

Seeing Ulfric waver, Vilkas said, “Marry her and give her a baby, and don’t let anything stop you.”

“A little thing like the war will stop me. I can’t risk her being with child when war breaks out, and I can't say when it will.” Granted, a woman had final say in when she conceived, but he had to trust that Bryn had that secret woman’s way of preventing conception and would continue to use it until the war was over, whenever that would be. If she became pregnant it might make her hesitant in battle, and it would make Ulfric fear to leave her side, rendering them both ineffective. If she was heavily pregnant it would completely destroy their chances; she would still be able to use the _thu’um_ as far as he knew but her ability to fight would be seriously compromised.

“Fine, put off the child, but marry her. At least with you she’ll never have doubts. Even if she came back to me she would always have doubt in the back of her mind. She’s always doubted me, and with good cause.” Ulfric grumbled and Vilkas could tell he was weakening. “I’ve caused her enough pain. No more.”

“All right, all right,” Ulfric muttered. It made him writhe with guilt, but at the same time he couldn’t help feeling an illicit thrill that Bryn would be his and there would never be any danger of Vilkas wandering back into the picture. He had to have her and that was it, and selfless or not he couldn’t help thinking Vilkas a fool for once again letting her go. Ulfric wouldn't have in the same situation. He sighed, “Mara help me, I’m going to regret this. I suppose I should be glad I have so many regrets that this might get lost in amongst them.”

“I meant what I told her: when the fighting starts I will be there.”

Ulfric nodded and gave him a brief smile then offered his hand again, and Vilkas hesitated then accepted it. He felt Vilkas’ grip suddenly tighten, along with his expression, and he muttered, “Hells, she’s there, isn’t she.” Vilkas made a sound of assent and let go.

“I wish you both well,” he mumbled, then he turned and went back up the stairs to gather himself. He had gotten only a glimpse of her hair but it had been enough. He couldn’t bear to see her again when everyone was watching. He retreated to a balcony, seeing various dignitaries from all the holds on either side, there to observe the Moot, and he stayed in the shadows to look down at the gathering below. He saw Bryn go to Ulfric, a worried look on her face, and realized she had seen Vilkas retreating upstairs. He saw Ulfric’s fingers twitch as if he was resisting the urge to touch her, to comfort her, and the look of adoration on the older man’s face as he gazed at her reassured Vilkas that he was doing the right thing, for her at least. She motioned towards the stairs and Ulfric shook his head and made a motion of unconcern, sending mixed relief and grief through Vilkas. Well, that was good. Good for Bryn. Good for Ulfric. Vilkas wasn’t sure what was good for him, but this certainly wasn’t. He would just keep going the way he was, looking after the Companions and watching their family grow, first with Aela’s daughter then whatever children Farkas and Lydia had. He’d be damned if he touched another woman anytime soon after this, and if he did it would have as much significance to him as eating or sleeping. Just another physical need to be met. He was never letting this happen again.

He saw Bryn look up and scan the balcony to her right, then she turned and looked at the one to her left, and when she saw him standing there he froze, feeling a surge of anguish. She looked so regal, in her dragonscale armor overlaid with a cloak of snowy sabre cat fur, with the diamond and ruby dragonbone circlet around her fair head, her pale blond hair loose, the Jagged Crown tucked under her arm. A true Queen of Skyrim. How far she had come from the emotionally fragile child she had been a little over a year ago who crumbled at every harsh word, too many of them his own. He stared back, knowing she could only see that he was there, not his eyes or expression, and Ulfric said something that startled her and made her look at him. She then looked back up at Vilkas and nodded, giving him a brief, pain-filled smile she had to know he would see, then she turned away and waded back into the crowd with Ulfric at her side. The urge to start bawling nearly overcame him, but Vilkas instead tore his eyes away from following her and went back out onto the Great Porch, hoping the cold might seep into his soul a bit and give him some relief, and knowing it wouldn’t.

 _I wish you both well,_ Bryn thought sadly as she went to find Jarl Balgruuf. That had been thoughtful of Vilkas to say, and clearly it had affected Ulfric deeply. She glanced back up at the balcony and Vilkas was gone, and it made her heart ache with grief. They had certainly done a good job of wounding each other. It was a relief to know that they could move past it, though she had no idea how long it would take for her. She hadn’t expected he would be the one to take the high road, but if he had she could too. She had to. It was one less thing to worry about today. And that had been good of Ulfric to approach Vilkas. Men sometimes had a way of working things out that women couldn’t. Elisif being a case in point. She had refused to meet with Bryn in Solitude and would most likely refuse to talk to her now.

She found Balgruuf talking to Jarl Korir and bowed slightly to both men. Balgruuf embraced her, saying in a rough voice, “Ah, my friend, I’m so glad you’re here. I knew you were all right, but…when the last thing you see of a person is them riding off on a dragon, you worry.”

“I'm all right, my Jarl,” she stated as he let her go. “Permanently changed, but all right.”

Balgruuf waved off her concerns. “You are Dragonborn, and that is all that needs to be said about that.” His blue eyes lit up when he saw the Jagged Crown. She held it out to him and as he took it he breathed, “Ah, to think this graced the brow of every King and Queen of Ysgramor’s line!”

“It’s hideous,” she stated, making him laugh and Jarl Korir next to him gasp in offense. She noted that Korir had the Helm of Winterhold under his own arm, the helm she had fetched for him, and it was only slightly less ugly than the Crown. She hated helmets. They looked good on men sometimes but she’d be damned if she wore one unless she absolutely had to.

Balgruuf nodded to Ulfric and muttered, “Jarl Ulfric.”

“Jarl Balgruuf,” he replied. He nodded to Korir and said, “Jarl Korir. I hope your family is doing well.”

“As well as can be expected, considering where we live,” Korir replied. He looked at Bryn and went on, “If this works out the way we all think it will, what do you plan on doing about my wreck of a city?”

“I have put thought into it,” Bryn admitted, “but you may not like those thoughts, Jarl Korir.”

“If it has to do with those damn mages again, forget it! I won’t let them finish us off!”

“And I tell you again, they did _not_ cause the Collapse, my Jarl. I have asked you many times, with all due respect, just what they would gain from such a thing? The loss of the city where they get all their food, their supplies, where visitors to the College pass through and spend their coin?” The redheaded Jarl simmered, and she went on, “I have tales to tell the Moot, when it’s time. Tales of my time in Sovngarde. I assure you, the Hall of Valor was full of mages. Tsun himself spoke of magic as ‘the clever craft’ and said that in Shor’s Hall they had never forgotten their respect for it.”

Korir made a face and muttered, “You’re joking.”

Ulfric stated, “One does not joke about Sovngarde.”

Korir looked a little ill, and Bryn went on, “Every hold’s economy is based on a commodity. The Reach has silver, Falkreath lumber, Whiterun farming and ivory, and so on. Unfortunately all Winterhold has is the College. I’ve spent time up there and I found them to be very friendly, open folk. Their library is without peer anywhere in Skyrim, in fact on my way here with the Bards several of them spoke of wanting to visit and exchange knowledge. The mages would be more willing to spend their coin in the city of Winterhold if it was a bit more welcoming to them, but they don’t want to impose or make people uncomfortable.”

“Even if they were so inclined, there is no city!”

“So build a new one.” Korir sighed heavily. “Tear down the damaged houses and build new ones. Build more houses and shops along the road leading into the city, to attract merchants and tradesmen. Build a grand stairway down to the water’s edge, and build more buildings down there. We can’t change the past. We can’t make it so the Great Collapse didn’t happen. The College is not going away. We need the knowledge they safeguard, and we need their enchanting services. Magic is nothing but a tool.”

“But…they know why the Great Collapse happened.”

“They have a good idea, but that is all. The eruption of Red Mountain.”

“Bah, I’ve heard that before. The Collapse happened a century after that! And why was only the College saved?”

“Because it was founded on a column of solid bedrock…nothing but luck. The bulk of Winterhold was built on loose ground. The part of Winterhold that survived is closer to the mountains.” There was more to it than that, that being the protective magics that the College was steeped in, but he didn’t need reminding of that. Brynhilde moved closer to Korir and laid her hand on his shoulder, saying, “I promise you that I would give as much attention to the issues facing Winterhold as I would any other hold. Winterhold has a proud history that should not be forgotten, and I don’t believe its days of making history are over.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Korir vowed. He just wasn’t sure if he was willing to pay the price the Dragonborn was asking. He knew his wife wouldn’t be, but then she wasn’t the Jarl, even if she acted like it. He inclined his head to her and walked away to get a drink.

Balgruuf quietly said, “I hate to tell you this my friend, but Winterhold may be a lost cause.” Not because Bryn’s ideas weren’t any good, but because the folk there, and their Jarl, had given up hope. The distrust of the mages was also ingrained too deeply.

“I don’t believe in lost causes,” she stated.

“Good thing for you, eh?” he said to Ulfric, who stared at him for a long moment then smiled, more to be polite than anything else. He had vowed to himself that he wouldn’t confront Ulfric about nearly attacking his city, but he couldn’t help needling him a bit.

Ulfric said, “I don’t believe in lost causes either, Balgruuf. There are many ways to achieve a thing. I want peace in Skyrim and the Thalmor out of our affairs. If someone showed me another way to get it, I have no complaints. I…” He trailed off as someone came over to stand next to Bryn, and he stared at her for a long moment then laughed quietly, sadly. “Ah, Rikke…” His one-time friend was dressed as a Nord woman of some standing, though in pants instead of a dress, with an Amulet of Talos worn proudly about her throat. Quite the departure indeed from the Imperial armor she had worn her entire adult life.

“Jarl Ulfric,” she replied, bowing slightly.

“I’ll have none of that.” Rikke stiffened as Ulfric swept her into a hug, then she let out a shuddering sigh and embraced him back. He held her for a few moments then put her out at arm’s length, saying in a rough voice, “It would have killed something in me and Galmar to face you on the battlefield, old friend. I am glad… well, I am glad.” He flicked the amulet and added, “It makes me happy to see you wearing this. I am seeing it more and more these days, and it fills me with hope.”

“I am a daughter of Skyrim, first and foremost,” she said as he let her go, trying not entirely successfully to keep a catch out of her voice. She pulled her eyes away from him, not yet ready to talk to him. He seemed genuinely happy to see her, and it hurt. She couldn’t look at him yet and not see a traitor. A usurper and murderer. Or the serious yet sweet young man he had been before the Thalmor got their claws into him. She looked at Bryn and said, “My lady, is there anything you need?”

“Oh no,” Bryn said with a shake of her head. Rikke lifted an eyebrow, and she said, “Oh, all right. I am a little hot in this thing, and maybe some water. I’m sick of mead after traveling with those Bards.” Rikke unclasped the cloak and put it over her arm then went to Proventus to find where Bryn would be sitting.

Balgruuf said in excitement, “Yes, those Bards. What are they up to? Your house in Solitude is right next door, yeah?”

“Yes, but they’ve been incredibly sneaky about the whole thing. If they’ve been practicing downstairs no one can hear what they’re doing. For having such big mouths they can be incredibly tight-lipped when they want to be. Oh, it was fun traveling with them though. Music and singing around the fires every night, and ugh, too much mead and ale. After my third morning hung over that was it.” Both Jarls laughed at the face she made. “You should have seen Rikke though, belting out songs with them like a Bard herself. She’s been so happy lately.”

“Because she is home,” Ulfric stated. “She is a true daughter of Skyrim, as she said.” He remembered that fondly about her, in their youth, how she had danced around the campfires and sung, and had never gone to bed alone, one of the greatest beauties of the Legion. Ulfric himself had never bedded her, though Galmar had once. Rikke had rarely taken a man to bed more than once. There had just been too many fish in that sea.

“Yes, more of one than I am. She’s been a huge help to me. So many things I didn’t know, about Skyrim and the Empire, the politics... She sees things from both sides, in ways I simply can’t, and…” She sighed and added, “I wonder sometimes if my mother was like her. She was able to get information on her for me, things my aunt either hid from me or wouldn’t tell me.”

Balgruuf said sadly, “Ah, my friend, I am glad of that. Better late than never.”

“She says that Legate Fasendil might have known my father, though there was a big age gap there. I’ll have to talk to him when I get the chance.” She looked around for Rikke and saw that she had gotten waylaid by Skald. 

Ulfric made a sound of annoyance, and Balgruuf quietly asked, “Is he causing problems?”

“Yes, he is,” Ulfric stated. “He isn’t pleased that I have lost interest in being High King. He thinks I should make some grand pronouncement and start it all up again. I told him I will not be doing that. My objectives were realized. That has happened, thanks to my…very good friend here.” Bryn’s gaze turned warm then she smiled slightly and looked away, doing a very good job of not behaving girlishly. It was adorable when she did, but it wouldn’t be confidence-inspiring. “I will go save Rikke from him and try to pound into his bald head that it will go badly for him if he doesn’t toe the line.” Skald was not popular with his people, and if he didn’t watch it he would find himself replaced quite easily.

Ulfric walked away, and once he was out of earshot Balgruuf muttered, “Gods help us, it is true. You, and… _him?_ ”

Bryn replied quietly, “Did you honestly think it wasn’t true?”

He sighed and said with disappointment, “No, I knew it was, but…why? The man plotted to take my city!”

“Yes, but when I told him how vigorously I would defend it he suddenly began to have a change of heart.”

“Ah, so he does have one then,” he said in an acerbic tone.

“He’s a good person, my Jarl. A good person who has done some not very good things, I will admit. He would be the first to admit it as well. He is not what he seems.”

“I’m going to tell you what I told the Harbinger earlier today: there’s going to be trouble. Mark my words. Ulfric’s deeds will come back to haunt him.”

“They already do.”

Balgruuf grunted. “Well then, I won’t add to it, but I don’t think today is going to go as smoothly as everyone thinks it will. Eventually we’ll get you on the throne, but it might not be as easy as expected.” He would have said more, but then there was the deep boom of drums, telling him it was time for the Moot to begin. Servants and Proventus began to move through the room, showing the Jarls to their assigned seats, which had been thought out as carefully as possible to avoid conflict. Balgruuf took Bryn’s arm, saying, “Come, you have the seat by me, at the head of the table over there.”

“So…Vilkas.” She could see him coming back down from the upstairs and quickly looked away. Better if she didn’t look at all. Especially with him in that ebony armor.

“He’s sitting at the end of our table. I asked him to come, as Harbinger. The Harbinger of the Companions is always invited to the Moots, especially when the throne is being contested. They haven’t always come, but Vilkas takes his job seriously. And it’s not far to travel, eh?”

She laughed softly. “Yes, I suppose not.” Rikke met her at her seat and she took the offered water with a murmur of thanks, feeling sad. How she wished he didn’t have to be here. It probably wasn’t any easier on him than on her. It was certainly too soon on both their parts. She couldn’t help wondering though what more Vilkas and Ulfric had talked about. Ulfric had said that he was the one who had approached Vilkas, partly to get away from Skald, partly to make sure there were no hard feelings that might cause problems down the road. He had said that Vilkas had renewed his pledge to fight the Thalmor with her, and he had wished them both well. It would be tempting later to get more out of Ulfric, to pick the encounter apart, but all that would do was make her look bad, maybe even make Ulfric doubt her. She couldn’t do that. Better to leave the subject entirely alone and keep hoping her feelings for Vilkas would fade. They already had a little, but only when Ulfric was around. And Vilkas was not.

A dark shape moved across the hall and Bryn couldn’t her eyes being drawn to it, and she had to swallow down the lump in her throat at the sight of Vilkas in ebony plate mail, so tall and unfairly handsome. The armor was quite flattering on him, and when he stripped off his gauntlets she saw a gleam of gold on his wrist that made her have to pull her eyes away before she started bawling. So he was still wearing the bracelet she had made him. She couldn’t imagine why he would still be wearing it. She stared at the fire at the center of the hall, unable to help remembering when she had given it to him, after she had nearly died and he had been forced to transform. She didn’t understand how he could have loved her so much and refused to marry her. But then maybe he would have finally, willingly married her if she hadn’t foolishly numbed herself before going to Sovngarde and had responded properly to those last overtures he had made. She couldn’t blame him for not going back to her in Riften. Maybe he hadn’t even opened the letter at all, had simply thrown it into the nearest fire. Maybe he had just wanted a clean break and was too hurt to give it another try. She supposed she couldn’t blame him for that. Still, it hurt terribly to see him again, made everything freshly painful, the memories too sharp and intense to just set aside. There was something in Vilkas that she had been drawn to from the start, something that had made her love him at first sight. Something Ulfric didn’t have. 

She looked across the table and felt a jolt of anxiety to see Ulfric sitting directly across from her, at the head of the other table, watching her with a troubled expression, slouched in his seat as he often was, his finger on his chin. Then he gave her a small smile, testing, and she let out a shaky breath and returned it as best she could with all the people in the room. Ah, but she did love him. With him she felt safe and secure. With Vilkas she had always had that worry in the background that he would never marry her, never agree to children. Ulfric would give her everything Vilkas had refused to. Ulfric had entered into their relationship holding nothing back, while with Vilkas she had always sensed that he wasn’t quite giving it his all. She felt an elbow nudge her ribs and she pulled her eyes away from him to see Balgruuf scowling at her.

“Dibella’s sake, knock it off,” he whispered. “You want the whole damn hall to see you!”

“Sorry,” she whispered back, taking a drink of water in an attempt to hide her blush. She glanced back at Ulfric and he was still watching her, then his eyes slid over to Balgruuf and he seemed to laugh to himself as he picked up his own mug and held it out to a servant to fill with mead.

“Shameless,” Balgruuf muttered.

She leaned towards him and whispered, “So, how is it going with you and Irileth?” She glanced sideways and was satisfied to see a hint of pink on the Jarl’s own cheeks as he cleared his throat and put on a look of unconcern.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hm, all right. If you say so.” The housecarl was standing about five feet behind the Jarl’s chair, as were the rest of the housecarls; Rikke was acting as Bryn’s. She looked back at Irileth to see her watching the two of them with narrowed eyes, and when Bryn winked at her the Dunmer’s nostrils flared as she stiffened slightly. She turned back to the gathering and left them both alone, determined to get the details later. For all she knew there was nothing going on, but the Jarl’s answer and blushing told her something was.

After a moment Balgruuf whispered, “I’ll tell you later.” Bryn made a sound of satisfaction and nodded.

As the last of the Jarls settled in their seats Bryn looked over the tables and how everone was seated. Ulfric was seated next to Dengeir of Falkreath; next was Thongvor Silver-Blood, then Korir, then Skald. At Bryn’s own table was Balgruuf, Idgrod, Maven and Elisif. At the end of Bryn’s own table was Vilkas, and at the end of the other was Viarmo, the Headmaster of the Bard’s College. The Altmer was watching everything with gleaming eyes, seeming thrilled to be here. Bryn had always liked the Headmaster, who had an utter lack of Altmer arrogance, who in fact really didn’t behave like an Altmer at all. Skald was looking at Viarmo out of the corner of his eye as if he was afraid the elf was going to do something dangerous, which was laughable. As far as Bryn knew Viarmo couldn’t even cast any spells, and he had lived in Skyrim his entire life. 

Viarmo caught her eye and smiled and inclined his head to her, and she smiled back and raised her mug to him. He looked very pleased with himself, and she wondered again what the Bards were up to. Nothing nefarious, certainly. Some kind of special performance, she was sure, if every Bard in Skyrim had been recalled to the College. She did notice though that Lurbuk, the Orc Bard from Morthal, hadn’t been amongst the group. She couldn’t really be sorry for that; he had been the worst Bard she had ever heard, and by the number of contracts she had found on him in the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary she wasn’t the only one who thought so. She had always wondered if he had ever been an actual graduate of the Bard’s College but had been too polite to ask, and his absence today made it glaringly clear that he was not.

Balgruuf stood and the quiet chatter amongst the Jarls ceased. He raised his hands and said loudly, “Jarls of Skryim, I call the Moot to order.”

“Aye,” they murmured in unison.

“We are here today to decide who will lead our country forward. We have been kingless for well nigh a year and a half. Our land has been torn apart by civil war and Thalmor manipulations. The war is over, and the Thalmor are gone from Skyrim, for now. Today is about Skyrim’s future, and it is about what kind of future we want it to have. To be strong we have to be united. We must be led by someone who can represent _all_ of us, someone with the strength and vision to hold us together and force respect from not only the Thalmor but the Emperor.” He paused for effect then went on, “As the one who called the Moot, it is my privilege to put forth my choice of candidate. As you all either know or have guessed, it is the Dragonborn, Brynhilde. Only she is capable of leading us forward. Only she is capable of making the Thalmor pay for what they have done to us. As Dragonborn, only she will be taken with the utmost seriousness by the Emperor and the Elder Council.” He looked around the room and said, “Now, are there any others who will put either themselves or another forward?”

Skald yelled out, “Ulfric of Eastmarch!” Elisif cried out in outrage as there were gasps and murmurs of shock.

Ulfric raised his voice and said in irritation, “No, I do not accept the nomination. I am not a candidate nor will I be. I have made it clear that I no longer seek the title of High King.”

Elisif spat, “Only because you’ve gotten your lover into place instead, murderer!”

“Goddamn it,” Balgruuf muttered angrily as he sat back down, heard only by Bryn next to him. He knew it would be her. He had hoped that Tullius had given her a talking to before coming here, but if he had it clearly hadn’t taken.

Ulfric’s jaw clenched as he debated how to answer, and Maven said in a tone of misgiving, “While I have the highest respect for the Dragonborn…really, I don’t see how we can elect a, well, I hate to be indelicate, but…a half-breed, to be our High Queen.” Most of the Jarls were appalled by the statement, even Skald. “If she were partly Breton or Redguard or Imperial, a full-blooded human, I’m sure we could all overlook that, but…Shor’s bones, she’s a half-Elf,” she said with a touch of distaste. “Do we really want someone who was raised by Altmer ruling over us? Who could ever be sure where her real loyalties lie?”

Viarmo said in a tone of caution, “Jarl Maven, I assure you that it is entirely possible to be a full-blooded Altmer and still be loyal to Skyrim. I have lived here all my life. I was born here after my parents fled Sentinel in 42. A hundred and sixty years I have been a citizen of Skyrim, and I would die to defend her. The Dragonborn’s blood isn’t an issue, and shouldn’t be, unless it’s the actual dragon blood we’re talking about, and then I would hope we all would consider that an asset.”

“Yes, the dragons. The creatures that nearly destroyed us. The ones she is allowing to keep living when she was supposed to destroy them all. Am I the only one that finds that troubling? She said she was going to get rid of the dragons, and yet I still see them flying around the mountains, and she’s been riding one, for heaven’s sake. How can anyone believe a word she says?”

“How… _dare_ you,” Ulfric said with barely restrained fury. “Is that how much you resent her for leaving you without the Dark Brotherhood or Thieves Guild at your beck and call? You would doom us all to endless strife and a Thalmor boot on our neck, to soothe your wounded pride? Oh, but of course you would, because you profit from it. I would like to know what portion of the coin in your coffers is from Cyrodiil and what part from Alinor!”

“What an offensive thing to imply, Jarl Ulfric,” Maven said calmly. “I am an independent businesswoman, and while I may have ties to the Empire they are purely trade agreements.”

Bryn stated, “All as carefully documented, I’m sure, as every other business arrangement you have undertaken?” The room was silent, and Bryn lifted her eyebrows and casually took a drink of water. Tullius had been certain that Maven would vote for Bryn; he had stated that not even a week ago, the last time she met with him. It looked like Maven was about to lose a number of her lucrative business contracts with the Empire. Bryn wondered who had made it worth her while.

“It isn’t worth it, Maven,” Idgrod murmured to her. She saw the other woman’s knuckles were white where she gripped her mug. Maven ignored her, and Idgrod could see the tell-tale signs of fear in her. Maven wasn’t angry at all. She was afraid.

Ulfric went on, “A jeweled collar is still a collar. Golden chains are still chains. Perhaps you would be comfortable in servitude, Black-Briar, but the rest of us would not.”

Maven said with an edge to her voice, “I’m not sure I know what you’re getting at, Ulfric. Though I suppose if anyone here knows about chains and collars it would be you, hm?”

His eyes went wide and he heard gasps along with a furious growl from Galmar behind him. “You… you bitch,” he hissed. “You fucking bitch!”

“Uncalled for!” Thongvor Silver-Blood shouted across at Maven. The other Jarls were furious, even the ones on the other side of the table, except for Elisif, who looked smugly pleased. The Dragonborn’s nostrils were flared and her golden eyes burning, and for a split second he could swear he saw the faintest shadow of a dragon around her. “Great Akatosh,” he whispered, but everyone else was too riled to hear. The girl’s eyes met his and he felt a shiver of reverent fear go through him. It was like the old tales of Tiber Septim, where some couldn’t look at him near the end of his life without seeing the aura of a dragon about him.

“How much are they paying you?” Ulfric yelled at Maven. “You would betray your own kinsmen in trade for septims-- No, not septims, shiny Elven gold! Even the Empire doesn’t want this! Tell me, tell us, who do you want on the throne then? If not Brynhilde, who?”

“The rightful High Queen: Elisif,” Maven stated. Her suggestion was met with groans.

“Rightful how?” Korir asked in disbelief. “By being married to Torygg for five months before he died? What rights does that give her? She should be glad she’s even been allowed to stay Jarl.”

“Torygg didn’t die, he was murdered!” Elisif cried.

“And I say he was not!” Ulfric shouted, slamming his hands on the table as he stood. “It was honorable combat! I am not proud of what I did, damn you, but he was free to reject my challenge, and he did not. He faced his end with courage, a courage I did not expect, but I was too blinded by rage and frustration at the time to see it.”

“Blinded just as you are now,” she retorted. “You’re a brute! Torygg admired you! He would have listened to you if you had bothered to talk to him, but instead you simply Shouted him down!”

“And it was wrong, and I will regret it the rest of my life,” he said through gritted teeth. The room went silent in shock. He kept his eyes on Elisif, on that porcelain doll’s face, and she glared back with murder in her eyes. “I would take it back if I could,” he stated, “but it is done and I cannot take it back. I cannot undo what has been done, only atone for it.”

Into the bewildered silence Bryn said, “All right, Elisif. What would satisfy you? Tell us what it will take—“

“His death!” Elisif cried. “I don’t care that the Emperor pardoned him, it wasn’t Titus Mede’s crime to forgive!”

“And it isn’t yours either. I tried to tell you this. I tried to tell you what Torygg said to—“

“Lies! As if I’m supposed—“

“Stop interrupting me!” Elisif sucked in a breath of shock as the demand thundered at her. “You want to be High Queen, and yet you are willing to do something that will completely destabilize Skyrim to get vengeance. Your obsession trumps the welfare of our country and our people. You would have Ulfric dead and yourself on the throne, and the war will start again, and you’ll still be a widow.”

“Yes, and so will you.”

Elisif’s words were too pathetic to even react to, though the other Jarls found them horrifying. Bryn was glad she couldn’t see Vilkas from where she was sitting. She couldn’t imagine what he must be thinking at the moment, and Elisif was sitting right next to him. Well, this wasn’t going to get any easier. When no one else spoke up she asked Elisif, “So you want civil war, then?” The girl didn’t answer; of course she didn’t. “We’ve had four months of peace. You didn’t consider me untrustworthy before. All that I have done for Skyrim, for Haafingar and Solitude, and that counts for nothing with you, because of Ulfric? After everything I have done, one would think that maybe there is a good reason for the choice I have made. In the end however, it is my choice, and you may not believe this, but it will not sway my decisions as High Queen.” Elisif stayed silent, perhaps realizing that she had made herself look like a borderline lunatic. “So, I ask you again, Elisif the Fair, what would satisfy you, other than Ulfric’s death?”

“Your promise to never marry him.”

“This has nothing to do with me. I didn’t kill Torygg. What payment would you exact from Ulfric that would make you stop accusing him of murder? And by the way, it offends me that you think that I would take up with a murderer. I have done a lot of killing, and I promise you I know the difference between that and murder.” She looked at Ulfric, who stared back with a look of mixed anger and worry. He had feared all along that their relationship would end up costing her, and it seemed it was, but Elisif was only one Jarl. “I tell you Elisif that I had reasons for letting Ulfric live, when I could have ended the war almost a year ago by simply walking into the Palace of Kings and killing him and all his officers. I tried to tell you a month and a half ago what those reasons were, tried to explain things to you, and you refused to listen. A Queen should not refuse to listen. If you are listening now, I am telling you for the last time that Ulfric did not murder your husband. It’s unfortunate that you find our relationship offensive, but it wasn’t anything that was planned or could be helped. I would have explained it to you, but again, you refused to listen.”

Elisif’s eyes darted around the room, seeing everyone watching Bryn keenly. Ulfric was staring at his lady love with shining eyes, his jaw clenched, then his gaze slid over to Elisif. He stared at her, waiting, not protesting. Her chin trembling, she said, “It wasn’t a fair fight.”

“No it wasn’t,” Bryn admitted, “but then I haven’t had a fair fight in a long time either, other than Alduin, and it doesn’t stop me from doing it. I do what I feel needs doing, just as he did, right or wrong.”

“Fine, then I want him to step down as Jarl of Eastmarch.”

Ulfric said with a sneer, “My family has ruled Eastmarch for a thousand years. I would sooner let you stick a knife in my chest.”

“All right then. That is my price.” Ulfric blinked in shock, and the reaction in the room was instant and intense. Elisif stood and shouted above the noise, “That is my price, Ulfric Kingslayer! You let me stick a knife in your chest, make you taste but a small fraction of what you did to my beloved Torygg, and I will accept that it was unfair but honorable combat, and I will cast my vote for the Dragonborn, if she watches, the way I had to watch you kill my husband!”

Unable to keep his mouth shut any longer, Vilkas stated angrily, “That is unacceptable! What the hell kind of price is that to ask for? Bryn has done nothing to you!” He wasn’t about to simply sit by and let this happen right in front of him. He wasn’t going to stay silent and watch this happen without protesting it. It would horrify Bryn to have to stand there and watch someone stab Ulfric. He didn’t want to see the look in her eyes when it happened, and with a feeling of dread he knew that Ulfric was going to allow it.

“I don’t care,” Elisif hissed at him, making him sit back in his seat. “Ulfric deserves no love or comfort as long as I sleep alone! Five months we were married, still newlyweds, when Ulfric took him from me! I lost our child from the grief, miscarried a baby we didn’t even know existed until it was bleeding out onto the floor!” That made the room fall into silence and hushed whispers again. Elisif was satisfied to see a look of guilt on Ulfric’s face at that. Her voice shaking with rage, she said to him, “Yes, you can add baby-killer to the long list of your crimes, Beast of Eastmarch. We wouldn’t have to hold this Moot today if my child had lived, because that child would be your next King or Queen.”

Idgrod stated firmly, “No girl, we would be having the Moot twenty years from now, because if your behavior today is any indication of how you would raise a child, then that child would be unfit to rule, just as you are.” She looked over at Ulfric and went on, “What say you, Jarl Ulfric? Will you pay her price, foolish as it is, and let us finish our business here?” If Maven was the only hold-out then the Moot was done and decided. Idgrod wanted to know how the Thalmor had gotten to her old friend, who was worrying at the hem of her tunic, staring at the fire as if she wasn’t seeing or hearing any of what was going on right now.

Ulfric glared at Elisif then said, “Yes, I will pay it, if it will get this travesty over with.”

Galmar leaned over his chair and growled, “Damn it, you don’t have to go through with this!”

“No, but I will. We will all see if the milk-drinking girl has the courage to do it, or the courage to put a stop to it.” He walked across the silent room, Galmar close behind, their boots ringing on the wooden floor, and he went to Bryn and held out his hand. She hesitated then stood and took it. He led her to Elisif, glancing at Vilkas who was watching with a dismayed expression. He kicked the leg of Elisif’s chair, seeing the girl was already losing her enthusiasm for the idea. “Go on,” he snarled. “Show the Jarls of Skyrim what Elisif the Fair is made of. Your husband faced me without fear. Surely you can do the same, knowing I will not defend myself, and have the courage to look me in the eyes when you do it.”

Elisif glanced around the room and saw no sympathy, only horror that this was going to happen. She swallowed hard and rose, her legs shaking, and when she looked at the Dragonborn the other woman was staring at her with cold hatred, taking slow deep breaths, her nostrils flaring with each one. Like a dragon. “She will not defend you either,” she demanded tremulously.

Bryn stated in a thundering voice, “No, but if you try to kill him, or your dagger is poisoned…you will find out what I did to make Elenwen piss herself, except you will not get the relief of dying at the end.” She was too angry to control her Voice at the moment, and too angry to care. She held Elisif’s eyes as Ulfric took off his furs and handed them to Galmar. Elisif looked away, panic in her eyes. This entire show was pointless, ridiculous, accomplishing nothing other than to reinforce to everyone what a fool the girl was and prove that Ulfric regretted killing Torygg. Bryn hated that Ulfric was going to get wounded, right in front of her, but if he had the courage to take it then she would have the courage to watch.

Ulfric handed Galmar his steel breastplate then held his hands out to his sides, saying in a harsh tone, “Go ahead, _Elisif_. Show the Jarls of Skyrim what kind of Queen you would have made.” Elisif took in a shaking breath and her hand slowly moved towards the little dagger at her waist, jeweled and shiny, only ever meant to be decorative, just like her, and she shivered as she pulled it out. She licked her lips, staring at his chest, and he barked, “Do it! Do not expect me to take off more than this. Only my treasure has earned the right to see what the Thalmor did to me.”

Vilkas watched with his heart pounding as it played out right next to him, still not quite believing this was happening. He saw Elisif’s expression harden right before she took the dagger in both hands and plunged it into Ulfric’s chest then yanked it out again. He choked and stumbled back a step and Bryn was instantly there to steady and heal him, but not before blood welled from the wound to soak the front of his shirt. Vilkas numbly noted that Elisif hadn’t gotten anywhere near his heart, but the wound had still been deep. He thought that this might measure up as one of the most horrifying things he had ever witnessed in his life. Fighting was one thing, but this had been like passively watching a murder. And to hear those words from Ulfric about the Thalmor…Vilkas simply couldn’t imagine. He had to be referring to scars, and Vilkas couldn’t imagine how terrible they had to be that Ulfric refused to let anyone but Bryn see them. He couldn’t imagine what it had done to Bryn to see them for the first time, or how she could ever get used to seeing them. He was sure her seeing them was what had made her deliver Elenwen to Ulfric for execution instead of simply doing it herself. My treasure…Vilkas’ heart ached at the term of endearment. He didn’t doubt Ulfric did treasure her, in all the ways Vilkas should have, and hadn’t, until it was too late. Well, he would try to take comfort in that, the knowledge that he had done the right thing for once in stepping aside. He had to find some comfort in it or he was going to throw himself off the Great Porch.

Ulfric took a deep breath as the agony of the wound quickly faded, and he demanded of Elisif, “Are you satisfied now?” Elisif was staring at the bloody dagger in her hands, an expression of revulsion on her face. “Are you!” he shouted, and Elisif cried out and nodded, her entire body trembling. She stared at the front of his shirt and the wet stain there, her face as pale as a ghost. She was unable to meet his eyes, now or when she had done the deed, just as he had expected. Ulfric said angrily, “I regret Torygg’s death, as I regret so many others, but I cannot take back what has been done. I will see Brynhilde made Queen, not so that I may rule through her but so that I may try to atone for what I have done, by following her. The Dragonborn was created by Akatosh to lead, but you…Dibella made you to be nothing but a brainless ornament on a man’s arm.” Elisif’s redheaded housecarl hurried forward to take the dagger from her and begin wiping her hands, and it made Ulfric have to resist the urge to spit on her in contempt. “Say it,” he demanded. “Say that your price is paid and you support Brynhilde as Queen.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“No, you say it so that all may hear.”

Elisif choked out, “You have paid my price, and I support Brynhilde as High Queen.”

Ulfric turned away from her and walked toward the center of the hall, calling out, “There! The rest of you will do the same and crown the Dragonborn, or we have no hope! You have heard where she found the Thalmor, on a ship sailing for the Summerset Isles. What do you think their objective was? Why do you think they slipped away in the middle of the night to flee Skyrim, if not to report back to the Dominion that the war here had failed and the Dragonborn had brought peace? The Dominion fears us Nords, as they should, and they fear the Dragonborn most of all, she who has slaughtered over fifty now of the fiends, and left their ship floating in flames on the Sea of Ghosts.” He pointed at Viarmo. “You, Bard. You will stand before this assembly and recite her titles and accomplishments to us. You will remind the Jarls, and everyone else in this hall, of what she has done for Skyrim, for Mankind, and for those like you who are not Men but still call Skyrim their home.”

Viarmo smoothly stood, not about to get thrown off by the impromptu speech. He appreciated the dramatic, and he couldn’t have asked for a better introduction. He noted Ulfric returning to his seat, as was the Dragonborn, but not before Viarmo saw her lock gazes with the Harbinger, their expressions heartrending. Ah, what a day this was! He raised his voice and said, “Jarls of Skyrim, listen now as I speak of the many glorious deeds and titles of the Dragonborn, Brynhilde.” He paused at the end of the fire pit, seeing his fellow bards already moving into place. At the first soft boom of the drums he began. “Survivor of Helgen. Dragonslayer. Thane of Whiterun. Companion. Thane of The Rift. Thane of Hjaalmarch. Thane of The Reach. Thane of Haafingar. Thane of Falkreath. Thane of The Pale. Thane of Winterhold. Champion of Azura and Meridia. Agent of Mara. Agent of Dibella. Destroyer of the Dark Brotherhood. Bloodkin of the Orcs. Slayer of the Glenmoril Witches. Harbinger of the Companions. Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold. Bard of the Bard’s College. Destroyer of the Thieves Guild.” Viarmo paused again then raised his voice further as the drums began to pound more loudly. “But more than that, above all else…Alduin’s Bane! Ysmir, Dragon of the North. Stormcrown. Dovahkiin to dragon-kind, known to us as Dragonborn, as foretold in prophecy:  


When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world  
When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped  
When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles  
When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls  
When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding  
The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.”  


Giraud Gemane stepped forward into the reverent silence, the drums still beating a steady rhythm. The Breton historian said, “The Bard’s College has deep roots, so deep that even as much as we try we sometimes lose track of what we once knew. For years I’ve had a scrap of parchment in my possession, written in an unknown alphabet, alien to every scholar I’ve shown it to. The runes are the same ones seen by intrepid adventurers at the tops of mountains, or in the depths of crypts, engraved into prehistoric walls. It wasn’t until a few months ago when an old book came into our possession by a scholar named Hela Thrice-Versed that it became apparent that we had in our hands an ancient song of prophecy…in the language of dragons.” The drumbeat changed, becoming more complicated. “The timing was fortuitous, to say the least. I’ve been able to translate the parchment, making the appropriate gender substitutions to fit our dear lady. The tune and exact pronunciation have been lost to time, but with the help of my worthy colleagues we present it here to you today, in honor of the one who would be our Queen.”

Giraud recited in a ringing voice, “Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by her honor is sworn to keep evil forever at bay! And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumph's shout, Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray! Hearken now, sons of snow, to an age long ago, and the tale, boldly told, of the one who was kin to both wyrm and the races of man, with a power to rival the sun! And the Voice she did wield, on that glorious field, when great Tamriel shuddered with war! Mighty Thu'um, like a blade, cut through enemies all, as the Dragonborn issued her roar! And the Scrolls have foretold of black wings in the cold, that when brothers wage war come unfurled! Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound, with a hunger to swallow the world! But a day shall arise when the dark dragon's lies will be silenced forever and then fair Skyrim will be free from foul Alduin's maw, Dragonborn be the savior of Men!”

The gathered Bards moved forward as Giraud and Viarmo joined their ranks, the Altmer Bard turning to face them and lift his arms, and as he brought them up the Bards began to chant, then their voices rose in perfect harmony as they broke into song.

 _Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ek zin los vahriin, wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!_  
 _Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan, Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!  
_ _Huzrah nu, kul do od, wah aan bok lingrah vod, aahrk fin tey, boziik fun, do fin gein!_

 _Wo lost fron wah ney dov, ahrk fin reyliik do jul, voth aan suleyk wah ronit faal krein!_  
 _Ahrk fin zul, rek drey kod, nau tol morokei frod, rul lot Taazokaan motaad voth kein!  
_ _Sahrot Thu'um, med aan tuz, vey zeim hokoron pah, ol fin Dovahkiin komeyt ek rein!_

_Ahrk fin Kel lost prodah, do ved viing ko fin krah, tol fod zeymah win kein meyz fundein!_  
 _Alduin, feyn do jun, kruziik vokun staadnau, voth aan bahlok wah diivon fin lein!_

_Nuz aan sul, fent alok, fod fin vul dovah nok, fen kos nahlot mahfaeraak ahrk ruz!_  
 _Paaz Keizaal fen kos stin nol bein Alduin jot, Dovahkiin kos fin saviik do muz!_  
 _Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ek zin los vahriin, wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!  
_ _Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan, Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!_

_Too-rah, too-rah, too-rah, yah!_  
 _Too-rah, too-rah, too-rah, yah!_

The song ended suddenly, and in the space of a breath half the hall was on its feet, the walls ringing with shouts and cheers. The Bards bowed as a group, and Balgruuf yelled in delight, “Masterfully done!” Viarmo came forward at the Jarl’s gesture, bowing again, and once the room eventually quieted back down he said, “Such a performance was worth the wait, Master Bard. You and your fellow Bards have the full hospitality of this house today.”

“We thank you, Jarl Balgruuf.” Viarmo smiled and bowed again, then he turned to look at Bryn, who gazed at him with a broad smile and shining eyes. He said to her, “I hope we did you suitable honor, Dragonborn. We weren’t sure of course of the proper pronunciations.”

“It was…ah, glorious!” she cried in a choked voice. “It was… _morokei lovaas_ , a glorious song!”

“Dean Giraud has made a copy for you, in both languages.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” Viarmo bowed to her then backed away and returned to his seat. She had never heard anything so stirring in her life, so many soaring voices lifted in song. It had brought tears to her eyes, and she wasn’t the only one it had affected in that way. How thoughtfully devious of the Bards to put all this together without a whisper of it getting out. Bryn took a drink of water and saw Ulfric watching her, a look of adoration on his face, and he smiled slightly at her regard, his sea blue eyes gleaming. How she loved him. Seeing Vilkas again had hurt, the two of them unable to look away from each other for several long, uncomfortable seconds, and he had looked magnificent in the ebony plate, so darkly handsome, and compared to that Ulfric couldn’t help but show his age and the toll life had taken on him, his skin lined and his nose too big for his face, but Bryn loved that face, with its strong character and beautiful, mournful eyes. He was no Vilkas, but that was one of the reasons she loved him.

Still standing, Balgruuf said to the assembled Jarls, “As the prophecy foretold, Skyrim is sundered, kingless, bleeding. I say we put an end to that today! I call the first vote of this Moot. I call for Brynhilde, the Dragonborn.”

As he returned to his seat Idgrod stood and said with conviction, “Brynhilde.”

Maven slowly stood as the other woman sat, and she looked up the table at the girl, who gazed back calmly, but when Maven hesitated and swallowed hard Bryn frowned slightly, her look turning to one of confusion and concern. It was as if the damn creature could read her thoughts. Well, it wasn’t as if Maven had the presence to mind to watch her expression right now. She shook her head and muttered, “Elisif,” and sat back down to sighs and grumbles from the other Jarls.

“Brynhilde,” Elisif said shortly, not bothering to rise.

Skald got up stiffly from his seat and said in a tone of resignation, “Well, I would rather it was Ulfric, but seeing as how that isn’t going to happen…the Dragonborn, Brynhilde.”

Korir nodded and quietly said, “Brynhilde.” He wasn’t particularly happy about her support for the College, but he didn’t see any other choice for Winterhold, or Skyrim. And her words about Tsun and the mages in the Hall of Valor kept repeating uncomfortably in his head. If Shor himself welcomed magic users into his Hall as heroes, what would Shor think of him if he didn’t welcome them to his city?

Thongvor stood and said in a proud voice, “I cast my vote for Brynhilde, the Dragonborn, by Talos!”

“Aye,” Dengeir said in agreement, “the Dragonborn!”

Ulfric stood and gazed at her for a long moment as the room went completely silent, then he smiled and stated warmly, “My lady dragon, Dovahkiin, Brynhilde.” She smiled back at him with love in her eyes, not caring who saw. Well, he didn’t care either. Let them all see it!

Balgruuf waited for Ulfric to sit back down, and when he didn’t Balgruuf stifled a grumble of annoyance and stated, “Then it is decided: eight of nine Holds for Brynhilde the Dragonborn. We have our High Queen! We are sundered no longer!” A glad cry went up from most of the Jarls and the folk in the balconies. Balgruuf looked at Maven, who was staring at the fire with an ill look on her face. He asked her, “What will it take to get a true consensus, Jarl of Riften? I know you and the Dragonborn have had your ah, difficulties. I’m sure some sort of compromise can be reached so we can tell Skyrim that all the Jarls had the good sense and selflessness to back the Dragonborn.” Maven slowly shook her head, the muscles along her jawline twitching. Perplexed, Balgruuf looked around the room, seeing the other Jarls were just as confused by her behavior. He asked her, “Do you really want to go back to the Rift and explain to your people why you didn’t vote for her?”

Idgrod put her hand on Maven’s arm, making her flinch slightly. “Please, old friend,” Idgrod murmured. “Whatever it is they’ve got on you, there’s a way out of or around it, I’m sure of it.”

“Not this time,” Maven whispered. She could feel all eyes on her, something she usually enjoyed, but not now.

Skald barked, “We don’t need a consensus! Let’s wrap it up here and start the drinking.”

Balgruuf nodded and looked down at Bryn, who was looking down the table at Maven with an expression of concern, then she noticed his attention and looked up at him and smiled briefly. He held out his hand and she took it, and as he pulled her to his feet and raised her hand as he shouted, “All hail Queen Brynhilde!” The hall rang with the answering shout, repeated three times, then the Bards began to play soft lute music as servants hurried to pour mead while others began bringing out platters of food to the tables. Balgruuf squeezed her hand and she surprised him by embracing him. He patted her on the back, hearing a muted grumble from Irileth in the background. He let go then motioned to the Jagged Crown on the table before him. “Going to put that on now?”

“Absolutely not,” she answered quietly. “It will ruin my hair.” His eyes widened then he realized she was joking. The Crown was ugly, though impressive, and it would have its uses, but not right now.

Thongvor called out, “So, our lady Queen…what is going to be the first order of business, eh? Maybe returning to The Reach and helping me wipe out those Forsworn bastards that are still causing me problems?” 

Bryn stared at him for a long moment, seeing everyone was waiting to see how she was going to answer. She wasn’t fond of the Silver-Blood family or their methods, and only knowing that Igmund had been taking Thalmor bribes made the trade bearable. While Thongvor was the most honorable member of the clan, still he was a Silver-Blood. She finally replied, “While I understand the Forsworn are a problem, and I’ve done my share of dealing with them, I would hope that you realize that some restraint is called for.”

“Restraint! The only restraint we should show is letting enough of them live to work Cidhna Mine!”

“Thereby creating more Forsworn from the native Reachmen who might not have been sympathetic to their cause before. It’s a never-ending cycle that is going to end up costing your hold, Jarl Thongvor. Unless you plan on enslaving or killing every Reachman, that is.” She knew there was something more going on with the Silver-Blood family and the Forsworn than anyone was aware of, and now she wished she had looked into it when she was only the Dragonborn and maybe could have done something about it. Now it was probably too late.

“Of course not.”

“The Forsworn are what amounts to a terrorist organization and should be dealt with as such; that I fully agree on. They can’t be allowed to murder and pillage the way they do. However the law-abiding natives need to be left alone, and the native landowners need to stop being harassed and pressured to sell their land, and the native workers need to stop being bullied and taken advantage of. You can’t keep pushing people and expect them to take it forever. They’ve been there for thousands of years and aren’t going anywhere. The Nords aren’t going anywhere either. Something needs to give.” Thongvor nodded slowly, his lips pursed, not entirely pleased. She wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Bryn came out from behind the table to stand at the head of the fire so she could see everyone equally. “As for what my first order of business is, well, at the moment I have no place to hold court. Until I figure that out, the most pressing matter facing us is the vampires.” She saw several nods at that and a few ‘hear hears’ from the balconies. “They’re becoming a serious menace, nearly as bad as the dragons were, and the destruction of the Hall of the Vigilant a few weeks ago was the last straw. They’re up to something; it isn’t in their nature to cooperate at the level necessary to cause the amount of destruction they did. If there’s nothing else more urgent, I’m going to The Rift next.” She looked at Maven and the older woman reluctantly lifted her head, and the look in her eyes confused Bryn all over again. Almost like she was pleading with Bryn. She went on in a distracted voice, “We don’t know how long we have until the Thalmor go on the offensive, so best to take care of things at home first.” Maven looked down at her plate, troubled. Bryn’s eyes flicked to her housecarl, Maul, standing behind her, and to her annoyance he was glaring murderously at her. Well then, she wouldn’t be heading to The Rift a moment too soon. 

Dengeir said in an eager tone, “Yes my lady, the Thalmor! Tell us the tale of how you finished off the devils and drove them from Skyrim!”

Bryn laughed and blushed slightly. “Well, I really didn’t drive them anywhere. Chased them down, maybe.”

As he took his seat Ulfric said, “Our lady is much too modest. Tullius was unaware of the Thalmor Embassy’s back door.” There were snickers at that. “Once she made him aware of it he asked her to see if they were still there. They were not. If Brynhilde hadn’t gone to Castle Dour and put herself in front of Tullius and forced him to listen to her, the Justiciars and Elenwen would be safely in Alinor by now. As it is, they are left guessing. Not for long, but perhaps long enough.”

“And so I want to get the vampire issue resolved before then,” Bryn said with a nod. “We don’t know how much time we have before I’m called in front of the Emperor. I won’t leave behind those monsters to terrorize our cities and towns.”

“But the ship!” Dengeir pressed.

“Ah, yes. Well, the Embassy was abandoned, as you know. They had left a few servants behind to put on a show, to make it seem they were still there. I didn’t bother to check; it was obvious by the number of tracks in the snow heading towards the coast that they were gone. I called Odahviing and mounted an aerial search, following the path of their exodus toward the sea, and found that they had already set sail, most likely very early that morning. As you can imagine, it didn’t take them long to spot us. Odahviing wanted to burn the ship, but I wasn’t going to allow that. Not yet. I told him to fly over the ship, and as we passed over he rolled and dropped me over the deck.” She brought her hand down in a swooping motion, her eyes on the fire as she played out the memory. 

There were gasps and mutters, and Korir said with an expression of disbelief, “How did you manage that?”

 _“FEIM ZII GRON!”_ The gasps this time were louder, interspersed with cries of astonishment and delight. “It doesn’t last long, but long enough to fall from a great height and land unharmed. I won’t pretend my landing was graceful, but it worked.”

“What did the Elves do?” someone cried from the right balcony.

She became solid again, generating more gasps, and said, “They attacked, of course, but I pulled out Dawnbreaker and Chillrend and defended myself, until my Voice regained its strength. Once it did I called the storm. Some of the Thalmor ran inside the cabin, locking their brethren outside in their cowardice. When my _thu’um_ was ready, I Shouted in the door, and dispatched those who were left. Elenwen was last, hiding in her cabin. She said she was open to negotiation. I was not.” There were laughs at that. “I blew in that door as well, and punched her before she could regain her feet and throw lightining at me. The Altmer have no defense against the cold as we do. She tried to escape, but I Shouted _FO!_ ”

Vilkas shivered as a wave of sparkling white frost went through the hall, bringing _oohs_ of reverent wonder. He couldn’t help hanging on her every word as the others did, her voice resonating through the palace, permanently touched with the _thu’um_. Bryn’s talespinning was as masterful as a Bard’s, her hands and body moving along with her story, punctuating it here and there with a dragon Shout, even the Bards themselves silent as they watched with wide eyes, no doubt making mental notes to craft songs about the adventure. She was a thing of beauty in the firelight, mixed with a terrible strength that came off her in nearly tangible waves. He truly couldn’t begin to grasp what she had become. Probably no one here but Ulfric really did, and even the Jarl of Windhelm watched her intently, worshipping her with his eyes. Everyone was, but Vilkas could see the intense devotion there, Ulfric leaning forward in his seat with his hands on the table as if it was all he could do not to surge to his feet to join her. He was still wearing the bloody tunic, and Vilkas wondered if it was intended to be rubbed in Elisif’s face. He glanced at the girl in the next seat and she was watching Bryn with a look of defeat. It had to gall to look at the Dragonborn and feel yourself fade in comparison, but then there wasn’t a being on Nirn who could compare. The Nerevarine, maybe, wherever he was, if he still lived. Though his heart ached with loss, Vilkas felt some small measure of peace seeing the look on Ulfric’s face. Ulfric would treat her as she deserved and play a fitting consort to her Queen, as the man who had nearly become King. His agreeing to a truce and holding to it, his questioning of his past actions, and his willingness today to take a knife in the chest in front of everyone told Vilkas what kind of man Ulfric was. He was certainly a more worthy partner to a Queen than Vilkas could ever be.

When Bryn came to the end of her story with her landing in Castle Dour’s courtyard again and throwing Elenwen’s head to Tullius, everyone came to their feet with a shout to toast Brynhilde’s name and hail her again as Queen, and Vilkas did as well. When she sat and everyone began eating, he caught Ulfric’s eye, and when the older man raised an eyebrow Vilkas lifted his mug to him. Ulfric smiled sadly and lifted his in return then took a long drink and shifted his gaze back to Bryn, his eyes rarely leaving her. Vilkas was determined to stay for a reasonable amount of time after the meal, and he would go up to Bryn and bend his knee to her as was expected, and then he was going home. He was going to go home and lock himself in his quarters and get completely, absolutely, shit-faced drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to Pearl Jam's "Black" quite a bit while writing Vilkas' parts of this chapter.
> 
> Vilkas, I am sorry. (sobs)


	35. Chapter 35

The feel of a smooth body sliding into the narrow travel bed next to him woke Ulfric from a light sleep, and as he rolled onto his side to pull Bryn against him he whispered happily, “I knew you would come to me, _umriidi_.” He could hear Galmar snoring in the outer room of the tent, dead to the world, but sound would carry out here. He didn’t care, but he knew she would. The more noise she made, the better it made him look.

“Is that why you’re naked, my furry _kodaav?_ ”

He laughed softly and replied, “It was a measure of my faith in you.” He felt her leg twine with his as he asked, “Just how did you get out here?”

“Silence and shadows.” She had slipped out of her room in the lower level of Dragonsreach and up the stairs past half a dozen guards, but not before passing by the Jarl’s quarters and accidentally hearing sounds of a man’s passion and the distinctive, husky voice of a certain Dunmer housecarl. It had been shocking to her still somewhat sheltered senses, and yet wildly arousing at the same time. She hadn’t been able to make out what Irileth was saying, but it had sounded rather demanding. Balgruuf had admitted to her tonight that he and Irileth hadn’t yet consummated their relationship and that he thought she was starting to get impatient, but he still feared rushing things. It seemed Irileth had finally gotten fed up with waiting and made some aggressive moves on her Jarl. Bryn had forced herself away from the lusty sounds, aching, and had made her way to Jorrvaskr, making certain no one was outside, and had gone through the Underforge then out the secret exit. She would make her way back into Whiterun the same way. It had been ridiculously easy.

“Hm, mysterious,” Ulfric murmured, feeling her hand reach around to caress his backside. He ran his hand up her back to pull her tighter against him and said, “You were…splendid tonight, my love. You held us all in your hand, like a true Queen.” He kissed along her chin and jaw, whispering, “You can’t imagine how I love you. There are no words for it, my beauty. No words at all.”

Bryn laid her hand on his rough cheek and whispered, “I could see it in your eyes, all night. Everyone could.” Once the meal had ended and everyone started circulating Ulfric had attached himself to her and had left her side only to speak to the other Jarls. He had deliberately left on the bloody shirt, as if he wanted to keep reminding everyone what he was willing to do to keep the peace. Elisif had left the gathering right away, as had Maven, but not before the Jarl of The Rift had cast several more pleading looks Bryn’s way. She supposed she would have to stop by Mistveil Keep when she passed through and see what was eating at Maven. She had the disturbing feeling that the Thalmor had found some way to get to the older woman, though she wasn’t sure how it could have happened. She wasn’t really sure what she could do about it, either. The Thalmor should all be long gone, though she supposed they probably had plenty of non-Altmer operatives running around Skyrim.

“I am glad. Let them all see what you’ve done to me, my darling, my life.”

“Oh Ulfric,” she sighed wistfully, and her breath caught as his hand moved between her legs.

“Shh. You’re going to have to be very, very quiet.” The teasing sound of his voice made her whimper, and as he began slowly sliding his fingers into her he said, “What’s this, already wet? What have you been up to?”

“Listening to Balgruuf and Irileth making love.”

“Really,” he whispered in lewd disbelief. “So…what were they doing?” His words faltered as he felt her hand wrap around him. It felt good, but he needed no encouragement tonight. So the Jarl of Whiterun was fornicating with his housecarl. Well, it happened, and the two had known each other for decades, but it was still a little shocking. And more than a little distasteful.

“I think…well, it sounded like she was in charge.”

Ulfric barked out a laugh at that before catching himself. “Is that so. And do you like being in charge, my Queen?”

Her stroking faltered, and after a hesitation she whispered, “Sometimes.”

“I haven’t been very accommodating, have I.”

“I understand. I would never—“ He silenced her with a deep kiss then rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. When she tried to sit up he stopped her, and she resisted the compulsion to ask if he was sure this was what he wanted. She let him direct how she moved, and he took her hips to center her over him then pushed himself into her before pulling her close for another kiss. His slow movements inside her were maddening, not nearly enough, but she let him do what he wanted, fearful of taking over and ruining the moment. She had always loved riding Vilkas, holding him down and taking him from start to finish, and Vilkas had always practically melted into it, completely giving up control to her and losing himself in it. She didn’t think Ulfric could ever do that. It wasn’t his fault, and the reasons for it were obvious and upsetting. He was trying now though. It was a start.

Feeling the tension and frustration in her, Ulfric let her sit up enough so that he could see the dim outline of her face above him in the light of the two moons coming through the canvas of the tent. Her very human face. She stroked his cheek lovingly, and he moved more quickly inside her, building up his enthusiasm for the idea. He loosened his grip on her hips to allow her to move as she wanted, and she sighed and kissed him, breathed his name against his lips in a way that sent a flush of heat through him. “Ah there, go, go,” he urged her, pushing her up and away from him, and she sat up and began riding him in earnest. He resisted the urge to close his eyes, keeping them on her, running his hands over her body as he watched her face. He had always kept his eyes tightly shut back then, unable to tolerate watching what was being done to him, hating himself for being unable to control his response to it, but this…this was so much different. This was his beloved. He watched her give herself up to it, closing her eyes and moaning softly as her movements became more intense. He soon felt shudders of pleasure go through her, panting in an effort to be quiet, and it drove him wild.

Bryn leaned down to kiss him but didn’t get the chance, Ulfric pushing her off with such force that she feared he was upset. She opened her mouth to say something but he turned her over then around to face away from him then pushed her shoulders down. He moved behind her and entered her again, thrusting into her so deeply she cried out, and she buried her face in the pillow to muffle her screams as he pounded into her, so hard and fast it made her head spin. He suddenly pulled out of her and turned her onto her back and leaned down to taste her, fingering her lightly, and when she felt a wet finger reach to rub her underneath she gasped in shock.

“Do you like this?”

“I…I don’t know,” she whispered. Vilkas had never done anything like that. It hadn’t really occurred to her that anyone would. She couldn't really imagine right now why anyone would want to.

“Tell me when to stop,” he murmured against her. He felt her body trembling as she wound her fingers in his hair. He began kissing and licking her again then slowly eased a finger inside her, and the moan she let out was all he needed to know. It was a relief that he could do something to her that the Companion had never tried. He had to be grateful to Vilkas that he had been considerate with her from the start, leaving her with no inhibitions or anxieties in bed. It gave him a touch of guilt that he was enjoying the results of that, but it was quickly washed away as she climaxed again, biting her lip to keep nothing more than whimpers from coming out, driving him wild.

Bryn barely had time to catch her breath before Ulfric was on her, kissing her so aggressively she was sure it would leave marks. He wasn’t at it long before he laid his head next to hers and spent himself in her, the sounds he made seeming to nearly tear themselves out of him. She’d never heard him make that kind of noise before, and it sent fresh shivers of excitement through her. The longer they were together, the more they made love, the easier it seemed to be for him to let go. She put her arms around his neck and petted his hair as he nuzzled and kissed by her ear, breathless. She combed her fingers through the loose strands, not tied back and braided as his hair usually was. She then realized something was digging into her chest between them, and when he shifted to the side she touched his chest and found he was wearing an amulet. Not the usual Amulet of Talos he wore, but a larger, round one. “Oh Ulfric,” she whispered in poignant surprise. An Amulet of Mara. She wondered how long he’d had it, and how long he had been planning this.

“I was wondering when you were going to realize it,” Ulfric said with amusement. “I’ve had it on all along. You were starting to worry me.” He smoothed her hair back from her forehead, wishing he could see more than the outline of her face. “Marry me, Brynhilde. Be my wife.”

“Yes. Yes!”

He laughed, partly at how relieved he was by her answer. As if she would answer any other way. He rubbed his nose against hers and said with delight, “When the war is done and the Thalmor vanquished, I’m going to start filling your belly with an endless succession of children. Blond, bold sons and daughters of the North.” He didn’t care how old he was. It didn’t matter. Not anymore. Nothing did but her.

Ulfric pulled up the blankets over them as Bryn replied, “That sounds so wonderful…a houseful of children!”

“What sounds even more wonderful is letting an old man get some sleep.”

Bryn’s breath caught at the growled complaint from the outer part of the tent, though Ulfric laughed loudly at it. “We’re getting married, Galmar!” he called out.

“Great, great,” came the muttered reply, followed several seconds later by the resumption of heavy snores.

Ulfric laughed again as Bryn giggled then whispered, “I hope he wasn’t awake long!” That would have been absolutely humiliating. Ulfric made a sound of unconcern, and she went on in a halting tone, “I just don’t know how I can ever get used to it. How…open people up here are.”

“You mean Nords?” She made a sound of assent. “It isn’t just Nords, precious. If you had only seen the rutting going on around the campfires in the Legion. You learn to ignore it. It’s human nature.” He shook his head and went on, “Elves are strange in their mating behaviors. Hundreds of years they live and are lucky to have three or four children. Even the Orcs rarely have more than two or three. Didn’t you ever catch your aunt and uncle going at it?”

“Ugh, no. I don’t think they even particularly liked each other. It was an arranged marriage.”

“Well, be glad you’ll be marrying me soon. It will save you from the Emperor trying to match you with someone.” He felt Bryn shudder in revulsion. The Emperor was childless and had never married, but he had a number of nephews near Bryn’s age that Titus would no doubt try to press on her if she wasn’t already taken.

“That would get him nowhere. He’d better be careful in how he deals with me.” She made a sound of worry and said, “I really don’t think I’m going to be any good at politics.”

“There’s no reason you should be,” he replied. “All you need to do is not take anyone at their word until they have proven themselves to you. Hopefully your times in the Imperial City will be few and far between. You are now a member of the Elder Council, and at some point the Emperor will want to see you. In fact I’m surprised he hasn’t already sent you some kind of message, when it became apparent that you were destined to be Queen.” Bryn was silent, and he made a sound of realization. “Ah. So he has.”

“In a way,” she said carefully. “Through Tullius.”

“And thus the heads.” He felt her nod, and he sighed and lied down on his side to pull her back against him. “Well then, I will ask no more about it. You would have told me if you could. I suppose I should be glad he wants you on the throne and that he has that much sense. I hate the man and what he’s done to us, all of us, but I have to respect his abilities as a war leader and politician.” He nuzzled his nose into her hair and breathed deeply, and he felt Bryn’s hand slide up into his between her breasts to twine her fingers with his. He sighed and whispered, “You make me happy. I have never been as happy as I have been since you came to me that night.”

“I’m glad, _kodaavi,_ ” she replied in an emotion-choked voice. “You deserve to be. How long have you been planning this?”

“I’ve thought about it from the start, marrying you, but…I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Shackle you to a beat up old man.” He was going to be fifty next month, a birthday he was dreading. She made a sound of protest but he ignored it. “Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I can’t tolerate the thought of not having you with me, always, or at least knowing that you’ll always come home to me. The last time you left Windhelm, when I saw you mount that beast of yours and fly away from me…it felt like my heart was breaking. Like you would never return to me and just…fly off to some distant land and never come back. I missed you terribly while you were gone. I kept batting the idea around, going back and forth between asking you and swearing I wouldn’t, worrying it would cause problems for you, or wanting you to be with someone younger. Then I saw you tonight, looking so queenly, so beautiful. But the final thing that made me decide…” He paused, debating, then forged ahead. He wasn’t one to shy away from difficulty. “It was, ah, Vilkas.”

“Vilkas!” she whispered in shock, feeling her heart constrict. “What do you mean, Vilkas!”

“We talked for a bit. I wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings between him and me. And he got me away from Skald, but that’s beside the point. He was watching the room, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with himself, and I took the opportunity to clear the air between us, man to man. It wasn’t comfortable, but it had to be done. I think my going up to him angered him, but…I had to do it. It was awkward, for both of us. He asked if I loved you and wanted to marry you, and I told him the truth, that I do, and he told me to do it and to let nothing stop me.” He felt her trembling between them, but he was determined to get all this out, as much as he could without revealing the letter. If she pressed him about it he would have to tell her the full truth, no matter how it hurt her or what he had promised Vilkas. “You still love him, I know that—“

“Not like I love you.”

That was a relief to hear, and he knew it was true, at least at this very moment. “And he still loves you.” He had to say it. Had to give her at least that small chance to back out, without telling her about the letter.

Bryn whispered, “I know.” She could see it during those brief moments they’d stared at each other, after Elisif had stabbed Ulfric. Vilkas had looked up into her eyes with an expression of anguish and loss that had torn her heart out. She shook her head and said, “But it just…isn’t any good. Even if he had answered that letter and come to Riften to marry me, I would always have doubt in the back of my mind. I would always wonder if he would resent me later for forcing his hand.”

Saddened, he said, “Yes, that’s basically what he told me.” And it made him feel worlds better about his decision to hear that from her.

“I’ve never had any doubts with you. I feel safe with you. With you I’ve never felt lonely, even when we’re apart. With Vilkas, even when things were good I never stopped worrying, but with you…never.”

Wildly relieved, Ulfric squeezed her tightly and kissed the back of her head. “It warms my heart to hear that, my treasure. I’ll never give you reason to doubt me, I swear it.”

“I believe you. I trust you.”

“As you should. Perhaps one day you and Vilkas could tolerate being around each other. You may have to learn to be, if he joins us in the war. He’s…a good man. He will be an asset.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “He’s a great warrior.” She swallowed her grief and went on, “I owe everything I am to the Companions, to Kodlak and his taking a chance on me. And Balgruuf. He put his faith in me when I was just a skinny, frightened girl. And Hadvar, for getting me out of Helgen alive. I wonder what ever happened to him? And Ralof?”

“Who knows,” Ulfric said, not really caring. He still thought Hadvar a coward for not standing up to his Captain more, for allowing an innocent girl to go to the block simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but at least the man had redeemed himself. “Ralof is in the Falkreath camp, last I heard. I suppose I should talk to Galmar about disbanding our forces and sending them back to their respective holds.”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking about that. I intend to tell Tullius to do the same with the Imperial camps.”

He said with amusement, “I like the idea of you ordering Tullius about.”

“Maybe I’ll order him to put on some pants so he’ll quit bitching about the cold.” Ulfric chuckled at that. They laid there for several minutes in silence, and Bryn felt a pang of loss as she heard wolves howling in the distance. Vilkas had stayed at the gathering long enough to be polite and introduce himself to all the Jarls, except Maven and Elisif who had left for their tents right away. He had come to Bryn last, going down on one knee before her and quietly congratulating her, calling her 'my Queen', telling her to call on the Companions if she ever had need, then he had turned and walked out of Dragonsreach. He hadn’t looked her in the eye during the entire conversation, never lifting his eyes any further than her chin. Ulfric had been there, one hand on her back to steady her. Always steadying her.

Bryn squeezed his hand and asked, “When should we marry?”

“Oh…whenever you’d like, precious,” he murmured sleepily. “You’re going to The Rift next, yes? We could travel to Riften if you want on the way home. Take care of it then.”

“All right,” she whispered. She felt him nod and within moments his breathing and the loosening of his grip told her he was asleep. It was warm and cozy in the narrow bed, and she let her mind drift lazily, content in Ulfric’s arms. She wondered if their wedding should be a bit fancier than a private ceremony in the Temple of Mara, now that she was Queen, but maybe it was better this way. It wasn’t the ritual or the trappings that she wanted; it was the marriage, everything that came after the ceremony. She wanted a husband and the security of being married. Ulfric made her feel secure and loved. He had made her feel happier in their short time together than the entire year plus that she had been with Vilkas. She would have to set up her court in Windhelm then. The Jarls were all gathering again tomorrow to get down to more serious business, and she would make it a point of speaking to each one separately to talk about her marriage to Ulfric and what it might mean for her reign. She would have to impress on them that while she would always take Ulfric’s advice, he would not be ruling through her. She would make it very clear that she was not the Stormcloak Queen. Stormcrown, maybe. She supposed she should come up with some fancy surname at some point, ridiculous as it seemed.

Bryn awoke a few hours later, stiff and much too hot, and after orienting herself realized she couldn’t exactly stay out all night; it would look bad, and it would be insulting to Balgruuf’s hospitality. This bed was also not made for two. She slid away from Ulfric and he snorted and stirred, and she leaned down to kiss his cheek, whispering, “I have to go, darling.”

“All right,” he murmured. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

“Be careful going back.”

“Of course.” She kissed his lips tenderly then dressed, and he was asleep again before she got her boots on. _Old man,_ she thought affectionately, though she would never dream of calling him that out loud, sensitive as he was about their age difference. She loved his maturity, and the lines in his face. It would be interesting to live with him and call Windhelm home. She had intended to make Riften home but that hadn’t worked out the way she thought. Things rarely did. She hadn’t expected to fall in love with Ulfric. He hadn’t expected her to love him either. _I’m not the kind of man you would fall in love with,_ he had said. How sad that he had thought that. There was nothing about him that she found unlovable, other than his racism, and even that wasn’t often an issue and only a product of his imprisonment. If Ulfric couldn’t bring himself to look after the non-human residents of his city and hold then she and Brunwulf Free-Winter would have to continue to do so. If she married Ulfric she would be not only the High Queen but the Lady of Windhelm and Eastmarch; she wasn’t going to allow Windhelm to be anything but the glorious city it had been in Ysgramor’s day.  
-  
Bryn sprang to her feet as Aela came out the back doors, a bundled infant in the Huntress’ arms. She embraced the older woman, and barely had time to glance at the baby’s sleeping face before Lydia came out. Lydia squealed in delight and threw herself at Bryn, squeezing her tightly. “I’m so happy to see you two!” Bryn said breathlessly. It felt like coming home, being back at Jorrvaskr, though there was no way she was going inside. All the available Companions still patrolled the camps around Whiterun’s perimeter during the daytime, so they were all gone from the mead hall, but there was no telling where Vilkas was. Bryn had sent in Lars Battle-Born to fetch one of the two women, giving him a septim for the service. She had to wonder if Jon and Olfina had gotten back into their families’ good graces yet; they had relocated to Ivarstead last she had heard, the two clans still up in arms about the marriage. The feud was going to have to be set aside if a grandchild came of the union, which it no doubt quickly would, and Thorald and Avulstein would probably return to Whiterun soon once the Stormcloaks were disbanded. It was going to take time for resentments to ease, but Bryn wasn’t going to tolerate all out divisions to continue.

“How have you been, Sister?” Aela asked curiously. Mjoll heard everything that went on with everyone, and if she didn’t know she flat out asked. It appalled Aela sometimes how bold Mjoll was, but it never kept her from listening to the information Mjoll had gathered. Aela knew quite well that Bryn was with Ulfric. All of Skyrim did.

“Oh, good, good,” Bryn said happily. She let go of Lydia then pulled Aela close, saying, “Let me see Skjor’s daughter.” Aela handed her over, and Bryn cradled the baby in her arm, or tried to. She couldn’t believe how tiny the child was. So fragile. Frighteningly fragile. Bryn had never been more aware of her terrible strength than she was at this moment.

“Here,” Aela murmured, showing Bryn how to properly hold the infant and support her head. She wondered if Bryn had ever held a child before, and she couldn’t help worrying if holding Skjorta was going to make the girl break down into tears. Bryn smiled at the baby and ran her finger along Skjorta’s cheek; she wasn’t wearing gauntlets or armor but instead a rich dress of wine red overlaid with a tabard of yellow embroidered with gold, the dragonbone circlet over loose blond hair, and her usual Amulet of Talos, and over it all was the cloak of snowy sabre cat fur. She was armed only with the Blade of Woe. “Are you alone?” Aela asked. It didn’t seem proper that she was.

“Rikke is waiting at the top of the stairs,” she stated in a near whisper, wary of the _thu’um_ startling the baby awake. “She didn’t want to impose.” Lydia clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes, turning away to go fetch the former Legate. Bryn petted Aela’s hair and the older woman smiled at her, though her worry wasn’t well hidden. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, as long as it is with you.”

“Everything is great, I promise. Complicated, but we’ll work through it.”

“You and Ulfric, you mean.” Bryn made a sound of assent. “Complicated in what way?”

“Not between the two of us. It’s the…Queen thing,” Bryn said uncomfortably. It had really started hitting home to her this morning that she was now High Queen of Skyrim. That she was now effectively ruling a country. It had started to actually panic her a bit as she laid there in bed wondering what on Nirn she was supposed to do now. She had no idea what she was doing. What the daily routine would be. It had started to hit her that she would no longer have the freedom to just run off whenever she wanted, or poke around in crypts anymore. She might get one last stint while looking into the vampire problem, but that would probably be it.

“Yes. Congratulations.” Bryn laughed softly at the dry statement. Aela would treat her with the utmost respect in public, but she knew Bryn well enough to know that in private she would loathe being kowtowed to by anyone who had been close to her. Aela counted herself among that select group.

“Well, honestly…I’m not sure what to do from here.” She heard Lydia returning with Rikke, who nodded towards Aela in greeting.

“Hail, Companion,” Rikke said with respect. Aela nodded in return. Rikke came to stand by Bryn, taking Lydia’s offer of hospitality and her urge to not stand on formality at face value. It was exciting to finally see Jorrvaskr up close, and an honor to be welcome here. She peered at the baby then said to Aela, “Lovely child, Huntress.” The girl looked strong and healthy, her plump cheeks rosy. Aela murmured her thanks. Rikke stood back and said without regret, “Never did get that natural desire to have children. Not sure why. No regrets, but sometimes I wonder what it would have been like.”

Lydia stated, “I never had a strong urge to have babies either, but Farkas really wants children, and I’m all right with it.” She rubbed her still-flat stomach and said, “I know once the little one arrives I’ll fall in love and wonder how I ever could have not wanted one.” She put her arm around Bryn and said, “So…how has it been with Ulfric?”

Hearing the concern in her good friend’s voice, Bryn said, “Oh, he’s…wonderful. Just wonderful.”

“Really.” She heard a grunt from Rikke and Bryn shook her head at both of them. “It’s just…hm. He’s… ah…”

“What?” Bryn pressed in annoyance. “Old? Ugly?”

Lydia gave her a shake and said in aggravation, “No, of course not. You know damn well that I think he’s a striking man, and his age isn’t an issue for me if it isn’t for you. I meant the whole rebellion thing. I know the Emperor pardoned him and he’s been fully willing to keep the peace, but…he just doesn’t strike me as a warm man. In fact he comes across as very domineering and brusque.” Lydia had met him only once, that morning in Candlehearth Hall, and he had not made a good first impression. She couldn’t help finding him attractive though, tall and well-built, with very lovely light bluish-green eyes. The nose though, that was a little hard to get past, though she supposed it could grow on you after a while. Lydia was so used to living with Farkas’ beautiful, perfectly proportioned face that most other men looked coarse in comparison. She still woke up every morning wondering how on Nirn she had managed to land a man like that, and blessed Dibella and Mara both for it.

“He isn’t with me. He’s been nothing but kind and respectful to me. He calls me all kinds of sweet names. He called me his treasure in front of all the Jarls yesterday.” She sighed and looked down at the baby, going on, “Last night he asked me to marry him, and I said yes, and after the Dominion is dealt with we’ll start having children.” Lydia gasped and Rikke stiffened in surprise. Bryn ignored the reaction, drinking in the sight of the baby’s adorable, round-cheeked face. How she wanted one of these. She lifted the blanket Skjorta was swaddled in to see light brown hair, then covered her back up to protect her from the slight breeze. She glanced at Aela, who seemed unconcerned by Bryn’s relationship. Considering Skjor’s age and the circumstances around their relationship, Bryn wasn’t surprised. “Should we take her inside? Is it too cold out here?”

“No, she’s a Nord child,” Aela said without concern. “She’s bundled up more than enough. You have to be more careful about our babies overheating than getting chilled. And…well, best if we keep Jorrvaskr as quiet as possible today.”

“Why?” Aela hesitated, and she asked with sad worry, “Is Vilkas upset? He seemed fine yesterday. He was the one who told Ulfric to marry me.”

“What!” Lydia squawked, making the baby flinch and pout before subsiding back to sleep.

“Ulfric said he and Vilkas had a man-to-man last night before the Moot, to clear the air. Ulfric didn’t want there to be any problems or hard feelings between them, and Vilkas asked him if he loved me and wanted to marry me, and Ulfric said yes, and Vilkas told him to do it and not let anything stop him.” Lydia and Aela looked at each other with wary expressions, and Bryn asked with anxiety, “What’s wrong?”

Aela motioned for Lydia to go ahead, and Lydia quietly said, “He, ah…went on a bender last night. Brill and Aerin saw him come in the door and pick up every bottle of mead he could get his hands on then he locked himself in his quarters. He still hasn’t come out, but when Njada and Mjoll were getting ready to leave earlier this morning he started bellowing for everyone to get out and be quiet or he was going to kill someone. Farkas tried to get in and Vilkas told him…” Lydia rubbed her eyes, unable to go on. She usually didn’t flinch from difficult situations, but this had been extremely upsetting. Vilkas didn’t drink, not to the point of getting even tipsy, let alone drunk to the extent he had last night. The only bright spot in all this was that he hadn’t come out of his quarters while he was plastered. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he would have done if he had. A drunk Farkas was funny and happy; Lydia could only think that a drunk Vilkas would be a complete asshole. A monster.

“What! What did he tell him!” Bryn whispered in a shaking voice.

Aela said, “That unless he was there to mop up the puke he could go fuck himself.” Bryn’s chin started to tremble as tears welled up in her eyes. Aela took the baby from her as Lydia put her arm around her, and Bryn held onto Lydia tightly, shivering. “I’m sorry, but…eh.” She didn’t even know what to say. Aela had found Vilkas’ drunkenness as upsetting and out of character as anyone, with as long as she’d known him. He had never handled alcohol well and had given up on heavy drinking in his early twenties. She hadn’t seen him even tipsy in over fifteen years, so to hear him last night muttering to himself and breaking empty mead bottles against the wall had been deeply unsettling. She was just glad that she hadn’t understood any of what he was saying.

“Maybe…maybe I should go talk to him.”

“Don’t you dare!” both Rikke and Lydia ordered. Rikke moved to stand in front of Bryn and look her in the eye. She said in a tone of warning, “I can guarantee that he is in no mood to see anyone right now, my lady, let alone you. He’ll end up turning the anger on you, and you’ll have that between you. You’ll end up mulling over it all day when you should be focusing on beginning your reign.” Bryn’s expression hardened as she opened her mouth to protest, then she caught herself and went limp again. Lydia rubbed her back and Bryn took her housecarl’s hand for comfort. The closeness between the two of them was touching, forged over a year in situations Rikke could barely imagine. Rikke wasn’t particularly envious of that; it wasn’t what she had attached herself to the Dragonborn’s service for. She liked the girl, but she served Bryn for the honor and glory of it, and because she wanted to help put her homeland back together. She didn’t doubt that she would grow to love the Dragonborn for herself some day, but it would never compare to the closeness Bryn and Lydia shared.

“But why did he do that? He told Ulfric to marry me!” The rumble of her voice made the baby whimper, and she lowered it back to a near whisper. “He…he said he wished us well!”

“That was kind of him, and I’m sure he meant it, but…sometimes men do what they have to then they go sulk in private. Alcohol is never a good way to deal with being upset, but it always seems like a good idea at the time. Believe me, you do not want to talk to him when he’s hung over and bad-tempered.”

“You really do not,” Lydia agreed. She squeezed Bryn’s hand and said, “Farkas will go talk to him later, after the worst of it is over. He’s probably going to be horribly embarrassed by what he did. It’s probably best if none of us even let him know that you knew about it.” Lydia found all this bewildering though. She couldn’t understand what the hell was going on with Vilkas. He had been sulking for months on end, grieving according to Farkas, and yet he had just rolled over and handed away the love of his life to another man? It made no sense at all, and neither did Bryn going to Ulfric in the first place. It made Lydia wish she had gone to Riften after Bryn’s return from Sovngarde. Maybe if she had she could have gotten Bryn and Vilkas to fix things. And now it was too late.

Aela muttered, “You’ve got that right.”

“It might be best if you didn’t tell Ulfric either. If he thinks Vilkas still loves you—“

“He already knows that. He was the one who brought it up,” Bryn said miserably. “And he knows I still love Vilkas, and Vilkas knows it too.” Lydia and Aela both sighed, the redhead shaking her head, while Rikke frowned in concern. Well, she did love Vilkas. She loved him as much as ever. But she loved Ulfric just as much. More in some ways. She certainly trusted Ulfric much more than she ever had Vilkas.

Rikke grimaced and said in disbelief, “You two talked about this?”

“Last night, after he asked me to marry him. I snuck out of Dragonsreach and went to his tent.”

“My lady,” Rikke began in disapproval. Bryn should have told her she was going out there. She was going to have to stop doing things like that.

“What’s going to happen? Bandits? Wolves? Think about who you’re talking to!”

“It isn’t that. It’s the…the impropriety of it, if someone were to see. As if you’re some lovesick child. It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. It’s going to be hard enough as it is for the Jarls to hear that you and Ulfric are betrothed, even the ones who support him--”

“Why? They wanted him on the throne, so how does his being married to me have anything to do with them?”

“They would have had the same problem if you had fought under his banner. It’s the concentration of too much power.”

“Again, think about who you’re talking to!”

“There are different kinds of power, my lady. You wield personal power, contained within yourself, and you have the power of being a thing that Nords revere. Ulfric wields political power, ideological power. The idea of the two of you combined is worrisome to many people.”

“Ulfric doesn’t control me or influence my thinking, in fact it is quite the opposite. You would think everyone would see that, when he stopped his plans to attack Whiterun, when he held to the peace, when he gave up his claim to the throne, when he stopped allowing the Dunmer in his city to be harassed—“

“That one was Galmar. You told me so.” She had to hand it to Galmar; the housecarl knew Bryn was good for Ulfric. Rikke wished Bryn had discussed the betrothal with her this morning so they could have started working on plans in private. She didn’t particularly want to live in Windhelm, in Ulfric’s den, but she had the feeling her Queen would put her own stamp on the place, in a house that had been ruled exclusively by men for decades. She would help Bryn do that, and if Galmar caused problems she was going to punch the old goat. Not that he was any older than her, really. She had avoided talking to him so far, but that was about to come to an abrupt end. Maybe if she got to know him again she would find him tolerable, but she doubted it. He wasn’t the man she had known in their youth any more than Ulfric was, but then again she wasn’t the girl they had known either.

“Either way, if they think Ulfric is going to influence me or wield power through me they’re mad. He has advised me, as any of the Jarls are free to do, but at the end of the day he is the Jarl of Eastmarch and I rule Skyrim. Once we marry he will be my consort, not a co-ruler.” The spouses of the Kings and Queens had no real power other than that of their influence with their husband or wife. Their favor was sought after, for obvious reasons, but Ulfric had enough authority in his own right as a Jarl that the idea that he would try to rule through her was laughable.

Rikke nodded slowly. “All right then. Today we will impress that on the Jarls. We will impress on them your…moral certitude and independence. Today we get down to business. Remind the Jarls that you made the conscious ethical decision not to join the Legion or the Stormcloaks, and that you saved Ulfric for last to show him just how much you disapproved of his actions. That you went into Windhelm and fixed his city for him.” Bryn made a face of dread, and Rikke shrugged and said, “Well, if he was willing to take a knife in the chest last night—“

“Good gods,” Lydia breathed in horror.

“—then he should be willing to own up to the rest of it.” She looked at Lydia and said, “I’m sure the rest of the Companions will hear about it at some point today from the guards. It started going around last night, but if you’ve been up here at Jorrvaskr I suppose you wouldn’t hear about it, and obviously Vilkas was in no condition to talk about it last night, but he was right there when it happened, not five feet away. Ulfric allowed Elisif to stab him in the chest, to prove he was sorry for killing Torygg, and unfortunately in order to secure her vote she made Brynhilde watch.”

“Oh Bryn,” she whispered in dismay. Bryn didn’t look as upset as she could have been, and no doubt she was right there to heal him afterwards, but it had to have been hard to watch. And Vilkas right there, too.

“Sickening,” Aela stated angrily. “She resents Bryn for taking up with her husband’s killer, so she symbolically kills him in front of her, is that it? Thank the Divines the crazy bitch didn’t become Queen.” If it had been Skjor, Aela would have gone after the girl and damned the consequences, but obviously Bryn had better control than that.

Rikke winced at Aela’s bluntness and said, “Yes, well, her actions are going to get around, as are Ulfric’s. He will look noble for submitting to it and regretting Torygg’s death in front of the Moot, and Elisif will look like a madwoman for suggesting it and making our lady watch. I have to hand it to him; it was a powerful statement he made, but I suppose that’s what he does.” Tullius was going to be extremely disappointed in Elisif for what she had done, more for making herself look bad than anything else, and Elisif had done that in spades. She smiled at Bryn and put her hand on her shoulder. “And our lady Queen charmed them all with her tale of her daring attack on a Thalmor ship at sea. No doubt the Bards are crafting songs about it already.” They had all dispersed to their prior assignments this morning, many of them probably quite hung over; she had heard that they had thrown quite the raucous party out at their camp last night before going their separate ways. She was sorry to have missed out on it. That Viarmo was a handsome mer, and she would have liked to let his flirtations on the road go somewhere, but she was starting to get to a point in her life where one night stands were getting a bit old. Like her.

“I can’t wait to hear about it,” the Huntress said. She nudged Bryn and changed the subject, saying, “Mjoll and I are getting married, when Skjorta is old enough to travel. Will you be there?”

“If I can,” Bryn replied with reservation. “I’m going after the vampires after this. I want to be there, but who knows where I’ll be or if I’ll get the message. You can send one to me in Windhelm. I really have nowhere else to hold court. I can’t exactly do it in Honeyside. But I’ll do everything I can to be there.”

“Well, it will be a couple months yet. And what about your wedding?”

“We’re going to stop in Riften on the way back and get it done.”

Lydia protested, “Get it done? Just stop and get it done?” Bryn shrugged sheepishly and she said, “Unacceptable. No. I will _not_ let you get married like that. For Mara’s sake, you’re the Queen now and you’re just going to stop by and get it done? Eloping like Jon and Olfina did? Whose idea was that, his?”

“Well…”

“You arranged a beautiful wedding for me and Farkas. The least I can do is the same for you. You never leave wedding planning to men. My gods, you can’t just stop by and get married like you’re eloping! It’s shameful!” A smile slowly spread over Bryn’s face. “What!”

Bryn said with a sigh, “I’ve missed you, Lydia.”

Her friend huffed and said, “Well clearly you still need me if you’re making asinine decisions like that.” Rikke made a sound of offense and Lydia ignored her. “I know I can’t still serve you, or rather that you won’t let me, but I would pack up and follow you to Windhelm in a heartbeat, you know that.” Bryn nodded, looking sad, then glanced at Lydia’s flat belly. No, Bryn would never ask Lydia to serve her again. Bryn wanted Lydia living her own life here with Farkas and a family too much for that. “If you won’t let me come serve you, then you’re going to at least let me arrange a proper wedding for you.”

“I’m afraid if we don’t do it on the way home that it will be hard to go back to Riften later. I’m going to be running around after vampires, and Ulfric is a very busy man, especially if he’s going to be dismantling the Stormcloak camps and dispersing the soldiers.”

“Then get married in Windhelm. It’s tradition to get married in Mara’s Temple, but not everyone does. Marry in the Temple of Talos. I’m sure Ulfric would get a kick out of that.”

“Kick,” Rikke said with mixed amusement and wariness. “Yes, I’m sure he would.” He would probably be thrilled to get married under the gaze of Talos. Rikke didn’t have a problem with that per se, but starting a marriage under the auspices of the god of war wasn’t particularly romantic. Not that she knew much about romance. She liked men just fine and had had her share of fun when she was younger, but at her age and rank it wasn’t as easy as it used to be, and she was getting tired of running around. Now that she was retired from the Legion and attached to the Queen’s service she thought it would be nice to settle down, but she was worried about her prospects as old as she was. And she would be living in a Stormcloak lair, no less. Her prospects there would not be good at all.

Lydia said, “It’s settled then. Go talk to Ulfric when he comes up today and set a date, then let me know and I’ll go to Windhelm with Farkas. You should have at least the two of us there with you. Everything else can wait, at least long enough to have a proper wedding. It won’t be what I consider fit for a Queen, but good enough I suppose.” Bryn hugged her gratefully, and she sighed and hugged her back, missing her and their times on the road together. It was sad that Bryn wouldn’t really get the chance to enjoy being married for who knew how long; Lydia didn’t fool herself that the Dominion would give the Empire long before it launched another war, and Bryn would be on the front lines of it. Lydia went home to Breezehome every night and slept securely in Farkas’ arms, knowing that when she woke up they would eat breakfast together then walk up to Jorrvaskr together to start their day, Farkas at the Skyforge and Lydia inside the mead hall, or out in the training yard. Bryn’s life now didn’t look to have any more stability or routine than it ever had. It was nice that she was going to have the security of marriage to a man who truly wanted it, who wanted to have children with her, but Ulfric was almost twenty-two years older than Bryn. He was going to grow old before her, die well before her, and with Bryn’s Elven blood it was hard to say how long she would live. And that was if they both survived the war, which Vilkas had vowed to go fight in as well. Bryn wasn’t going to get that warm, cozy home life she had always craved any time soon, maybe never now that she was Queen. Bryn had to know that, but maybe at this point she was all right with that. She had been in motion so long that Lydia had to wonder if she would even be able to stop when life finally let her.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Rosalie: **http://opalbee.deviantart.com/art/Vilkas-garden-372943433** and anyone else who wants to see what 'my' Vilkas looks like. I've been playing with mods so long that I forgot how scruffy the 'real' Vilkas was!

Vilkas braced himself, his head still pounding, then unlocked the outer doors to his quarters. Jorrvaskr was quiet, all the Companions probably still on their rounds, though he had no idea what time it was. No idea at all. He had been puking his guts up in his room for what seemed like hours, glad that he’d had the foresight to take a bucket in there with him the night before, but his aim hadn’t been all that great a few times. “Idiot,” he whispered angrily. "Fucking idiot!" He should have known better than to get drunk, especially that drunk. He had never been able to handle alcohol as well as the average Nord, which made no sense since his twin could get drunk with hardly any consequences the next morning. He was too old to do something so stupid. He was the damn Harbinger. Harbingers weren’t supposed to get drunk.

He rubbed his hands over his face, feeling the scratch of beard growth, something he usually couldn’t tolerate, but he was too lazy and sore to do anything about it right now. He made his way down to the end of the hall, which Lydia had turned into an apothecary not long after taking Tilma’s place. Farkas and Ulfberth War-Bear had carefully hauled the alchemy table all the way up to Jorrvaskr under her supervision, somehow managing to not break any of the glass instruments or throw them out of alignment. Lydia had become a rather good alchemist during her time with Bryn and had brewed up a good stock of potions, all labeled and neatly arranged on shelves there so that the Companions always had access to them on their way out to do a job. Tilma had always been content to simply keep everything clean and everyone fed, but Lydia had different ideas about that. Vilkas had to say that the way his sister-in-law ruled Jorrvaskr certainly kept things running smoothly and efficiently, with Aerin’s competent help. He honestly couldn’t imagine how Tilma had done everything she had all on her own for so many decades.

He pulled down a potion for neutralizing poison and forced it down, feeling his nausea surface again briefly before it subsided, and when he followed it with a minor healing potion he finally felt total relief. Not that he deserved it, but he couldn’t function like this. He needed to function, because he had made a royal mess of his room and he’d be damned if Lydia or Aerin cleaned it up. If he even mentioned it to Lydia she would probably take his head off. He remembered only part of the evening, but broken mead bottles were everywhere. He was lucky he hadn’t cut up his feet.

Vilkas managed to get his room back to some semblance of order and cleanliness before he heard his brother’s distinctive heavy footsteps, and when he heard a knock on the outer door jamb he muttered, “Come in.”

“You sure?” Farkas asked warily.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“’Cause I’d rather not mop up puke or fuck myself.”

Vilkas grumbled and rubbed his eyes, feeling like an ass, and when Farkas came to stand in the doorway he mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

Farkas waved him off and said, “No worries, I understand. You never could handle drinking.” Vilkas grunted, not meeting his eyes as he got out some clean clothes, still wearing the doublet and pants that went under his armor.

“What time is it?”

“Three-thirty, four, somewhere thereabouts.” Vilkas grunted again. “So?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Come on.” His twin curtly shook his head. “Okay, well, I’m going to get it all out there and warn you that Lydia and I are leaving for Windhelm for a week or so. Tonight.” Vilkas closed his eyes for a moment then nodded, looking like someone had just stabbed him. Farkas asked in confusion, “So you already know?” He didn’t see how Vilkas could. Lydia had said that no one but Bryn had known until late this morning, when she had let her and Aela and Rikke know. Lydia had been a little upset about it too. They had always thought that eventually Bryn and Vilkas would get back together. Ulfric seemed to make Bryn happy, and that was what mattered, but something about this just didn't seem right, but Farkas thought that maybe he and Lydia were too close to the situation.

“That they’re getting married? Just a guess. After all, I’m the one who told Ulfric to do it.”

“Are you serious?” Vilkas nodded, leaning against the side of the bed and folding his arms. “Why?”

“Because I didn’t marry her, so someone should. Someone who loves her. I could tell he does. His eyes never leave her when she’s around. He’s a good man. He’ll be…good for her.”

Seeing Vilkas swallowed hard and blink, Farkas went to him and put his arm around his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. “Hey,” he murmured. “I’m sorry. That had to be rough. Hjalki was on duty yesterday and told me all about the stabbing and the vote and Bryn’s story and everything.”

Vilkas whispered painfully, “You should have seen her, Farkas. Like one of the great Queens of Ysgramor’s line in the olden days. No Bard could do the story she told justice, though I’m sure they will try. And Ulfric…he willingly stood there and let that mad bitch stab him in the chest, just to prove a point, and Bryn stood there right next to him and barely flinched when the knife struck him. And then after she healed him he simply walked away in that bloody shirt and began preaching at the other Jarls, as if it were nothing, and when Bryn looked at me… Gods, have you seen her? Seen her eyes?”

“No. I haven’t had the chance to see her yet. Lydia told me though.”

“Even Altmer don’t have eyes like that. They were pure gold, like two septims, and her Voice…I knew about the _thu’um,_ how it never leaves it, but to hear it, like the soft roll of thunder in the distance...” He huffed in anguish and went on in a rough voice, “Better that she’s with him. He was nearly a Greybeard; he understands her nature better than anyone else could. I don’t begrudge him. He is a better match for her than I could ever be. More worthy.” The High Queen of Skyrim shouldn’t be with some mercenary. A man of unknown parentage without even a home to his name. It would be an embarrassment to her. It was embarrassment enough that the Dragonborn had spent a year with a man who wouldn't marry her.

“Now that I don’t believe. Neither would she.”

“She’s the High Queen now. I can’t even wrap my mind around it. He’ll stand at her side as someone who could have been King in his own right. What would I have done?”

“Stood at her side as her husband and supported her however she would’ve asked you to.” Vilkas stared at him then groaned and put his face in his hands. Farkas hugged him against him again, worried. “Come on, it stinks in here. Come outside and get some fresh air. Everyone’s still out. Lydia’s at home packing up our stuff. The only one home is Tilma and Brill.” The elderly woman’s bed and belongings had been moved upstairs into a corner of the hall, near Vignar’s quarters, where it was warmer and she could see everything that was going on. She was mostly confined to bed these days, but she was still part of the life of Jorrvaskr, spending most of her time knitting or sewing things for Skjorta. There was always someone nearby upstairs to help her, usually Lydia, Aerin or Brill.

“Fine.”

Vilkas let his brother lead him outside, the two of them checking on Tilma on their way out, but she had fallen asleep propped up in bed, her knitting still in her lap; Brill was sitting nearby mending one of Vignar’s tunics. They went out onto the back patio, and the bright sunlight there was startling, the skies a pure, pale blue and cloudless. Vilkas could hear Eorlund pounding away up at the Skyforge.

“Go on, go get some sun,” Farkas ordered, giving his brother a shove. Vilkas shrugged him off and went to the stone wall, leaning against its warmth and closing his eyes with a sigh. “There, don’t you feel better?”

“No.” He heard the sudden swell of arguing voices from up at Dragonsreach, startling him.

Farkas said with misgiving, “That doesn’t sound good.” The court had to be assembled out on the Great Porch for anyone to be able to hear anything. The weather was beautiful today, warmer than usual, a promising start for the first day of Queen Brynhilde’s reign. A good omen, he hoped.

_“ENOUGH!”_

The shout and a crack of thunder sounded then rumbled into silence, the small background sounds of the city going completely still, even Eorlund’s hammering and Heimskr’s endless sermoning. Farkas and Vilkas stared at each other wide-eyed as more distant thunder sounded, though the words were impossible to make out this time, then eventually even that faded as Bryn got across whatever point she was trying to make. Farkas snorted a laugh and said, “Sounds like she’s got everything in hand, eh?” Vilkas didn’t answer, frowning deeply. “I think everyone is going to learn real fast not to piss her off. Ulfric included.” Vilkas nodded, looking away from Farkas toward Jorrvaskr, a sorrowful expression on his face. Farkas moved into his line of sight and Vilkas’ expression hardened. He quietly asked his twin, “What changed?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been grouchy about her for months, and now you’re sad and missing her again.” Vilkas shook his head as his jaw clenched. “So why did you end up talking to Ulfric?”

“More like he had a talk with me, and I don’t feel like discussing it. I will never feel like discussing it. It was between me and him. I made my decision and it’s final. She’s happy with him and I want…want her to be happy.” How he wanted to tell his brother about the letter. Unburden himself. It was killing him to not be able to tell his twin. They were supposed to tell each other everything, and he couldn't bring himself to do it, because he knew just what Farkas would do: insist he tell her. There was no way in hell he was going to be responsible for messing up her life when she had finally found someone who would treat her right.

Farkas sighed at the catch in Vilkas’ voice and the anguish on his face. “Gods Vilkas, you can’t just… If you still love her you should tell her, before she gets married. Lydia said that Bryn told her she still—“ Vilkas put his hands over his ears and walked around him, and he turned and watched his twin go inside Jorrvaskr, not bothering to try to stop him. Vilkas’ mood would only get worse, and maybe Vilkas already knew. Well, of course he knew. Lydia had said so. Bryn had admitted that she and Ulfric both knew that Vilkas still loved her, and that Bryn still loved him, and that Vilkas knew Bryn still loved him. It seemed painful and messy for everyone involved, or it would be if…Vilkas hadn’t stepped aside. Maybe that was what Ulfric and Vilkas had done, talked about the situation, and if Vilkas had told Ulfric to marry her than Vilkas had willingly stepped aside. He had made his final choice for the sake of Bryn’s happiness and then gone home to drown his sorrows in mead.

Deeply saddened, Farkas sighed heavily and headed home to join his wife. It made him grateful all over again for Lydia and their simple, loving marriage. It was nice that Bryn loved Ulfric, and Ulfric seemed to really love her, but Farkas still thought Bryn and Vilkas should be together. It had always seemed like they were meant for each other. Well, it looked like it was just too late. It had probably been too late since the day Bryn had asked him to marry her and he had said no. But then why did the two of them still love each other so much if it wasn’t meant to be? Why would Mara let Vilkas keep hurting like this? Maybe it would get better with time, but it had been five months now. But maybe it just wasn’t enough to get over a love like that. Maybe Vilkas never would. Farkas really hoped that wasn’t the case. He really, really hoped so.  
-  
Rikke gazed up at the stern visage of Talos above her, made sterner by the shadows from the braziers lighting and warming the temple. She fingered her amulet and closed her eyes, murmuring a soft prayer to the Divine to give Bryn a little time with her soon-to-be-husband. Ulfric had readily agreed to marry here in Windhelm, under the eyes of his beloved god. It wasn’t a warm temple of wood, and there were no priests of Mara, but the officiants here married folk occasionally who couldn’t make it to Riften, so they would know what to say. Bryn’s good friends Lydia and Farkas had hurried here ahead of Ulfric’s entourage to ready everything, with a note from Ulfric to Jorleif to assist in any way they asked, and the end results were satisfying. Lydia had gotten a wedding gown made within a few days with white and pale blue silk from Niranye’s stall and help from several Dunmer women; Farkas had gone out with some of the Jarl’s guards yesterday to hunt elk for the wedding feast tonight. Between Lydia and Jorleif a proper wedding and celebration had been put together. The housecarl still didn’t find it fit for a Queen, but it was as fancy as Bryn was likely to tolerate.

Hearing someone sit down in the bench in front of her, Rikke opened her eyes to see a man with graying hair sitting sideways, his arm draped over the bench as he looked at her. It took her several seconds to realize it was Galmar. She hardly recognized him without the hideous bear helm and armor of a Stormcloak officer, wearing instead a fine outfit of dark grey wool pants and a lighter blue shirt that was a shade lighter than his bright blue eyes. He’d even cut off his knotted beard and trimmed it for the occasion. He looked…normal. Even looked…good. Well, no reason he shouldn’t. He’d been quite the handsome man in his youth.

“Rikke,” he growled with a smirk as her eyes slid away. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Maybe I’ve been avoiding that smelly rug you have the habit of wearing,” she retorted.

“Huh. Well I’m not wearing it now.”

“Why, having the fleas combed out of it?”

His breath hissed through his teeth. “You’ve gotten hard in your old age, woman.”

“And you’ve gotten fat in yours.”

“I prefer stocky,” he stated, patting his stomach. “It’s all muscle under there, I assure you.” He saw other guests filing in and taking their seats. “So, what’s this all about, eh? Can’t unleash your venom on the real object of your anger, so I’m the next best thing?”

“I promised our Queen that I would give him a chance. I didn’t promise her anything in regard to you.”

“She likes me, you know.” Rikke grunted. “You could like me too if you gave it time. But you don’t want to, do you? We’re going to be stuck with each other for a long while, lady Imperial.”

Rikke said in annoyance, “I am retired from the Legion. I serve the High Queen of Skyrim, and no one else.” He made a sound of mock interest. She finally looked at him again, seeing him still smirking at her. She said in a near hiss, “I quit the Legion for her, knowing she was with Ulfric. I laid down my oath to the Emperor to give my oath to her, to follow her wherever she went, even if it meant here.”

“And when I quit the Legion it was to follow Ulfric wherever he went, even if meant to Sovngarde.” She stared at him, her lips pursed, then she looked away. Galmar said, “That’s all right, Rikke. You’ll come around. If you spend any amount of time here you _will_ come around.”

“Not likely,” she said irritably, “and where the hell is your wife, anyway? Shouldn’t she be here keeping you in line?” Galmar’s eyes widened then he blinked, his tongue in his cheek.

“Low blow,” he muttered. “Really damn low, even for you.”

Rikke watched in confusion as he turned away from her and slid down the bench as far as he could get, and a sudden sickening realization went through her. Feeling like an ass, she nearly got up to apologize when a cheer went up outside from the gathered throng. So Galmar’s wife had passed away. It made her feel terrible. She’d had no idea. Bryn hadn’t mentioned it at all, but then it hadn’t really come up. Galmar’s wife Eldi had been much too young to die of natural causes. Sighing heavily, Rikke knew she would have to apologize to him after the wedding. He was right that they were going to be stuck in close proximity to each other for a very long time, and more than that she didn’t want to leave him thinking she was a despicable human being. Because only a despicable human being would needle someone about a dead wife.

She gave Lydia and Farkas brief smiles as they sat down in front of her next to Galmar, and soon after Brunwulf Free-Winter and the steward Jorleif took seats on either side of her. She kept her attention off Galmar as best she could as the priestess Jora came out to stand before the shrine. More cheers went up from those packed into the temple, and soon Bryn and Ulfric came into view, holding hands. The young woman’s cheeks were flushed with pink, and a wreath of snowberries adorned her head. Rikke had to admit that Ulfric actually looked rather handsome in his finest garb of shades of blue, his hair loose instead of bound as it usually was, and the broad grin on his face as he gazed at his bride just about broke Rikke’s heart. He really did love her. Rikke knew he did, but to see it shining from him like that was moving. They made a striking pair, the same height, gazing into each other’s eyes as if no one else existed here but the two of them, both hands joined together between them. Oh, but Ulfric looked so much older than Bryn though, especially as fresh and maidenly as she looked today. The age difference was stark indeed to Rikke’s eyes, but she had never tried to sway Bryn from her feelings for Ulfric. The Dragonborn was extremely strong-willed at times, and Rikke had to admit that they did seem to make a good couple other than the age gap. Time would tell if the love was great enough to keep two domineering natures from clashing disastrously.

Jora raised her hands and the temple went silent, then the crowd outside began shushing each other, the door left open to the city so those gathered had some chance of hearing. Her hands fell as she said, “We are gathered here today under the eyes of mighty Talos to celebrate the joining of these two souls in the most sacred of bonds, that of matrimony. A true marriage is more than the joining of two persons; it is the union of two hearts. It lives on the love you give each other and never grows old, but thrives on the joy of each new day. Shared joy is double joy. Shared sorrow is half sorrow. 

“Love keeps the cold out better than any cloak. Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth to the other. Now you will fear no dark, for each of you will be light to the other. Know that marriage is not a perfect beginning. It’s not a clean slate. Marriage is a process. Marriage is growth. Marriage is a bold step into an unknown future. It is risking who we are for the sake of who we can be. These two come before us today not as Queen and Jarl, but as woman and man, to be joined as wife and husband.” Jora looked out at the congregants and asked, “Who stands today for the bride and gives her their blessing?”

Lydia stood and stated firmly, “I do, as her sister and friend, as her sword and her shield.”

“And who stands for the groom and gives him their blessing?”

Galmar stood and gruffly said, “I do, as brother and friend, as his sword and his shield.”

“Brynhilde, do you come to this marriage of your own free will and accord?”

“I do,” Bryn said in a trembling voice, tears stinging her eyes. Ulfric’s eyes were shining as well, his grip on her hands tightening at her words. She had never seen him as purely happy as he was at this moment. He had been thrilled ever since she had suggested being married in Windhelm, in the Temple of Talos, something he hadn’t even considered doing, but his eyes had lit up at the mention of it. It seemed only right that they start their marriage under the eyes of the god they both fought for, in the city where they would make their home together.

“Ulfric, do you come to this marriage of your own free will and accord?”

“Yes I do,” he stated in a strong voice. Bryn’s hands squeezed his and he could feel her trembling, the look in her golden eyes nearly making him lose it. He had imagined the wedding would be a simple formality, something to get out of the way so they could begin their life together, but the priestess’ words had been surprisingly moving. Galmar and Lydia held out the rings to him and Bryn, polished circles of ebony, fit for warriors.

As Lydia and Galmar took their seats Jora asked, “Brynhilde, do you take this man Ulfric as your husband, to honor and cherish, in sickness and in health, in war and in peace, so long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” she said.

“Ulfric, do you take this woman Brynhilde as your wife, to honor and cherish, in sickness and in health, in war and in peace, so long as you both shall live?”

“Yes I do,” he repeated.

“Place the rings on each other’s fingers.” She beamed at the couple as they did so, giddy smiles on their faces. Jora found the look on Ulfric’s face charming, considering all the time he had spent in the Temple of Talos over the years, alone, praying for strength and guidance with a grim expression. She went on, “All things in nature are circular…night becomes day, day becomes night and night becomes day again. The moons wax and wane and wax again. There is Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter and then the Spring returns. These things are part of the Great Mysteries. These circles of ebony, like the Mysteries of the Nine Divines, are without beginning or end.” Jora picked up a silver goblet full of mead and held it up to the statue, saying loudly, “Mighty Talos, sanctify this marriage, so that this man and woman may find the strength in each other to perservere against all odds. Like the stones beneath our feet let their love be firm; like the stars overhead let their love be constant. Let them have patience with one another, for storms will come, but they will pass quickly.” The crowd gasped as thunder pealed overhead, startling even the priestess. “Talos be praised!” she cried reverently, hearing her call answered behind her by the couple and the congregants, spreading in waves to the crowd outside where the call was taken up. 

Her heart swelling from the god’s blessing, Jora turned to Ulfric and Bryn, holding the goblet out to them. They took it in their joined hands as she said, “This cup of mead is symbolic of the cup of life. As you share the cup of each other’s offering, you undertake to share all that the future may bring. All the sweetness that life’s cup may hold for you will be the sweeter because you drink it together. Whatever drops of bitterness it may contain will be less bitter because you share them.” Ulfric offered the first drink to Bryn, who offered it in turn to Ulfric, smiling at each other over the rim of the goblet. Jora took it back and dipped her fingers into the mead, flicking drops of it onto the Shrine of Talos. She set the goblet down and said, “Brynhilde and Ulfric, may the warmth and light of your union be blessed. May you know the best of fortune, and your life together be one of joy and prosperity. Do you swear to keep sacred your vows?”

“We do,” they murmured.

“Then seal your promise with a kiss.” Ulfric laughed as Bryn giggled and they leaned in to give each other a lingering kiss, to the sound of awws and sighs of delight. Jora couldn’t help finding the sight of her Jarl kissing a woman disconcerting, but she was truly happy for him and his obvious joy. Now if she could just get her own husband Lortheim to pull his head out of his backside and start paying more attention to their marriage. He was at the doorway, controlling access to the temple, and as she glanced at him she saw him gazing at her with an uncertain expression, almost as if he could read her thoughts. Well, maybe if he actually asked her about her thoughts once in a while he wouldn’t have to. Jora lifted her hands to the congregants and said, “What the Divines have brought together, let no Man or Mer put asunder. People of Windhelm, I present to you Brynhilde and Ulfric, husband and wife.”

As the folk cheered and whistled Lydia felt Farkas’ arm go around her and hug her close, and she leaned into him and sighed as Ulfric put his arm around Bryn’s neck and pulled her against him for a deep kiss. They leaned their foreheads together and whispered to each other, practically glowing, and it made Lydia’s heart ache for Vilkas no matter how glad she was for Bryn. Ulfric did truly love her, with none of the reserve Vilkas had always kept, and Bryn loved Ulfric back just as deeply, but it made Lydia terribly sad to know Bryn and Vilkas still loved each other. It didn’t seem right to marry another when part of your heart still belonged to someone else. Lydia didn’t blame Bryn for walking away when she had, but it seemed that the two should have tried again after spending some time apart to think things over. If there was still so much love there that Vilkas had drunk himself into a stupor over it then surely there had still been a chance to work everything out. Well, it was truly too late now. Bryn was another man’s wife, at Vilkas’ urging of all things. Vilkas would just have to immerse himself in work and hope time really did heal all wounds.  
-  
“Galmar.”

“What do you want now, Rikke?” he grumbled. He stopped to warm his hands by the brazier in the courtyard front of the Palace of Kings, watching the guards dispersing the crowd, still buzzing over the wedding. Bryn and Ulfric had just gone inside, but not before Bryn had taken off her circlet of snowberries and tossed it to the crowd, where it was caught by a stunned Nilsine Shatter-Shield. The ceremony had certainly been a touching one, almost enough to bring a tear to the eye. The Dragonborn had earned his undying loyalty for making Ulfric so deeply happy. He would have given anything over the years to see his Jarl and closest friend smile like that.

“I want to apologize.”

Galmar looked at her out of the corner of his eye and drawled, “Is that so.” He had to admit that she did look deeply troubled, an expression of guilt on her face, a face that was still pretty after all these years, though harder, and as lined as his. Her thirty-odd years in the Legion had definitely put an edge on her that hadn’t been there when they were young. Never having a husband and family hadn’t helped either.

“Yes, that is so,” she said in a pleading tone. “Arkay help me, I had no idea. About Eldi. None at all.” He grunted and frowned, looking away from her to the brazier. She moved closer to him and quietly said, “I am _sorry._ I truly am. Brynhilde never said a word about it to me. Not that she should have. I shouldn’t have said what I did, even if…well.” He nodded slowly, his frown easing a bit. She grimaced then said, “You were right. You were a convenient target. I…wasn’t happy about coming here. I'm still not. I’d follow my Queen anywhere, but this was the last place I wanted to go.”

“Huh. Well, I suppose I wouldn’t be any happier if Ulfric suddenly announced he was going to go live in Castle Dour.”

“I’m a daughter of Skyrim before all else, no matter what uniform I wore. There are no more uniforms for me.”

“So I suppose you expect me to stop wearing that…what did you call it, smelly rug?”

“I expect nothing. I just…wanted to make peace.”

Galmar debated drawing it out a bit longer, but for Bryn’s sake he would do this. And for the sake of the friendship he and Ulfric had once shared with Rikke. “All right, apology accepted,” he relented.

“Thank you.” When he didn’t move to go inside she asked, “So…when?”

“About three years ago. The rot. Started getting pains in her womb. She spent the last four months of her life in bed in agony. Took her own life with poison, with me and the girls at her side to see her off.”

Rikke whispered painfully, “Ah gods Galmar… I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged one shoulder, staring at the glowing coals. “What can you do, eh? You never know how many years you’ll have together. I told Ulfric that the morning after he asked our lady to marry him, when he was agonizing over it. He knows how old he is, and how young she is. Well, Eldi and I were four months apart in age, and here I am, and she’s gone.” He heard a sound of anguish from Rikke and saw she was honestly upset for his sake, gazing past him at the bronze doors to the Palace of Kings. “Never married, huh?”

“Ugh, no,” she said with a shake of her head. “I enjoyed my career too much. My freedom, my space. Never had any desire for kids either. I watched Queen Brynhilde with the Companion’s baby girl and saw the yearning in her, but…never had it. I like kids well enough, I suppose. Haven’t been around them enough to know, I guess.”

“Well, my oldest daughter married about six months ago, and from the way she and her man hang all over each other you would think I’d have a grandchild on the way by now.”

Rikke laughed, “Grandpa Galmar?”

“It has a nice ring to it,” he said with mock defensiveness. He heard a cheer go up inside the palace and said, “Time to go in. I’m not letting the party start without me.” He hesitated then offered her his arm, and she smiled at him and took it. He couldn’t help noticing she still had those dimples that had driven all the young men crazy back then. Well then…he might have to give this some thought. They were going to be living in close quarters for a good many years. Maybe they could get comfortable enough with each other to provide a little comfort now and then, ease each other’s loneliness. As much as she might try to hide it, Rikke would get lonely here if she kept holding herself apart from her former enemies. They weren’t enemies anymore.

“Thanks to the Dragonborn, your grandchildren will grow up in peace, without looking over their shoulders for Thalmor Justiciars. I just hope…it would be nice if she and Ulfric can enjoy married life for a bit before another war starts.”

“If you call hunting vampires enjoying married life, sure.”

Rikke snorted a confident laugh. “I don’t foresee too many problems there. After Alduin the vampires should be child’s play. I suppose I’ll have to commission a new set of armor, but…this should be interesting. I’ve never done any adventuring. Frankly I’m not sure I’m suited to it, especially at my age, but her housecarl Lydia is with child. Early yet, but I don’t think that husband of hers will let her out of his sight.”

“Hm, as well he shouldn’t, and woe to the one who lays a hand on her.” Farkas of the Companions was one of the biggest men he had ever seen, even by Nord standards, and as a member of the Circle he was no one to be trifled with. He laughed and added, “And woe to anyone that lays a hand on him! She was at the Queen’s back most of the first year she was here.” And the big man trailed behind his wife following her every order, so it was obvious who wore the pants in that marriage, but that worked for some men, and he seemed a simple, affable fellow, impossible to not like.

“Yes, I really would rather have her with us,” she said with regret. “The Queen speaks glowingly of her and her abilities, but she won’t hear of taking Lydia out of Whiterun, and I don’t blame her. They’re as close as sisters and she doesn’t want to risk her, especially now.”

“Huh. Well Ulfric and I are closer than brothers, and he’s never had a problem risking me.”

Seeing he was being a little facetious, Rikke said, “Well, it’s different with women, and our Queen has a very tender heart. And a bit of a martyr complex, but don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“I’ve noticed.”

As they paused before one large door Rikke said in a lowered voice, “I’m happy for Ulfric, Galmar. I mean that. I don’t remember ever seeing him smile like that, even way back when.”

“Because he’s never been in love before.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, wondering what more he should say, and he began, “As you said, our Queen has a tender heart. She considers herself a champion of those in need. Ulfric…he was in need. He has been for a very, very long time.” Rikke frowned, nodding slowly. Galmar muttered, “You can’t imagine, Rikke. What they did to him. Whatever you might imagine, what those pointy-eared bastards did was worse. Much worse. Unforgivable.”

She made a sound of grief and whispered, “That’s what Brynhilde said. That’s all she would say.”

“I don’t even know the full extent of what they did to him, but…she knows. She knows and she would destroy anyone who ever dreamed of harming him. She only let Elisif do what she did because Ulfric agreed to it, and because she would be right there to hold him up and heal him. I love her because she protects my lord in body, heart and mind. I saw him begin to heal right before my eyes after the first night she spent with him. I saw him start to change before that, after the first talk they had, when she gave him the dossier. She showed him another way. She showed all of us.”

“Myself included,” Rikke admitted. “And Tullius.”

“And the Emperor, no doubt.” He grunted and went on, “But that’s a fish to fry another day. Right now we have a wedding to celebrate. I’m going to get you so drunk you’ll be dancing on the tables before sunset.”

“Not if I drink you under those tables first, old goat.” 

Galmar laughed and offered her his arm again, and she gave him a dimpled smile and took it as they went inside. Yes, this could work out.


	37. Chapter 37

Rikke wrinkled her nose as she and Bryn walked through Riften’s gates. “Stinks as much as Maven’s ethics,” she grumbled. It hadn’t always been like this, either. Riften had once been the jewel of Skyrim, warm and welcoming, bustling with trade from both Morrowind and Cyrodiil. Now the canal through the city was closed up, stagnant, and the buildings shabby.

“Maven will do something about it,” Bryn said confidently, “if she knows what’s good for her.”

“I’m not so sure she does, my lady.”

“Then it’s up to me to tell her.” People bowed or curtseyed to her as she passed, something she still wasn’t used to after two weeks as High Queen. Things were coming along nicely so far; Ulfric had ordered his camps disbanded and his soldiers sent back to their home holds, with a strong suggestion to join that hold’s guards and be of some use, and Tullius had pulled his troops out of their camps and reduced Imperial presence in the cities the Empire had once controlled. The various Legates were still stationed there, for now, but Bryn was going to leave it up to the Jarls as to what they wanted done about that. Legate Fasendil was stationed here in Riften, and Bryn wanted to talk to him when she was done with Maven. 

She felt a little guilty for waiting this long to see what had been bothering Maven at the Moot, but she had been enjoying married life with Ulfric for a little bit and getting Rikke properly equipped for the road. The older woman obviously couldn’t keep going around in Imperial armor, so they had visited Oengul War-Anvil’s smithy to see what he had available. Rikke had been horrified when Bryn had offered to buy her ebony, and had instead accepted steel plate armor. Bryn herself had upgraded and fitted the gear, knowing tricks Oengul didn’t for quieting and fortifying the armor, which would be necessary if Rikke wanted to hunt vampires with her; Bryn had also taken Rikke’s armor and shield upstairs to Wuunferth’s room and enchanted all of it, making especially certain that the heavy boots were muffled. 

Ulfric had watched most of the process and had found her actions confusing but intriguing, having never seen her do…well, much of anything. He would have to get used to it; she wasn’t about to give up any of the things she enjoyed doing, and smithing was one of them. Oengul had been more than happy to let her use his forge, asking only the privilege of assisting her; his assistant had been less than happy and had refused to be around when Bryn was. Hermir had for some time had a not-very-secret crush on Ulfric, and only the fact that Bryn was Dragonborn had let the girl find their marriage even halfway acceptable. Oengul had recently finished a set of ‘royal’ armor in ebony for Ulfric and was finishing up some detailing on it with Hermir’s help; Bryn thought she would gift her husband with the ebony shield she had left here in Riften right before Farkas and Lydia’s wedding, maybe after engraving the bear of Eastmarch on it. It would make a nice (late) wedding gift. Or birthday gift. Her poor husband was not taking the prospect of turning fifty well.

Rikke murmured, “You’re getting that look again, my Queen.” Bryn sighed happily, making Rikke chuckle. She had to admit, Ulfric did make a very devoted husband. It had been very poignant watching him and Bryn feed each other all through the wedding feast, as was the custom in Skyrim, and while he hadn’t gotten drunk he had put away more mead than she had expected, and halfway through the celebration had pulled Bryn into his lap, to everyone’s delight. It had been one hell of a party, that was for certain, probably the first one the Palace of Kings had seen since Ulfric’s own parents had gotten married. Rikke herself had gotten more than a little plastered, and she had the feeling she had gotten much friendlier with Galmar than she had intended to, though she knew she hadn’t slept with him. She had awakened in her own room anyway. It wasn’t a comfortable area of thought, and he had stopped wearing the bear helm since then. He still wore a Stormcloak officer’s bear armor, but not the head. Rikke wondered anxiously if he had stopped because of her. He was certainly acting more warmly toward her, maybe even flirtatiously, and it made her uneasy. She hoped she hadn’t given him the wrong idea that night. She’d been completely drunk. Surely he understood that.

Well, they hadn’t left Windhelm soon enough. Rikke was settling in there, but they were still working on integrating what would become Bryn’s court with Ulfric’s. Bryn refused to sit on the Throne of Ysgramor, and to be honest Ulfric seemed reluctant to give it up, but so far it hadn’t been an issue. As long as Bryn kept traveling Skyrim they could put it off. Rikke frankly thought there was a benefit in Bryn visiting the holds for now; it showed the common folk that she cared for their well-being and was seeing to it personally, and it reminded the Jarls that she could show up at pretty much any moment to see how they were managing their holds. Rikke felt the Queen needed more of an entourage, something she was still trying to convince Bryn of the need for; obviously Bryn could protect herself with ridiculous ease, but she needed to have more of a presence when she was traveling about. None of the remaining housecarls could fit the bill, as Bryn had a great deal of accumulated coin and loot in all three houses, not to mention vast stores of dragon remains, that needed guarding. Rikke thought she might suggest to Bryn having houses built in those holds that didn’t have them, staffed with housecarls. It would take some pressure off the various Jarls hosting her, while also making them aware that Bryn had a stake in every hold. Whiterun wasn’t an issue, as Balgruuf was a good friend of Bryn’s and would be more than happy to host her. But as for adding another guard for the Queen, well, she would have to keep her eyes open. She was sure Galmar could find a worthy young warrior to fit the bill, but Windhelm was already too heavily biased toward the Stormcloaks. At fifty-two Rikke wasn’t a youngster, no matter how fit she was or how well she kept up her training; her second needed to be young and quick.

They reached Honeyside and knocked before going in, and Iona sprang up from her seat in surprise. “My thane, I mean my Queen!” she cried. She bowed awkwardly, not sure what to do, then Bryn laughed and swept her into a hug. She stiffened then patted the other woman’s back, and Bryn mercifully let go. “I heard about your wedding, my lady. I’m very happy for you.”

“Thank you, I’m happy for myself for once,” she replied as Iona took their bags. “Any news? Regarding Maven specifically?” Iona glanced at Rikke, and Bryn said, “Oh, I’m sorry. This is my chamberlain, Rikke, former Legate in the Imperial army.”

“I’ve heard. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

“And you,” Rikke said with a nod. She looked around the house and made a sound of appreciation. “This is truly lovely. What a wonderful house. So warm and inviting.”

Bryn said, “It’s my favorite of all the houses. I think I’ve spent more time here than anywhere. Iona does a wonderful job caring for it, and you wouldn’t believe what she went through defending this place against the Thieves Guild while I was with the Greybeards.” Iona smiled proudly, and Bryn patted her on the shoulder. “We might be here for a few days, Iona, then I’m heading to check out the Dawnguard.”

“Yes my lady,” Iona answered. “But…Maven.”

“Yes?”

“She’s been acting terribly odd,” she stated in a lowered voice. “She hasn’t been seen outside Mistveil Keep since before the Moot, and you know how she liked walking around lording it over people, even before she became Jarl.” Bryn nodded. “Her sons have been lying low as well. She let Sibbi out of prison a few weeks ago, and neither of them have been seen leaving the Keep either.”

“What about Ingun?”

Iona frowned and rubbed her chin, saying, “Honestly, I haven’t seen her around, my lady. Though I do often go weeks at a time without seeing her, with as much time as she spends at Elgrim’s.”

“Hm. Well, I suppose I’ll find out soon enough what’s going on. I wanted to show Rikke the house and some of the things I’ve found in my travels, then we’re off to the Keep, after I say hello to a few people.”

“Yes my lady.”

Bryn took Rikke’s arm and led her over to the chest in the bedroom. Rikke said with anticipation, “I can’t begin to guess what treasures you’ve found, with all the places you’ve been.”

“All sorts of odd things,” Bryn said in agreement. She pushed open the chest and Rikke peered inside, making an ooh sound of amazement. Bryn handed her the black mask on top, and the older woman hesitated before taking it, seeming reluctant to touch it. When she took it she turned it over in her hands, looking at the word engraved on the inside in runes. “ _Nahkriin_. Vengeance. He was guarding the portal to Sovngarde.”

“Shor’s bones,” Rikke whispered.

“Yes, well he did a poor job of it. Skuldafn was a challenge, I’ll admit, but not as much of one as I expected. I took Nahkriin out with two Daedric arrows in the back before he ever saw me. You would think he would have wondered where his _Inseiiz_ and _Inseyol_ went. _Mey._ ” Seeing Rikke’s confusion, she murmured, “Sorry. Masters of ice and fire. Two enormous dragons, probably the toughest I’ve fought other than Alduin, but in the end just as dead and their souls taken as any other. _Mey_ …fool.” She took Nahkriin’s mask from Rikke. “All the undead I’ve fought have been extremely limited in their mental capacity. The vampires I’ve come across have been cunning, but no more cunning than bandits. That’s why I feel there is more to their actions lately, maybe some master vampire directing them to some ultimate purpose. I don’t plan on lingering here any longer than I have to.”

Iona raised her voice and said, “My lady, a young man passed through town a few days ago when I was in the market, saying he was going to join the Dawnguard.” She snorted and added, “He looked fresh off the farm. He’ll be lucky if he makes it there alive, let alone makes it as far as fighting vampires.”

“I suppose I’ll see if he did.” She set the mask down and pulled out a dragon scale. Rikke was familiar with Bryn’s armor but hadn’t seen an unforged scale. As Rikke was inspecting it Bryn eyed her steel sword and asked, “Are you sure you don’t want something better than that?”

Rikke looked up in surprise then followed Bryn’s line of sight. “This?” she asked, patting the sword. “Oh no. You’ve done enough, my Queen, and I’m used to it.”

“I have a whole rack of swords downstairs that I’ll never use. Go pick one.”

“I couldn’t—“ She dropped the scale on the bed as Bryn took her arm and pulled her along, and she sighed and let the girl take her downstairs. “Ahh,” she said with interest as they entered the enchanting room. Her eyes widened at the sight of a full set of Dwemer armor on a mannequin, gleaming in the low light, and a set of Daedric armor on the other, complete with shields and helms. “Gorgeous,” she whispered in awe. Bryn motioned to the weapon racks on the walls and Rikke couldn’t help feeling a surge of greed. There were a number of magical bows on plaques as well, but Rikke was more than happy with the hand-me-down ebony bow of lightning that Bryn had given her in Solitude (which was better than anything here) right after the soon-to-be-Queen had crafted herself a bow of dragon bone. Rikke shook her head and whispered, “This is overwhelming. An Emperor’s ransom.”

“Which is why the Guild was so eager to get in here. Lydia is sitting on nearly as much loot in Breezehome; Jordis and Argis not so much.” She paused then said thoughtfully, “Poor Argis. I hardly spent any time in Markarth. I suppose I’ll have to swing by there one of these days. I’ve been meaning to collect all the dragon priest masks, and I think I left a couple there.”

“What for?” Rikke asked, venturing to take down an odd sword on the end of the rack. While the grip and cross-guard seemed to be made of ebony, the blade itself was tan, seeming to not be made of metal at all.

“When I was doing some jobs for the College of Winterhold, I spent some time in Labyrinthian.”

“Ugh.”

“Yes, not a nice place, but not much worse than a lot of places I’ve been. I found this odd little mound at the center, and inside was a skeleton, some poor Breton scholar who had gotten murdered by his Orc hirelings. They left his mask with him, a wooden mask that looked a lot like the Dragon Priest masks I’ve found. It didn’t have any engraving on the back, but when I put it on…” She frowned, not sure how to put it. “I was in the same place, but it wasn’t a ruin anymore. I was in a room with a carving with eight Dragon Priest busts, and a dragon head at the center and one on each side. I wonder what would happen if I took all eight masks I have and put them on the busts?”

Horrified, Rikke said, “Tell me you won’t!” Bryn laughed, looking thoughtful as her eyes sparkled, and Rikke gave up trying to dissuade her. She wasn’t even going to start. Her lady Queen would do whatever she wanted to, and all Rikke could do was back her up and be a voice of caution. It was damn exciting though. She had traveled all over Tamriel during her career and had seen some crazy things, but there was plenty of crazy right here in her own homeland. Just looking at all this treasure that Bryn had collected in the short time she had been here was bewildering.

Bryn motioned with her chin to the sword that Rikke was idly swinging about, and she said with a grin, “Like that one?”

“It’s fantastic,” Rikke said with all honesty. “Heavier than what I’m used to, but perfectly balanced. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“There is nothing else like it. I made it of dragon bone.” The woman’s eyes widened as she stopped swinging it. “Do you want it? I can always make another. I’ll never use it.” She was much too attached to Dawnbreaker and Chillrend to use anything else.

“Are you sure, my lady?”

“Yes, completely. It was sort of an experiment, something to fill my time when I was here in Riften, before I went to Ulfric. I wanted to show it to Eorlund and see what he thought of it, and my bow, but…” She shrugged. She was a better smith than anyone she had ever met, but her skill had always made her feel like a fraud somehow. Eorlund and Oengul had become Master Smiths through years of apprenticeship and hard work, while it was only her preternatural ability to absorb skills quickly that had made her what she was. Ulfric had impressed on her that there was no shame in that, any more than she should feel ashamed of her natural ability to Shout when he’d had to study and practice for years to learn the one Shout he knew. Bryn never had seen him use the _thu’um_ , though once they went to war she was sure she would see and hear it plenty. It seemed fitting that her mate could use dragon Shouts; he wasn’t Dragonborn, but he was the next best thing. She had to wonder, hypothetically, what it would be like to meet another Dragonborn. Would they be drawn to each other, or would they feel compelled to destroy each other? She supposed she would never know. She liked to think she would come out on top in a fight though.

“Then I would be honored,” Rikke said sincerely. Bryn clearly wanted her to have it, and it was only right that she should have a distinguished weapon to defend her Queen with. It did seem silly to keep using her old steel Legionnaire’s sword when Bryn was using legendary weapons.

Bryn motioned with her head toward the enchanting table, and Rikke followed her over. “What enchantment would you like on it? I’ve been thinking about a way to put two enchantments at a time on items. Maybe we could try it now?”

“I ah…I don’t know.” She already felt like a walking tank with the gear she already had. Her shield was enchanted to fortify her ability to block and absorb blows; her helm increased her archery ability; her gauntlets increased her skill in one-handed weapons; her boots were muffled, making her steps silent; her armor was enchanted to constantly regenerate her stamina; and she wore a ring that would quickly regenerate her health if she was wounded. Bryn had told her she had enchanted everything of Lydia’s, and intended to enchant Ulfric’s armor when Oengul was done with it.

“I’ve always liked the shock enchantments,” Bryn said as she pulled down a filled black soul gem from a shelf; Azura’s Star was in her pack upstairs and was unfortunately filled with a lesser soul. “Almost nothing exists that can defend against it, and it’s especially effective against magic users.”

“The Thalmor, in other words.”

“Exactly. And many vampires.” Rikke handed her the sword and she placed it across the enchanting desk, setting the soul gem on the cross-guard. She got down a potion on another shelf and set it aside then stared at the sword for a moment, pondering her choices. “I hate to make the enchantments specific to any one type of enemy. So I’ll stick with shock damage. A number of beings are resistant or immune to frost or fire, so neither of those. I do know an enchantment that saps an enemy’s stamina. All right then.” Bryn bit her bottom lip, flexing her fingers, then she guzzled down the potion to fortify her enchanting ability then slapped one hand down on the destruction sigil on the table while laying the other on the sword’s blade. The glass globe began to glow and swirl greenly, and Bryn focused her entire attention and will on forcing both enchantments into the sword, not entirely sure what was going to happen. She kept in mind the lessons she had learned in Twin Secrets, an enchanter’s memoirs that she had found in a Forsworn lair. _See one enchantment with the eyes; hear the other with the ears_ she reminded herself. The soul gem made a cracking/pinging sound then disintegrated into the sword.

Rikke held her breath, still not used to seeing such things with her own eyes. She had spent so many decades in the Legion with battlemages and soldiers of all races that magic use didn’t faze her the way it did Nords who had never left their homeland, but she was accustomed to seeing it on the battlefield, not being applied like this. She had never put much thought into what it took to enchant a weapon. Bryn rubbed her eyes, seeming drained, and Rikke asked softly, “Are you all right, my lady?”

“Yes, but…” she whispered. “Ugh. That was…hard.” Enchanting was mentally exhausting, the more so the stronger the enchantment, and her brain felt so fuzzy right now all she wanted to do was lie down and take a nap, even though she wasn’t physically tired. She shook her head and opened her eyes, trying to focus, then she picked up the sword and held it up to the light. She waved it around and saw intermingled swirls of green and purple, and she laughed in triumph and held it out to Rikke. “Look at that!” she cried happily. “It worked! Wait until I tell Sergius at the College about this! He won’t believe it!”

Rikke breathed, “Unbelievable…” She carefully took the sword from Bryn and touched the blade, seeing the magic swirl in eddies of purple and green that were mesmerizing.

“ _Fahliil-Kriid,_ ” Bryn murmured. Rikke glanced at her questioningly, and she smiled and stated, “Elf-Slayer.”

“By the grace of Talos,” Rikke whispered, her skin prickling with goose bumps. She shivered at the sensation of having witnessed something momentous. She whispered to Bryn, “I would follow you to Oblivion and back, my Queen!”

Bryn smiled and put her hands on Rikke’s shoulders and said, “You set aside your entire life’s work, gave up your retirement, to follow me. You will have a hand in making me the Dragonborn Queen, the one that Elves will whisper about to their children a thousand years from now. We will terrify them so greatly that they will never dare to make war on Man again.” Rikke nodded, staring at her with shining eyes, and Bryn patted her shoulders and said, “But first, let’s see what Maven was in a tizzy about at the Moot. I hope we aren’t too late.” And if they were, well, it was Maven’s own fault for getting herself into the mess to begin with by selling herself out to too many factions.

The dragonbone sword fit neatly into the old sword’s scabbard, and Rikke followed Bryn upstairs and into the heart of the city. Everyone had a word of greeting for Bryn, and when she stopped by Balimund’s forge, The Scorched Hammer, he grinned at her and bowed deeply, making her tsk and shake her head. They exchanged a few pleasantries and Rikke couldn’t help admiring the smith, who seemed to admire her back, though there was a good ten year age gap there. He was even more admiring of the sword and glad it was being used. Rikke thought she might step out tonight for a drink and see if the smith was around and interested in some company.

When they entered Mistveil Keep, Maven was nowhere to be seen, though her son/steward Hemming was seated next to the throne. His expression tightened when Bryn entered, though he stood and bowed stiffly to her. Bryn noted the open hostility in the housecarl, Maul, and it immediately set her off.

“Majesty,” Hemming mumbled. “Welcome to Mistveil Keep.”

“Hello Hemming. Where is Jarl Maven? She’s doing well, I hope?”

“She’s…indisposed.”

“What is the housecarl’s problem?”

Hemming blinked and stammered, “E-excuse me?”

“Why does Maul keep glaring at me?” Hemming didn’t seem to know what to say, and Maul’s expression didn’t change one bit. Fed up, Bryn walked past the steward to Maul, stopping not two feet from him. He was breathing heavily as if it was taking all his willpower not to kill her. Not that he could. “All right you, out with it. Now.”

Maul sneered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, your _royal_ Majesty.” His head rocked back as Rikke surged forward and punched him in the face. The native Riften guards moved to jump in then caught themselves, realizing they had no authority to do so. The two Imperial guards simply smirked.

Rikke hissed, “That is your High Queen you’re speaking to, dog!”

“She murdered my brother!” he snarled, cradling his face.

“Ah,” Bryn said in understanding. “So he was one of the thieves then. Which one…let me guess, with your very imaginative name…Dirge?” His lack of answer told her yes. “I wiped out a nest of thieves. Perhaps you should have saved your brother from his life of crime and then it wouldn’t have been an issue.” He glared, probably imagining all the ways he’d like to kill her. “I want to talk to Maven. Now. Where is she?” Maul didn’t answer, and she turned to look at Hemming. “Please don’t make me say it again. I’m out of patience.”

Hemming hurried past her, muttering, “This way, my lady.”

Bryn and Rikke followed him into the back hall then up a set of stairs, Bryn noticing an Altmer in Imperial armor who had to be Legate Fasendil standing in a back room with a perplexed look on his face. She gave him a brief smile and he inclined his head politely to her, saluting to Rikke as well who returned it in kind. Once upstairs Hemming knocked on a door then opened it and left without a word or a bow, making Rikke’s jaw clench at the rudeness of it. Bryn shook her head and went into the room, to see Maven sitting in front of the fire, worrying at something in her hands. The older woman surged to her feet as Bryn came in and closed the door.

“Where have you been!” Maven cried.

“Enjoying my new husband,” she retorted. “So what’s wrong? I know damn well the Empire paid you to vote for me, so who has their hooks in you now?”

“The Thalmor. They have my daughter. My only daughter.”

“That makes no sense.”

“What does anymore!”

“One vote wasn’t enough. Even two out of nine holds wouldn’t have been enough, if Elisif hadn’t wised up. The Thalmor aren’t stupid. Over-confident, but not stupid.” Maven made a sound of frustration and went to a side table and yanked open a drawer then brought over a folded letter that looked like it had been read and reread a dozen times. Bryn opened it and read:

_Jarl Maven Black-Briar,_

_We have your daughter. If you value her life, you will vote against the Dragonborn in the upcoming Moot. You will do everything in your power to humiliate her and her lover, Ulfric. Do this or you will start receiving body parts._

_The Thalmor_

Bryn shook her head and handed the letter to Rikke, who took a quick look at it and frowned as well, saying, “This really isn’t their way of doing things.” The writing did have an Elven style to it though, the script flowing and somewhat feminine.

“No, it isn’t,” Bryn agreed. Maven snatched back the letter, barely contained panic obvious in her eyes. Bryn sighed and said, “Look, I want to help you. I like Ingun--”

“Well thank the Divines for that,” Maven snapped.

Rikke growled, “Look you, be glad the Queen is here at all. Do you want her help or not?”

“Yes, of course.” The two other women stared at her, and she swallowed her pride and lowered her eyes. “I…would appreciate…whatever help you can give me,” she choked out. She knew damn well that Brynhilde could have simply ignored her silent pleas at the Moot. She wouldn’t have pleaded that way if she hadn’t trusted that no matter how they disliked each other, the Dragonborn would help her. If only she hadn’t taken so damn long!

“When did this happen?” Bryn asked.

“Less than a week before the Moot. Hemming found the note on my throne. The night guards said they didn’t see anyone put it there, and no one unknown to us has been in the Keep. Elgrim and his wife said she just…didn’t show up one day. They didn’t notice anything unusual, not that the old geezers would.”

“And no contact since? No more notes, nothing?” Maven shook her head. Bryn grimaced in confusion and repeated, “This really makes no sense. This isn’t how the Thalmor operate.” She folded her arms, thinking. This wasn’t her forte, nothing like it had been investigating the murders in Windhelm. Half the guards here were dirty, and their word would be suspect; there was no guaranteeing that Maven’s was the only payroll they were on.

Rikke said in a thoughtful tone, “No one unknown to you has been in the Keep. Has anyone _known_ to you been here recently? Any visitors?” At that they saw Maven freeze in place, going white. “Who?”

“Anuriel,” Maven whispered.

“Laila’s Bosmer steward?” Bryn said in surprise. “Why?” Maven hesitated, and she said impatiently, “Laila is living on my husband’s charity, and he has as little tolerance for crime and grift as I do. Less even. If I find out that Anuriel is doing any dirty work in Windhelm I will have them both thrown out.” Maven looked troubled by that. Bryn knew that Laila and Maven were still friends, even with what had happened, the former Jarl ever the clueless one. Anuriel was staying in Candlehearth Hall, while Laila and her housecarl Unmid Snow-Shod, Asgeir’s cousin, were housed in the Palace of Kings; Ulfric had no tolerance for an Elf living under his roof. Laila had made herself very scarce while Bryn was around, thereby avoiding a lecture from her on just how clueless she had been.

“Anuriel was passing messages along. To Laila’s sons. And…me. But…” Maven shook her head. “Surely she isn’t involved in this! She knows her life wouldn’t be worth spit if she was.”

“Did you see her talking to anyone? Anything suspicious?”

“No, nothing out of the ordinary. Not…” Maven trailed off, her jaw clenching as her breathing grew uneven. “Maul.” Bryn and Rikke looked at each other, seeming unsurprised. She hissed, “Hemming saw them talking late one night, after everyone else had gone to bed. He got back up to…well, none of your business, but when he told me about it he thought it odd, seeing as how the two have never gotten along, and…” She swallowed and choked out, “Maul thinks he’s in love with Ingun. He asked me for her hand in marriage, after I became Jarl. I told him… I told him he was on skooma if he thought he was good enough for my little girl. And Ingun detests him.” Bryn slowly nodded, looking coldly angry, her fingers drumming on the pommels of her swords. Maven closed her eyes, feeling like a fool. It had to be Maul, with Anuriel’s help. Maybe the Elf hoped to get Laila back on the throne of Riften, somehow, and Maul had gotten her help forging the letter. And Maul had taken Ingun…somewhere. She whispered to Bryn, “Please…do whatever you have to do.”

Bryn turned and strode out of the room, calling over her shoulder, “Better make your guards aware of that, Jarl Maven, or this is going to get messy.” She didn’t bother to see what the woman did, throwing the door open and going downstairs, Rikke close on her heels. In the main hall she saw nothing amiss, though Maul was gone. She asked Hemming, “Where did he go?”

“Who?” Hemming asked unhelpfully.

“The man who kidnapped your sister, idiot,” Rikke spat.

“W-what!”

Bryn told Rikke, “Never mind. They’re down in the Ratway somewhere. He’s a rat; that’s where they go.” As they went out the front doors of the Keep she heard Maven screaming at Hemming, Sibbi, the guards, everyone within earshot. She didn’t stick around to listen, feeling sick with worry over Ingun. The girl was innocent in her family’s dealings, though a bit on the morbid side. She was also extremely beautiful. She didn’t blame Maul for wanting the girl, but she had the horrid feeling that if they did find Ingun alive…well, a brute like that wouldn’t be able to keep his hands, or anything else, to himself. It wasn’t hard to see how all this had come about. Maul probably thought he was killing two birds with one stone, in his own stupid way; he made Maven pay for insulting him and mocking his interest in her daughter, he deprived Bryn of a vote, and he got Ingun to himself. He knew he would never get back at Bryn for killing Dirge, but he could get back at Maven.

It took nearly an hour to thoroughly search the Cistern and the Ratway, and it wasn’t until they were near the very end of the Warrens that Bryn realized exactly where Maul had stashed Ingun. There were quite comfortable, dry, ready-made quarters there, and all he would have to do is change out the locks on the door to keep her in, instead of keeping others out. She hurried her pace, Rikke right behind her, and found the door cracked open and heard hushed whispering inside.

Ingun whimpered as Bryn rounded the corner of Esbern’s old room, and Bryn’s blood began to boil when she saw the girl in Maul’s arms, a dagger to her throat. The poor thing was naked, a shackle around one ankle, her body covered with bruises in various stages of healing, her lip split. Her nostrils flaring, Bryn thundered at Maul, _“You should have run!”_

“I swear I’ll kill her!” Maul shouted. “Maven should have—“

_“TIID KLO UL!”_ Time slowed to a crawl, and Bryn pulled the Blade of Woe as she ran at them, pulling Maul’s arm away from Ingun’s throat then elbowing him in the face. She dragged him away from the girl then threw him on the floor, stepping on his wrist and breaking it. Time returned to normal as the dagger flew out of his hand and he screamed in pain. Rikke hurried to Ingun to wrap her in a blanket, the girl sobbing hysterically. Bryn knelt on Maul’s back on one knee and grabbed his hair, pulling his head back, making him cry out, and she asked, “So, who do you want it to be? Me or Maven?”

Maul hesitated, then he choked, “You.” Maven would make sure his death was anything but quick and merciful.

“Wise choice.” She glanced at Ingun, who shivered and sniffed in Rikke’s arms, the older woman petting her but looking at Bryn with a tight expression. Bryn said to Ingun, “You might want to look away.”

“No, I want to see it,” Ingun said through gritted teeth. The Dragonborn nodded, not insulting her by asking if she was sure. She flinched as Bryn quickly drew her blade across Maul’s throat, staying in place until his gurgling and thrashing stopped. She watched dispassionately as Bryn wiped off the dagger on Maul’s back then placed it back in its sheath, and when the taller woman came toward her with glowing hands she shook her head. “No, no healing. I want her to see her handiwork.”

“All right. Can you walk?”

“I…think so.” 

Bryn quickly found the key and unlocked the manacle from the girl’s ankle, which was raw and red, most likely infected. She blinked and tried to control herself, feeling another surge of rage go through her, and she nearly told Ingun that Bryn should have killed her mother too when she had the chance. The girl didn’t need to hear that. Obviously she knew that her mother’s dirty dealings were responsible for this. Bryn had to admire her guts; she didn’t think she would be so strong in the face of what Ingun had just been through. In fact she knew she wouldn’t have been.

They got her out of the Ratway after some time, the going slow, and several times Bryn had to pick the girl up and carry her for a while when she couldn’t go on. Ingun insisted on walking up the steps to Mistveil Keep, and the guards were appropriately horrified by what they saw. Rikke and Bryn stayed on either side of the girl as she limped into the main hall, where her mother was pacing nervously and came to a halt with a strangled cry at the sight of her daughter. Ingun’s brothers gaped at her, dismayed, and Bryn kept her mouth shut. No one said a word as Ingun slowly made her way around the table, her head high, the blanket clutched to her chest, barely covering her. It made Bryn want to cry, how dignified the girl was.

“Hello, Mother,” Ingun said to Maven, satisfied to see her mother’s chin tremble, her eyes filled with tears. “You’re going to need a new housecarl.”

“Ingun,” Maven whispered brokenly. “Oh Ingun…” She looked past her daughter to the other two women, seeing no gloating from either of them, both of them watching Ingun, Rikke’s expression stern and Bryn looking heartbroken. Maven hesitated then tentatively reached out for her daughter, who stood stiffly but allowed it. She put her arms around Ingun and whispered to Bryn, “Thank you, Dragonborn. My…Queen.”

Bryn murmured, “You’re welcome, Jarl Maven.” She gently touched Ingun’s shoulder and asked, “Now?”

“Yes,” the girl said with a nod, and she sighed as warm/cool healing magic flowed through her, easing the soreness and bruising. She hoped to Mara and Arkay both that she wasn’t pregnant by the beast, but luckily she knew a number of very effective poisons to deal with that possibility.

Maven said in a trembling voice, “Is he dead?”

Bryn nodded, saying, “I slit his throat in the room where he was holding her. He was threatening to kill her. I gave him the choice between me doing it or you.”

“It should have been me!”

“I’m sorry, but if I didn’t let Ulfric have Elenwen…well. The crime was done to Ingun, no one else.” She leaned toward the girl and softly asked, “Is there anything else you need?”

Ingun shook her head, whispering, “No, you’ve done enough. I’m grateful for your help, Dragonborn.”

“I wish I had come sooner. I had no idea. I’m so sorry—“

“No. You aren’t the one who should be sorry.” She pulled away from her mother and said, “I want a bath, Mother. Now.”

“Yes darling,” Maven whispered. Ingun headed for the doorway to the private area of the Keep and Maven hurried after her.

Bryn let out a long breath and turned away, and Rikke followed silently, sensing her lady’s subdued mood. She noted that the Jarl’s sons and the guards were careful to bow to Bryn as she passed, though Bryn didn’t seem to notice. It wasn’t until they were on the bridge near Honeyside that Rikke dared to place a hand on the Queen’s shoulder, stopping her. “Are you all right, my lady?” she murmured.

“Compared to Ingun, I’m quite fine,” Bryn responded softly. She sighed and leaned on the railing to look down at the apothecary shop. “It breaks my heart, Rikke. The things people are capable of doing to each other. Especially…that way.”

“That way…er. Oh.”

“It’s always been such a beautiful thing to me,” she said in a pained voice. “Vilkas…from the very start, the very first time, all I ever knew was gentleness and pleasure. Every time was wonderful. And Ulfric has been so good to me, so thoughtful. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be…used. Hurt like that.”

Rikke quietly said, “Frankly, neither can I. I only hope that someday she can put it behind her.”

“Well, if… Yes, me too.” She stood away from the railing and headed to Honeyside’s front door, saying, “I want to leave as soon as possible tomorrow morning and get this vampire thing over with. I miss my husband.”

“Yes, my lady.” Rikke followed Bryn inside, where Bryn tactfully filled in Iona on what they had found out. It wasn’t until she was heading out the door later that evening to get a drink or two at the Bee and Barb that a sudden sick suspicion finally came to her, so strong and sudden that she had to stop where she was and let the feeling pass. _If I didn’t let Ulfric have Elenwen… I miss my husband…_ Bryn and Galmar telling Rikke that no matter what she imagined had been done to Ulfric, the reality was so much worse... “Ah gods, Ulfric,” she whispered in grief. She had never imagined that in her worst nightmares. So that was what Galmar had hinted at when he’d said Ulfric had started healing after his first night with Bryn. Put it together with Ulfric’s words at the Moot that only Bryn was allowed to see what the Thalmor had done to his body, and Rikke felt like bawling. _Well, if_ … If Ulfric could learn to live with the horrors he had experienced, enough to love Bryn, anyone could. Everyone dealt with trauma in different ways, but Ingun seemed strong and resilient. Rikke just wished that Ulfric had been able to find a woman when he was young to help him, and maybe the things he had done could have been avoided, along with so many deaths. She was happy for him and Bryn, now more than ever, but it hurt to think of the pain that had been festering inside him for the last thirty years.

Rikke went on, hearing Balimund hammering away at his forge, and instead of heading his direction she simply went inside the inn and sat down at the bar next to a Dunmer meadery worker, nodding to him in greeting, which he returned. After today’s events, for some reason she just wasn’t in the mood.


	38. Chapter 38

“Hm, that went well,” Rikke muttered sarcastically as they walked away from Fort Dawnguard, leaving two dead vampires and a pile of glowing ash behind them. Isran had been… irritated. Yes, that was a good word for it. Rikke had nearly barked at the man that he should be grateful to have the Queen’s personal attention to the matter, but Bryn’s hand on her arm had stopped her from saying anything. Rikke wasn’t even sure the man knew who Bryn really was. Well, of course he knew. He had to know. Bryn was the only being walking around Tamriel whose voice thundered when she talked. The man’s lack of respect and deference had been appalling, and his griping about Bryn carrying a Daedric artifact had been short-sighted. It was a sword created to kill undead, and that should be all that mattered.

“Could have been worse, and I hope he understood why we did what we did,” Bryn answered. “No, it might not have been the most cautious course of action, but now we have some idea of the scope of the problem we’re dealing with.” She made a sound of disgust and rubbed her face. “I still can’t get the stench out of my nose. Stendarr’s mercy, I hate vampires!” Castle Volkihar had been a complete horror. She had nearly lost the contents of her stomach when the smell hit her and she saw the creatures casually feasting on corpses and drinking goblets of blood. She had been relieved when Harkon banished them and they’d come to at the boat, no matter how cowardly it made her feel; even with what she was, she wasn’t sure she would have gotten out of there in one piece, and Rikke certainly wouldn’t have survived it. Bryn thought she knew vampires, but she had never seen one change shape like that before. Isran hadn’t either, and she thought a good part of his anger had been worry and fright. She grinned at Rikke and said, “You know, I think we might be in over our heads!”

The older woman stared at her in dismay then burst into laughter and clapped Bryn on the back. “Nothing like a challenge, eh my Queen?” Bryn was actually happy, and she could see why. The girl had blasted through every obstacle they had come across in the last couple weeks with alarming ease, making Rikke nearly superfluous. Not that she hadn’t gotten any action, but more because Bryn had left a few opponents for her each time than the Dragonborn needing any actual help. Rikke didn’t take it as charity; it was practice, practice she sorely needed. It was worlds different from the life she was used to, the orderly and regimented life of a soldier, and it was exhausting, but not as much as it was when she had first started out a couple weeks ago. She had to admit that there was something to this constant running around. She’d lost a rather embarrassing amount of weight, but it was quickly getting replaced with lean muscle. It was no mystery why Bryn’s body was tight as a drum, and why she had been against Rikke’s suggestion to buy some horses. 

It had been wonderful though, traipsing across Skyrim, getting to know the country and the people on foot, and she had come to truly love her Queen. There was nothing like spending so much time in close proximity, walking or fighting or just sitting around a campfire, having nothing to do but talk, to forge a tight bond. Bryn had covered all of Skyrim in her travels and knew the land better than most natives, and the common folk were always delighted when they saw her coming. Escorting Serana had been a chore though, the vampire woman preferring to travel at night, and they’d had to avoid Solitude on the way, though they had stopped in on the way back. Bryn had made a courtesy call on Elisif to be told she was not feeling well, and Falk’s expression had told them how uncomfortable he was with the obvious lie. Well, they had tried. Bryn had picked up the masks she had stored in Proudspire Manor, along with the ones from Honeyside; they were headed to The Reach for Isran’s next task and would gather the ones in Vlindrel Hall, picking up the ones in Breezehome on the way there. They would have all eight dragon priest masks at that point. Rikke wasn’t looking forward to Labyrinthian and what they would find there. Bryn’s lack of concern on that point was worrisome.

Rikke asked her, “So where next, my lady? Back to Windhelm for a bit?” It was Ulfric’s birthday in a few days, and she didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to give him hell for finally joining her and Galmar in the fifties.

“Yes, I think so. I miss Ulfric, and we should fill him in on what we’ve found out and where we’re going next. I just want to stop by Riften and pick up that shield for him. And see how Ingun is doing. Oh, and tell Maven to open up that canal.” Former Stormcloak soldiers were heading back to their home holds in droves with instructions to join the guard, if they didn’t have gainful employment to return to, so there would quickly be enough forces to begin patrolling the roads again against bandits. At least until the war began.

They made their way out of Dayspring Canyon then began heading west, and once they had been on the road for about an hour Rikke ventured, “My lady, I’ve been meaning to mention something…”

“Anything.”

“Since we started out on this venture, I’ve been considering adding another to our number.” Bryn didn’t reply other than to make a sound of acknowledgment. “At first it was only for the sake of protocol, to have a more fitting retinue with you. You’re the Queen; you can’t go about with only me to serve you, and frankly…I’m not a young woman.”

“Ah.” She didn’t give Rikke any platitudes, knowing she was only being honest. She had done quite well for herself, and would only get better with more time on the road, but Bryn saw where she was coming from. The older woman did look a bit worn.

“After seeing the things in that vampire castle…well, we would have been screwed.”

Bryn laughed a bit at that. “You’ve got that right.” She snorted another laugh and added, “They let us go too easily, Rikke.”

“I’m glad you’re following.”

“So, you’d like to add to our number. How many?”

“Just one more would be enough for now, I think. Someone young, strong and quick. I’m in decent shape, not bad in a fight, but…like I said, I’m not a young woman.”

“Did you have anyone in mind?”

“Not offhand, though…I would prefer if it wasn’t a former Stormcloak.”

“Hm.”

Rikke could tell that Bryn wasn’t entirely pleased by the suggestion. She hesitated then said, “It’s that… well, we already live in Windhelm, my lady.”

“Yes, and I’m traveling about Skyrim with a former Imperial. Would you like me to travel about the country with two former Imperials, then?” Rikke didn’t know what to say, and as they kept walking she said, “Honestly, I don’t care either way. If I had my choice, I would find someone who was neither. I’ve traveled and fought with a great many different people in the last year and a half. One of the best followers I’ve ever had other than Lydia was an Orc maiden named Borgakh the Steel-Heart. I never had the heart to tell Lydia about her, but I saved her from an arranged marriage and we traveled The Reach for a bit before we parted ways. But I very much doubt Ulfric could tolerate having a non-human under his roof.”

“Good heavens, no he wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t do that to him.” If Ulfric were simply racist it would be one thing, and something she wouldn’t tolerate, but it was rooted in trauma, and at this point in his life she wasn’t going to put him through the stress of completely reorienting his views. She wasn’t going to tolerate raising racist children though. That was where she would draw the line. She hoped it wouldn’t end up being an issue someday, but she feared it would. The thought of arguing with Ulfric filled her with dread, but at least she had the small comfort of knowing he would never go into the kind of rages that Vilkas once had. Ulfric at least listened and was rational when he was angry.

“Well, I’ll keep my eyes open. If a likely youngster comes along and happens to be a former Stormcloak, I suppose I’ll have to keep my mind open as well, eh?” Bryn smiled at her in approval and she sighed and nodded. She saw her lady’s point of view; yes, they lived in a heavily ‘blue’ city, but they were trying to heal divisions, and half the country still considered itself Stormcloak territory, and the Queen traveling with only former Imperials in her entourage might trouble some people. Maybe it would be better to mix it up a bit, and frankly, there would be a lot more available former Stormcloaks than Imperials. And many who had fought under Ulfric’s banner had once been Legionnaires.

Rikke resigned herself to the notion and thought she might bring it up to Galmar when they got back… _home,_ she reminded herself. Yes, Windhelm was home now. Well, she’d been ready for that when she signed up, and really it wasn’t so bad there. She got the occasional good-natured ribbing from Galmar and Ulfric, the occasional dirty look from others, but it would lessen over time. No one dared any of that in Bryn’s hearing or sight, that was for certain, and she wasn’t about to make her lady aware of it. She hadn’t risen to the rank of Legate by letting things like that get to her.

A fat drop of rain landed on Rikke’s nose, and she sighed and looked up, then gasped softly when she saw a dragon circling far overhead. “My lady…” she murmured. 

Bryn looked up at the sky, squinting. “Ah. Odahviing, I think.”

Relaxing, she asked, “Again? What does he want?” They had glimpsed the dragon at various points over the last two weeks in their travels, always in the distance, as if he were watching them. Following them.

“I don’t know. Want to find out?”

“Er…not today.” Bryn laughed at that.

“He’s probably just bored.”

“I ah…really don’t like the sound of that. A bored dragon.”

“Neither do I, actually, but I’m not sure what to do with him yet. Any of them. Hm… _OD AH VIING!”_

“Shit!” Rikke cried in shock, startled out of her wits by the sudden Shout right next to her, and when the dragon started spiraling down she forgot herself and said in dismay, “Damn it all, Brynhilde!” Bryn laughed wickedly, and she shook her head at the girl.

“Just treat him with the respect you would show the Dragonborn and we’ll be just fine.” Rikke grimaced as she realized she had just yelled at her Queen, and Bryn patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you’re able to do that. I suppose this was rather mean of me.” As Odahviing came in to land on the path in front of them she murmured, “Don’t look him in the eyes, and be very respectful of him. You don’t have to actually respect him, as long as he thinks you do. They’re very vain and prideful.”

“Yes my lady,” she whispered, then she let out a gasp as the ground shook when the beast landed. By the gods, the thing was magnificent. Immense. She could feel her own chest nearly rumbling as it breathed. Odahviing cocked his head at her and she dropped her eyes, bowing to him, and he grunted and looked away from her. She was going to do everything in her power to not attract his attention again. She was nearly shivering with terror at being this close to the creature, not even ten feet away.

“Dovahkiin,” the dragon said, drawing the word out. “You have not called on me in some time, and yet I have watched you running about _Keizaal_ with your _aar_ , and you have been seen taking a _malveysun_ to the island of the _diilsevulon, sosnaakke_. Even the _dov_ avoid that _hofkahsediil_ , as should you. You have the _thu’um_ of a _dovah_ , but your body is small and soft, and they would make a meal of you.”

Bryn nodded and put the full rumble of the _thu’um_ into her voice as she said, “Your concern is touching, _zeyhmahi_. We have realized our error, and I will be obtaining another _kendov aar_ to assist me. I have killed many of the _sosnakke_ , but I will be cautious in further dealings with these ones. I will wipe them out either way. _Zu’u los Diilkriid_.” Odahviing grumbled in acknowledgment. “Tell me, what are the others doing? They’ve been quiet, and it concerns me.”

“A few have flown to Skuldafn with Paarthurnax, to study his ‘Way of the Voice’ in seclusion, away from the eyes and ears of _joorre_. A few have left _Keizaal_ altogether, for distant parts of _Taazokaan_ , to find their own path. There are still some who refuse to submit, and they will no doubt need to be put down, but the remainder wait, and listen for your call. These would call you _Thursedov. Judsedov._ ”

“Ahh, _pruzah!_ How many?”

“Seven in total, including myself. I have told them of your plans for the _Kriisfahliil grah_ , and they are intrigued.”

“That may be a little while yet. _Drem_.”

“ _Unahzaal laas_ …what is time to a _dovah?”_

“ _Vahzah.”_ Odahviing stretched his wings as if readying to take off, then he scratched at his belly with a great clawed foot and grumbled loudly, making Rikke shudder and back further away. Bryn asked him in concern, “What’s wrong?”

The dragon huffed and answered, “I flew too low, too close to an _ogiim hofkah_ in the western hills. _Ronaaz,_ I cannot get it out.”

“Ah, let me see, _zeymahi.”_ She held her hand to Rikke. “I’ll need your knife. Mine absorbs health.” Rikke hesitated then came forward and handed a small utility knife to her with shaking hands then quickly backed away again. Bryn didn’t blame her for being terrified. Odahviing lifted his left wing at her prompting and she knelt down to inspect the large, overlapping whitish-gray scales on his belly. Indeed, an Orcish arrow was lodged between two of them, the shaft snapped off but the head still embedded there, probably only a minor irritation to a creature this size but an irritation all the same, probably grating when the plates rubbed together. “I’m going to cut it out. _Lost ulaak_ , don’t squash me.”

Rikke watched in fascinated fear as Bryn pried the two large plates apart, making Odahviing let out a long growl of discomfort, and when she put the knife to the tender flesh underneath the dragon let out a roar of pain that she felt all the way to her bones. Bryn tossed aside the arrowhead then poured healing magic into the dragon, who began to rumble as his eyes closed.

“Mmm, _faad haalvut, briinah. Pruzah, pruzah...”_

Bryn laughed, “Feels better, does it?”

“ _Geh!”_ She came out from under him, and he nudged her with his snout, nearly knocking her off her feet. _“Briinahi,”_ he rumbled.

_“Zoklot zeymahi,”_ she replied warmly, trying not to let on how stunned she was by his behavior. He flexed his wings, and at that signal she backed away, saying, “If any others have need of such attention, tell them to seek me out, but carefully. _Krosis,_ I might kill them otherwise.”

_“Geh, Dovahkriid.”_

Odahviing launched himself into the air, kicking up small rocks and leaves, the damp weather keeping any dust down. Bryn watched him climb, feeling a warmth toward the beast that she knew was dangerous. It was tempting to assign human emotion and motivation to him, something that could get her killed one day. Still, letting her cut out the arrow had been a huge offering of trust on Odahviing’s part. She glanced at Rikke to see the older woman staring up at the dragon with huge eyes and a look of amazement on her face, and she snorted a laugh and said, “That was a first.”

“I…as long as I live…” she mumbled. As long as she lived she would never forget what it had been like to be so close to a living dragon, smelling the metallic tang of its hide, the sulfur of its breath, hearing the thunder of its voice. Bryn smiled with shining eyes of gold, and Rikke felt a reverent shiver go through her. A few times over the last couple months she had wondered what she was thinking to give up the Legion, but moments like this reminded her of exactly why she had.  
-  
Jorleif sighed in relief when one of the large bronze doors of the Palace opened in a swirl of snow to admit Bryn and Rikke. She put her fingers to her lips and he nodded, pointing to the war room. Both women strode silently across the hall, looking road-worn and Rikke a bit tired; Bryn had a large, cloth-wrapped object under one arm. When they approached him he bowed to Bryn and murmured, “Welcome home, my Queen.”

“It’s good to be home, Jorleif,” she whispered. “I want to surprise Ulfric.”

“Yes my lady, just…don’t give him a heart attack, all right?”

She laughed quietly then asked, “What’s wrong? You looked more relieved than usual when you saw me.”

“You have letters, my lady. Many, many letters.”

“Ah!”

“And you’ve had visitors. Nothing major, but…” Bryn frowned, seeing Jorleif worrying at the corner of his long moustache. “Well, there was an attempt, on the Jarl’s life. It—“ His breath caught as Bryn’s attention focused on him so intently that it felt like her eyes were burning holes in him. She then spun away from him and strode across the hall, Rikke running to keep up with her long legs. Jorleif didn’t try to stop her. He knew better. And now wished he had kept his mouth shut and let Ulfric break it to her.

Galmar gasped, startled, when Bryn suddenly appeared in the doorway, and her eyes scanned the gathered men before settling on Ulfric. All but Ulfric bowed to her and she ignored them, going to stand before him and look him over with a feral expression, her nostrils flaring. He gave her a twitch of a smile, wary of her mood and wishing she hadn’t found out so soon, and said, “Welcome home, precious.”

“You are well, _ahmuli?”_ she asked in a tight voice.

“Yes, perfectly well. It was nothing—“

“Who is responsible?”

“We don’t know.” She swung her gaze to Galmar, intent and questioning, and before his housecarl could defend himself Ulfric stated in a careful tone, “It happens to every Jarl. It’s happened before and it will happen again. It will happen to you. It _has_ happened to you, and you’ve laughed off the attempts. Galmar did his job as he should have, and I am not incapable of defending myself.” She made a growling sound and pulled her gaze away from Galmar, closing her eyes and rotating her neck and shoulders. Her demeanor had the men either shifting uncomfortably or frozen in place as if fearful of drawing her attention. Ulfric hadn’t seen this side of her before, but he understood it. He went to her and put his hands on her upper arms, and she huffed and opened her eyes, looking at him with a sullen expression. “I’ll tell you more later, _umriidi,_ ” he murmured, and at the term of endearment she relaxed further, the tension leaving her body. She stroked his scarred cheek, her eyes only for him, and when he smiled more fully at her she let out a long breath and gave him a hint of a smile, though she still looked troubled. He glanced at Rikke, who stood in the doorway with a guarded expression. “How was your first time adventuring, Rikke? You look a bit…rough around the edges.”

Rikke thought for a moment then said tiredly, “Let’s just say I’ve seen some shit, Ulfric.” He laughed at that while Galmar guffawed. She nodded with her chin at the housecarl and said, “I need to talk to you about that. It isn’t proper for the High Queen to travel Skyrim with only me at her side, and I can only cover one side.”

“Funny you should mention that,” Galmar said in his gravelly voice. He looked at Bryn and she noticed his regard and shifted her gaze to him. Ulfric put his arm around her waist, and she clutched the mysterious object to her, wrapped in black fabric. He motioned towards the men nearby, who were all watching Bryn with wide, wary eyes as if she were about to start breathing fire. She had looked angry enough to. “These are the commanders of the Stormcloak armies that have been disbanded, and… someone else.”

Bryn looked over the men, recognizing some of them, then her eyes lit on a man off to the side of them, as if he weren’t included in their number. He was tall and heavily built, a little taller than Ulfric, his hair a bright sunny blond, his eyes sparkling blue, and devastatingly handsome, almost a blond Farkas. Her eyes widened and the last of her protective anger evaporated as she said in shock, “Ralof?”

Ralof grinned and said to Galmar, “See, I told you she would remember me!”

The older man growled, “All right pup, I owe you a mug.”

“How could I not remember?” Bryn said to Galmar in derision. “The first face I saw in Skyrim, the one who got me away from the block and Alduin? Of course I remember!”

Ralof came forward and went down on one knee before Bryn, saying, “My Queen, I came here to pledge myself to Jarl Ulfric’s service, and he was going to send me home like the others. Many of us can’t… we’re Stormcloaks. We have been for years, and it’s…hard to go back.”

“And yet you have to. You’re Nords, and that is all.”

“Yes my lady, I realize that, we all do, and most of us have done what we were told—“

“Most? So what are the rest doing?” She looked at the other men, Stormcloak commanders, and repeated, “What are the rest doing? Am I going to start running into renegades in my travels?” They looked appalled by the notion. “I thought they were directed to join their home hold’s guard, if they had no other life to go back to?”

One of the commanders that she recognized as Kai Wet-Pommel said, “They were, my lady, but…many of them, especially in the former Imperial-controlled holds…they’ve encountered resistance, or they’re afraid they...will…” He trailed off as the Dragonborn stared at him with a look of displeasure that practically screamed _You’ve got to be kidding me!_ “I, er…” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at Galmar, who was unhelpfully, deliberately looking elsewhere.

“Let me get this straight.” Bryn heard a snort from Rikke, and a sigh from Ulfric as he let go of her. She looked down at Ralof and said impatiently, “Good grief, get up. And hold this.” He flinched and did so, taking the offered bundle. She put her hands on her hips and said to the commanders, “So, they’ve encountered resistance, have they? They’re afraid…of what? That someone might give them a hard time? Call them names, maybe? Oh, the horror!” The men winced at her sarcastic tone. “How the hell did you keep together the force that managed to hold off the Empire and control half of Skyrim all these years, with a bunch of people who fold at the first hint of difficulty? They had no problem killing their kinsmen, but can’t go back to fighting beside them? I told the Jarls a month ago that I wouldn’t tolerate former Stormcloaks being persecuted when they returned home, any more than I would tolerate former Legionnaires being harassed if they went home to a former Stormcloak-held territory. We are all Nords, nothing more. These divisions weaken us!” She looked at Ralof and asked, “Did you try to go home to Riverwood? To Whiterun?”

Ralof hesitantly said, “No, my lady. Not because I was afraid, but because I don’t want to leave Jarl Ulfric’s service.”

“I’m sure that’s the case with many of you,” she said in a gentler tone, “but there isn’t room for you all.”

Galmar said, “And that’s what I told them, my lady, and sent them on their way. This one wouldn’t leave. He’s been hanging around Windhelm and the Palace for most of the last week, making a pest of himself.” He looked over at Rikke. “So.”

“So,” Rikke replied thoughtfully. It was good to see that she and Galmar were on the same page, though a bit unsettling. As was the gleam in his eye when he looked at her. She had really hoped that would be gone by time she got back. She came up beside Bryn and said to Ralof, “Ulfric’s guard has no room for you, son.”

“Yes ma’am,” Ralof stated with a grimace, “but surely there’s somewhere I can be of use. I can’t go back home and work the mill with my sister, or spend the rest of my life patrolling roads. I would die of boredom. After Helgen, everything else is…” Beyond dull. He had spent too much time during the last year sitting around camp waiting for battles that never came, though he was relieved to not have to fight kinsmen. He never had wanted to, but you did what you had to do.

“Who was your commander?” A Nord with pale blond hair grunted and nodded. “How is he in a fight?”

Thorygg Sun-Killer stated, “He can more than hold his own. Light on his feet for his size, prefers light armor. Fights with his da’s warhammer, though I’ve told him it isn’t right for him. Too slow, greatsword would be better.”

Rikke nodded slowly and looked the young man over again, and he fidgeted self-consciously under her gaze, not entirely understanding what was going on. Well, he didn’t have to, if he was a good fighter and could follow directions. She said to him, “You wish to keep serving Jarl Ulfric, then? In whatever capacity you can?”

“Yes, ma’am!” he said with a nod, hope practically shining from him.

She glanced at Galmar, and the housecarl said, “All right then, from now on you will serve Ulfric by guarding his most prized possession: his wife.” Ralof’s knees seemed to give out a bit as he paled and his mouth fell open. Galmar barked, “Well, what say you, boy?”

“The…the Dragonborn? The Queen?” he said weakly. He stared at Bryn, feeling light-headed, and when she tilted her head, waiting, he looked over at Ulfric next to her. The Jarl was frowning slightly, but Ralof couldn’t tell if it was because he was against the idea or thought Ralof was an idiot for stammering about it. Still, Ulfric wasn’t saying anything negative about it.

“Who did you think we were talking about! Where are your wits, pup?” When Ralof’s mouth snapped shut and he swallowed hard, Galmar growled, “What’s the matter, that not the job you wanted? There are a thousand others who would take it without hesitation!”

“No sir, I mean yes sir, I-I would be honored, honored beyond…” He clutched the heavy bundle to his chest and looked at Ulfric with shining eyes, saying in a shaking voice, “My Jarl, I don’t deserve this privilege, but I will serve and protect our Queen, your wife, with my life. By Talos, I swear it!”

Ulfric hesitated then nodded and said, “See that you do so, Ralof. There is nothing in the world more precious to me than Brynhilde. I expect that if there ever comes a time that you must choose between saving my life or hers…it had better be hers. Understood?”

Ralof stared at him for a moment then nodded vigorously and whispered, “Yes sir!” Ah gods, he felt faint. He had hoped to maybe just say hello to Bryn, see how she had changed, maybe get her help convincing Ulfric to let him stick around in some capacity, but he had never imagined this in his wildest dreams!

Galmar went on, “You will follow Rikke’s orders from now on. You’re no longer a Stormcloak, boy, you’re the Queen’s man, got it?”

“Yes sir!”

Rikke asked him, “Ever face a vampire, Ralof?” The young man shook his head. “Well, before we’re done you’re going to wish you were dying of boredom like you feared you would.”

“No ma’am, pardon me but I don’t think so!”

“In the last two weeks we’ve fought vampires, draugr, gargoyles, bandits, and not three days ago I watched our lady do minor surgery on a dragon. We’ve slogged through crypts and sewers, with hardly a bath or a square meal between cities, and certainly no comfy beds, running our asses off the entire time. You think you’re up for all that?” The commanders looked at each other with expressions of disbelief, and she nearly snorted at them. They were still wearing the bear armor, as Galmar did, and a couple of them were fine-looking men, but compared to what Rikke had seen lately they seemed like a bunch of amateurs. The kid at least seemed eager, with all the energy and enthusiasm she had hoped for. In fact he had so much it was exhausting.

Ralof laughed, his eyes shining, and exclaimed, “Hell yes, ma’am!” He heard a laugh from the Queen and he turned his gaze on her, still not believing his outrageous luck. She grinned at him and he smiled back then realized what she was wearing. “Is that…are you wearing dragon scales?” he gasped.

“My lady,” Ulfric reminded him.

The soft menace in the Jarl’s tone made Ralof’s smile instantly vanish. He went down on one knee, his head bowed. “I’m sorry, my Jarl,” he said hastily. “My lady. My Queen. I apologize. It won’t happen again.” That one soft warning was all he would ever need. Ulfric didn’t seem pleased about all this, and it still escaped Ralof why that was, but he was going to give his Jarl and his Queen no reason to doubt him. He had the feeling it would take little for Ulfric to revoke what little approval he had given. It was still hard to believe that Bryn was High Queen, that she had become the magnificent creature he had seen today. Before today his mind’s eye had kept conjuring mental images of the scrawny bird-like girl in rags that he had last seen in Helgen, no matter how much he had heard of her exploits in the last year and a half. Now she was built like a true Nord, still lithe but solid muscle, and her Voice…it was like that of the sister of Talos she had claimed to be.

Bryn said to him, “Yes, it’s dragonscale armor. When we leave here we’ll swing by Riften and I’ll craft you a set, along a greatsword to match Rikke’s.” Rikke pulled out her sword and handed it to Bryn, who took a few slow swings with it, and there were sharp intakes of breath as green and purple magic swirled along the bone blade. “ _Fahliil-Kriid_ , I have named it,” she murmured. “Elf-Slayer. For you I will craft its brother, _Fahliil-Maar,_ Elf-Terror, with the same enchantments: lightning damage and stamina drain. Once we get you outfitted, anyone with a mind for trouble is going to piss themselves when they see us coming.”

Ralof nodded numbly, staring up at the Queen with big, glistening eyes, and Ulfric frowned and pulled his gaze away from him to look at Galmar. His friend noticed and met his eyes, and when Galmar narrowed his own in confusion he looked away again. Bryn was handing the dragonbone blade back to Rikke, who seemed very pleased with herself. He supposed she had reason to be. Ralof was young, not quite twenty-six if he remembered correctly, but he was an experienced soldier. Adventuring was quite different from soldiery, as Rikke had no doubt figured out, but the boy was a quick learner, and eager to please. Very eager to please. Ulfric took Bryn’s arm, and she smiled at him, giving him her full attention as he said to her, “Come, let’s get you out of your armor. It sounds like you and Rikke could use a rest.”

“Only for a few days, I’m afraid. Rikke and I stumbled onto something…eh. It’s bad.”

“You can tell me about it upstairs.”

Bryn motioned for Ralof to get up, and she took the bundle from him and gave him a slap on the shoulder. “You’re in for it now, Ralof. Better rest up while you can, because you aren’t getting much from here on out.”

“I’m counting on it, my lady!” he said happily.

Bryn laughed and let Ulfric take her arm and lead her through the door, hearing Galmar talking to Rikke and the commanders as the door closed. Ulfric said nothing as he led her upstairs, his grip a little tighter than it needed to be. So he wasn’t pleased about this. She thought she had noticed that he was troubled by the business with Ralof but couldn’t figure out why, then Ralof had knelt a little bit ago and looked up at her with a worshipful expression on his lovely face and it had quickly become apparent what it was: her husband was jealous. Ralof was young and handsome; Ulfric was neither, and Ralof was going to be living in close proximity to Bryn from now on. Well, Bryn wasn’t completely happy about that either; she had never been on the road for any length of time with any male except Farkas and Vilkas, always preferring female traveling companions and housecarls. She really wasn’t sure how this was going to work, but she had faith in Ralof, and in Rikke and Galmar’s judgment.

Once they were upstairs in their quarters, instead of letting go of Bryn, Ulfric tightened his grip and pulled her against him, kissing her hard, and only the armor between them kept his fingers from bruising her arm. She tossed the bundle on the bed and put her other arm around his neck, feeling his body nearly thrumming with tension. It was something she wasn’t at all used to. When Ulfric broke away and looked her in the eyes with a searching expression, the vulnerability there broke her heart. “I missed you, darling,” she whispered. His brow furrowed, and when she gently pulled on her arm his eyes widened and he quickly let go. He bit his lip, a tormented look on his face, and she sighed and reached out to touch his cheek but he moved back out of range.

“I shouldn’t have touched you like that,” he said in a rough voice. It wasn’t the first time he had done it, either. It made him feel like a monster. Everything she and Rikke must have been through lately and she had come home to have him manhandle her because of his fragile ego. When she didn’t reply or give him any platitudes, he knew that she understood why he had done it. He had no call to be insecure or fearful with her. It made him feel like a foolish child, that he was reacting like this to the thought of young, energetic, handsome Ralof fawning over his wife. It made it seem like he didn’t trust her, or Ralof. The boy had looked at Bryn like that because she was the Queen, and Dragonborn, and offered him a new lease on life, that was all. Bryn could have found a man like Ralof to marry if that was what she wanted, and instead she had chosen Ulfric. It was insulting to her that he was behaving like this, and he didn’t know how to stop.

“Help me out of my armor, beloved?” Ulfric lowered his eyes from hers and nodded, and she turned her back to him and held her arms out so he could unfasten the buckles. “You wouldn’t believe what Odahviing did the other day. He’s been following us for the last two weeks at a distance, off and on. I finally called him down to ask him what was going on, and he basically…said he was worried about me.” He grunted in surprise but said nothing else. “Rikke and I had to escort a vampire princess to an island northwest of Solitude, and he said even the _dov_ don’t go there because of all the vampires. There was some sort of…I don’t know what he was, a vampire king or something. I’ve never seen anything like it. So we’re in a bit of a mess, but I think with another sword at my back I’ll get it taken care of. We need to get the Dawnguard built up a bit more first; vampires were attacking when we got back.” She heard his breathing grow a bit uneven then he sighed quietly and pulled the cuirass over her head. “But back to Odahviing… Before he took off he was scratching at his belly and complaining that he had flown over an Orc hold and taken an arrow, and he actually let me cut it out and heal him. Then he rubbed his head against me and called me _briinahi,_ can you imagine?”

“Amazing.”

“I thought so. Poor Rikke though, I thought she was going to keel over. She handled everything else pretty well, but that just about sent her over the top.” Bryn bent over to slide off her boots and went on, “The worst part of the whole trip was when we first got to Riften a month ago. I wish I had known what was really going on there, or I would have gone there right away after the Moot. Maven’s slimy housecarl had abducted her daughter and had her chained up down in the Ratway.”

“Merciful Mara,” Ulfric muttered in horror, feeling a shudder go through him. The thought of it made him nauseous. It was a given what the beast had been doing to the girl down there. He knew all too well.

“He tried to pass it off as a Thalmor plot, with Anuriel’s help forging the note. It’s a good thing for her that she was gone when I got back here. I hope she ran all the way back to Valenwood, because she’s dead if Maven or I ever find her.”

“And this Maul is dead?”

“I slit his throat in front of Ingun, at her insistence.”

“Good.”

“Right after Maven became Jarl, Maul asked to marry Ingun, and Maven insulted him for it. And then I come along and kill everyone in the Thieves Guild, including what I found out was his brother. So he decided since he couldn’t really get back at me, he’d go after Maven instead. He took Ingun right before the Moot. The poor girl, I…I wish I had gotten there sooner.” She heard him take in a shuddering breath and let it out again as he turned away to sit in a chair. She gave him his privacy and still didn’t look at him, sliding off her pants and doublet. She could tell by his breathing though that he was stressed, and it broke her heart. “I was finally able to speak with Legate Fasendil. He did know my father, but only in passing. So there was little new information there.” Ulfric made a sound of acknowledgment. She found a clean washcloth and clean clothing, laying out the shift and dress on the bed then going to the table near Ulfric to pour water into a bowl to wash a bit. She and Rikke had stopped yesterday at the hunter’s camp in the volcanic tundra to sit in the hot springs for a while, so she didn’t feel too grimy. Better that she didn’t tell Ulfric; he wouldn’t take kindly to the thought of his wife sitting around in her underclothes with a bunch of strangers. Rikke hadn’t been all that agreeable either, until she had sunk into that hot water with a big smile on her face. Ulfric gently took Bryn’s arm and pulled her into his lap, and when she smiled at him he took the washcloth from her and began tenderly washing her face for her. He wore a troubled expression, as he often did. “I’m glad you’re all right,” she quietly said.

“Some disgruntled Reach Breton,” he muttered. “I Shouted her down and the guards disposed of her. It isn’t the first time, and won’t be the last.” He could have defended himself quite well with his axe, but she had used magic to attack him, out of his range, and the _thu’um_ was the best weapon he’d had at the time. She nodded and he brushed her hair out of the way to wash her neck. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and he kissed her shoulder and murmured against it, “I’m…sorry I reacted as I did.” She shook her head, and he went on, “I…all I could see was that expression on his face when he was looking up at you, with that…damned handsome face of his.”

“You may not believe this, but I’m not attracted to Ralof. At all.”

“How could you not be?”

“He reminds me of Farkas. He’s a blond Farkas. Definitely smarter, but still…” She shrugged and shook her head. “He just doesn’t have…whatever it is that drew me to you, and…Vilkas. And good grief, he’s so young. Like a big, eager puppy. No thank you.” She felt Ulfric relax the smallest bit as he continued washing her. She smirked at him and added, “Maybe I just like my men dark and tormented.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes, making her laugh. “I missed you,” she murmured. “Every day.”

“And I missed you,” he said quietly. He snorted and added, “I even missed Rikke.” He and Galmar had missed the sound of women’s voices and laughter in the house, and around the table at meals.

“Hm. Did Galmar?” Ulfric made a noncommittal sound and shrugged one shoulder, though she could tell it was a bit forced, as if he was trying not to smile. “All right, you boys can have your secrets, but I’m the Agent of Mara. I see all; I know all.” At that he laughed, and she shifted in his lap to put her arms around his neck, sinking one hand into his dark blond hair. “I love you, _kodaavi.”_

“And I love you, precious.” Bryn placed a soft kiss on his lips, and he had to resist the urge to turn it into something more, preferring to save it for bedtime. When he didn’t go any further Bryn sighed in frustration, and he had to stifle another surge of jealousy thinking that Ralof wouldn’t have hesitated. Ralof would have been able to do it on command, take a brief rest and do it ten minutes later, then again that night. He cursed his selfishness again in taking a young bride who would have been better off with someone like Ralof, who would follow her around like an adoring hound and put out as often as she wanted. He knew damn well that she didn’t get it as often as she wanted it. Even at nearly forty Vilkas had probably never had trouble. The man practically screamed virility.

Sensing Ulfric was getting into a mood, or maybe had never gotten out of the one he had been in, Bryn slid off his lap, and after giving him another kiss she went to the bed and pulled on a white cotton shift then a light blue wool dress, and as she was searching for a belt to go with it she glanced over and saw her husband still stewing, watching her with a gruff expression. She sighed and asked, “Do you want me to get rid of Ralof? I will.”

He made a sound of anger, angry at himself, and stood from the chair. “Absolutely not. Ignore me. My behavior is pathetic.” She began to fasten a belt of silver disks around her waist, shaking her head, and he said in a gruff tone, “Rikke and Galmar were right to choose him. The boy will do a good job. I know he doesn’t see you as I do.”

“You’re the only man who sees me that way, and that’s why I’m with you.” She pulled off the thick socks that went under her armored boots and pulled on hose, and when she heard a huffing sound from him she glanced up to see him watching her pull it up her legs with slightly dilated eyes. It was good to know he did want her. It was something they really never discussed, that aspect of his age. He simply didn’t have it in him to perform on command. Maybe he never had. She thought that when she was in Markarth she might stop by the Temple of Dibella and get some advice. Maybe even stop by the Hag’s Cure and see if Bothela would part with that recipe for the Stallion’s Potion. Now that could be interesting, if she could get Ulfric to drink it. That wouldn’t be a comfortable conversation at all, but the end results might be worth it.

Bryn pulled on some soft dress boots and saw him leaning against the side of their bed, looking at the mysterious bundle, and she held her hand out to him and asked, “Ready to go downstairs?” Ulfric laughed shortly, not playing along, and she laughed in turn and picked it up. “I found this…oh, how long ago? Maybe nine months ago, on one of my adventures in The Rift, I can’t remember where. Maybe Forelhost. I held onto it and tempered it, not knowing what to do with it, then we married and I realized who it was perfect for.” She held it out to him, and as he took it she said, “Happy birthday, beloved.”

Ulfric’s eyebrows rose, and he resisted the urge to gripe ungratefully about how much he hated that he was turning fifty tomorrow. Half a century old. It was appalling that he had lived this long. The object weighed about fifteen pounds and was two and a half feet wide by three feet long, and when he saw the glint of ebony emerge from the wrap he realized what it was. “Ah, Talos, look at that!” he breathed. Oengul was done with the set of ebony armor he had commissioned, but Ulfric hadn’t bought a shield to go with it. As he pulled off the rest of the wrapping he saw two engraved bears of Eastmarch facing each other on the upper part of the shield, making him suck in a sharp breath. He ran his hand over the bears and saw the shimmer of pale blue magic. “By Talos, Brynhilde, this is magnificent!"

“I enchanted it with magic resistance and fortified blocking. I finally figured out a way to force two enchantments at a time into objects. Like Rikke’s sword.”

“This…this is priceless,” Ulfric whispered. “There’s nothing else like it in the world. The Shield of Eastmarch, I’ll call it. To be passed down through our bloodline forevermore.” He pulled Bryn against him and kissed her tenderly, then he took her hand and gave it a tug. “Come, I want to show Galmar and the others.”

Bryn went along happily, glad that the gift had pulled Ulfric out of his sour mood. She loved all his depths and complexities, and to be fair he wasn’t often moody. Today had simply been a bad combination of dreading a landmark birthday and seeing Ralof’s youth and handsomeness on display, making him feel his age doubly. She would just have to make sure that she never gave Ulfric any cause to be jealous of Ralof. Ralof didn’t expect special treatment, so if she kept things completely professional between them it shouldn’t hurt his feelings any. If Ralof wanted to serve, then that was exactly what he was going to do. She couldn’t allow herself to care for him as she had Farkas, as a brother, just as she had never been able to bring herself to care for Rikke as she had Lydia. Now that she was High Queen she no longer had that luxury, and now that she knew Ulfric was envious of Ralof the last thing she wanted to do was rub her husband’s nose in it. Jealousy in a man was a sad and terrible thing as it was, without adding his past into the mix.


	39. Chapter 39

Vilkas nodded to Thorald and Avulstein Gray-Mane as the younger men headed up to the marketplace, on their way home from visiting their sister in Ivarstead. Whiterun was abuzz with the news that the younger members of the Gray-Mane and Battle-Born clans were trying to heal the rift between the families that the elders were still stubbornly clinging to. Olfina and Jon refused to return to Whiterun until their parents agreed to start behaving civilly to each other. Vilkas supposed they would have to, and quick, seeing as how Olfina was newly pregnant. He was sure it galled Fralia and Eorlund that their first grandchild would carry the name Battle-Born. He knew it galled Vignar. The old man never shut up about it.

He let himself into Breezehome, knowing he was expected for dinner, and stopped in surprise to see a big blond man squatted down by the fire warming his hands, and when the man launched to his feet and grabbed for the two-handed sword on his back he was so stunned he spun back out the door and pulled out his own sword, his heart hammering.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he heard Farkas quickly say. “It’s my brother.”

Taking deep breaths to slow his heart, Vilkas peeked around the door jamb to see the man sheathing his weapon. He kept his own out until he saw Farkas nod to him, and he let out a shaky breath and slid his sword onto his back. He looked the young man over, wondering who the hell he was. He was nearly as tall as the twins themselves, short by only a couple inches, and quite handsome, sporting a single braid in his bright blond hair. Then Vilkas realized with a stab of shock that the man was wearing dragonscale armor. The style was slightly different from Bryn’s, but he would recognize the stuff anywhere. Farkas came over and pulled him inside and shut the door against the chill, and he muttered to him, “What the hell is going on?”

“My apologies, Harbinger,” the man stated. “I am Ralof. The Queen’s Guard.”

Vilkas blinked as he felt a zing of anxiety go through him, and he realized with dread that he could hear the murmur of women’s voices upstairs: Lydia and Bryn, with Bryn’s voice rumbling softly. He licked his lips and looked past the fire, realizing another woman was sitting in one of the chairs, and recognized her as Rikke, though she was wearing steel plate armor instead of the fine clothing she had worn at the Moot. She nodded to him and he couldn’t respond to either of them, feeling like he had walked into an ambush. Bryn was here. She wasn’t supposed to be here. He should have been given some kind of warning!

Rikke stood, saying, “We won’t be staying long, Harbinger. Our lady wanted to stop by and see how Lydia was doing, while we fetch some items. We’re stopping up at Dragonsreach for supper then we’ll be on our way to Riverwood tonight.”

“Sure,” he whispered. He looked back at Ralof, confused, then he said in realization, “Ralof…you were at Helgen.”

“Aye,” Ralof said with a nod, pleased that the Harbinger remembered, and that Bryn had mentioned him back then. “I had the honor of getting our lady away from the block and into a tower, after Alduin’s attack. Best decision I ever made, that.” Rikke guffawed at that. He inclined his head to Vilkas and said, “It’s my honor to make your acquaintance, Harbinger.”

“Eh…likewise.”

Farkas said to Vilkas, “Bryn and Rikke ran into some trouble looking into the vampire problems. They needed to beef up the security.” Vilkas nodded. Farkas could see his twin was upset, caught off guard and dreading Bryn coming down. Well, it was bad timing, that was all. It wasn't as if anyone had gotten any warning. He nodded to Ralof and said, “Hey, show him your sword, Ralof.”

The young man pulled the greatsword off his back, saying to Vilkas, “You wield two-handed as well, I see.”

Vilkas nodded, and Farkas said, “Vilkas is the best two-handed swordsman in Skyrim, hands down.” Maybe the best swordsman period since Skjor died, but he wasn't going to feed his twin's ego.

“I don’t doubt it.”

Ralof held the sword out on the palms of his hands, and Vilkas hesitated then took it by the hilt, knowing Bryn had crafted it. It was made of dragon bone and ebony, wickedly beautiful, and the blade swirled with green and purple magics. He gave it a few swings, unable to help whistling at how perfectly balanced it was. He held it up and ran the flat of his hand along the blade, asking in disbelief, “Are there really two enchantments on it?” Gods, what he wouldn’t give for a sword like this! The Companions for the most part frowned upon using enchanted armor and weapons, preferring to rely on their skill, but no one said the sword had to be enchanted. Well, he would never have a sword like this, and that was that. There was no way in hell he would let Bryn make a sword for him. The bracelet was reminder enough to live with.

Rikke said, “Our lady Queen figured out the trick to double enchanting. I was there when she did.” She patted the sword at her side. “Elf-Slayer, _Fahliil-Kriid._ Ralof carries its brother, _Fahliil-Maar_ , Elf-Terror. There are no two finer swords in all of Tamriel.”

Vilkas nodded, not doubting it, feeling his heart ache as he handed the sword back to Ralof. He didn’t doubt that the Dominion would one day grow to dread the sight of those swords coming at them. “It is a truly fine weapon,” he said with complete honesty. Ralof smiled at him and sheathed the sword, and Vilkas couldn’t help admiring the young warrior and feeling a little envious. It had to be a dream come true for Ralof to be appointed as the Queen’s Guard and personally outfitted by the Queen herself. He probably woke up every morning not believing his incredible luck. Vilkas wondered if Bryn ever woke up in camp and looked at Ralof’s face and compared it to Ulfric’s. Supposedly her husband had just turned fifty last week, and the young man here couldn’t be a day older than Bryn. Well, compared to Ralof, even Vilkas couldn’t help feeling his age. He had found his first silver hair about a month ago. Right about when Bryn had married Ulfric. He had to wonder how Ulfric felt about someone young and handsome accompanying his wife all over Skyrim. Vilkas wouldn’t have appreciated it.

“Excuse me,” Rikke said, and when Vilkas nodded she went upstairs.

He blew out a long breath and went to sit in one of the chairs, hearing feminine murmurs upstairs, then complete silence, and as he stared at the fire he heard the chest lid shut and the creak of floorboards as the three women came back down. Rikke came down first, then Lydia, and when he saw dragonscale boots in his peripheral vision he swallowed and rose to his feet, realizing it was expected of him. She was the High Queen after all. He kept his eyes on the fire and bowed slightly to her, hearing her sigh tiredly in response.

“Oh Vilkas… Is that really necessary?” she asked sadly. He nodded, still not looking at her, his expression tense. It bothered her deeply that he couldn’t even tolerate looking at her yet. She made a sound of hurt and annoyance then looked at Ralof, who was staring at Vilkas with a calculating expression. It had become apparent over the last week that he was certainly no intellectual slouch. Ralof felt her attention and met her eyes, and she held up the two masks in her hands and said, “Krosis and Vokun.”

He asked, “What do we have left, my lady?”

“Otar and Hevnoraak, in Markarth, then we’ll have all eight. We can stop in Labyrinthian on our way back to Fort Dawnguard.”

Lydia asked her with dread, “So you’re really going to do it? Go back to that sculpture and see what it does with the masks?”

“There’s a reason why the wooden mask took me back there. Something will happen when I place all eight on their busts.”

“Nothing good, I’m sure!” Bryn laughed, and she said, “I swear sometimes you have a death wish!”

“No, not anymore.” She saw Vilkas’ jaw clench, and she threw the masks to Rikke who deftly caught them and stowed them in her pack. It took all Bryn's willpower not to grumble at Vilkas’ behavior. He was the one who had made things this way, not her. He had no right to still act like this. Everything would have been different if he had just answered her letter. Looking at him now made it impossible not to have everything they shared come rushing back at her. He was too damn handsome for his own good, with the firelight on his face like that, lighting up those pale gray eyes. The firelight made her remember their first time together, and it made her heart ache. She tore her gaze away from him to see Ralof now watching her with the same expression he had been watching Vilkas with, and when she raised an eyebrow at him the blonde blinked and looked away, his cheeks turning pink. Bryn stifled a surge of annoyance and went to Lydia and Farkas, giving them hugs and kisses then taking her leave. She couldn’t get out of Breezehome soon enough, feeling Vilkas’ gaze nearly burning holes in her back.  
-  
Crouched behind an outcropping of rocks, Ralof whispered, “Now this is a place I never imagined coming back to.” He could see the damaged towers and burnt rooftops of Helgen above the town walls. On either side of the gate were pikes, gruesomely decorated with burnt bodies and skulls. The memories this place held sent shivers up his spine. When they had reached Riverwood so he could visit with his family and the Queen had said they were heading for Helgen next, he had nearly asked her if she was out of her mind. He was fairly certain the question would get him punched in the jaw by Rikke. That woman took not one ounce of crap from anyone, including Ulfric and Galmar.

“I’ve been back here several times,” Bryn stated, “and each time it’s infested with bandits again.”

Rikke said, “This is unacceptable, my Queen. The town needs to be rebuilt. It’s too close to the Pale Pass.”

“Yes, I’ve often thought the same thing. It’s in too strategic a position to be wasted. I’ll have to talk to some people about this.” She looked at the two of them and asked, “Ready?” They nodded, and Bryn began creeping up on the gates, the two following close behind. She picked the lock on the gate and between the three of them they quickly swept through the remains of the town and dispatched half a dozen bandits. Too easy, though Ralof seemed happy to finally get to use his new sword on something.

Ralof stood staring down at the headsman’s block, and as Rikke and Bryn came up on either side of him he sighed sadly and looked up at the tower. “I think I’m going to have nightmares tonight, my lady,” he told Bryn.

“I’ll have them with you,” she replied quietly, putting her hand on his back. “To think I had my head right on the block and the axe was going up…” She patted him and said, “And then you were pulling me to my feet and we were running after Ulfric into that tower right over there.”

“Aye.”

Rikke turned with them to look at the broken tower, a sorrowful look on her face, and Bryn said to the older woman, “I was still dazed from my cousin bashing me in the head. I didn’t get the chance to heal myself until Hadvar freed my hands. But I remember Ulfric’s voice, that first time I heard it: ‘Legends don’t burn down villages.’” Ralof laughed sadly and nodded in remembrance. “Funny, I don’t think he even saw me then. To think I was standing there looking at the man who would one day be my husband. What a…strange path we’ve gone down. And he finds it every bit as strange as I do.” They’d spent many a night of pillow talk on the subject, during that first month together. She blew out a long breath and said, “Well, our job here is done. We’re off to rebuild the Dawnguard.” They made sounds of assent, and she caught Ralof’s arm. He looked at her curiously and she smiled at him and said, “As long as you’re with me, I feel like I have a little bit of Ulfric here.”

“I’m glad, my lady,” he said with pride. She let go of him, and as they made their way through the western wall he felt his heart swell. Helgen was the first real action he had seen since joining her service, but it only intensified the reverence he held her in. She was a more than fitting wife for the great Ulfric Stormcloak. What he had witnessed in Whiterun troubled him though, and he still wasn’t sure what to say about it to Ulfric, if anything. Ulfric would want to know that his wife and her former lover still had feelings for each other. But Ralof also didn’t want to be the source of strife in their marriage, because he knew the Queen would never be unfaithful to Ulfric. She was a good person, an ethical person, and her willingness to stop in Riverwood for the night so he could visit with his family meant everything to him. They had been so proud of him they were just about bursting.

As they headed to the area where Gunmar would supposedly be found, Bryn turned over the matter of Helgen in her head, determined to talk to Ulfric about it, and Tullius. It had been an Imperial-held outpost, close to the border of Cyrodiil, but the 4th Legion here hadn’t seen fit to rebuild it or keep it cleaned out, so she considered it fair game. She thought she might keep the block there though. And maybe the broken tower she had escaped out of, and Ulfric had made his getaway from. Yes, those definitely needed to stay.  
-  
Rikke turned away from the Riften carriage driver and said sourly, “Dragon Bridge? Are you shitting me?” She was glad they had decided to leave the vampire girl Serana at Fort Dawnguard, because she’d be damned if they traipsed all the way back across the country moving only at night. Serana could move during the day, but she complained the entire time and moved more slowly, which was just as bad. And the notion of walking around in the open with an Elder Scroll just poking out of her pack was appalling, and the creature didn’t even seem to realize it. No, better she stayed at the Fort.

Ralof clapped his hands then rubbed them together and said, “I guess we’d better get going then, eh?” Rikke slowly turned to look at him, her expression telling him she was one step away from smacking him, making him grin and wink at her. Ralof had had the time of his life on the road, battling the vampire assassins that had been sent after them, endless bandits, even a couple rogue dragons. He couldn’t wait to get back to Windhelm and tell Ulfric and Galmar about that! The Queen had taken their souls, just like the legends said, and one dragon she had finished by jumping on its head and plunging her sword into the top of its skull, then she had stood on it and shouted " _ZU’U LOS DOVAHKRIID!_ " The sound had echoed around them in claps of thunder that had brought him to his knees, almost in tears, completely awed, and he had distantly heard the answering calls of other dragons. He would follow her to Oblivion and back, and everywhere in between. He couldn’t wait to see what they were going to do next, but Rikke didn’t seem particularly thrilled. But then Rikke was getting up there in years. She was a tough old broad, but he could tell all this running around was draining on her.

Bryn looked at Rikke in concern, saying, “Maybe we could stay in Riften tonight. We need to dump off these dragon parts anyway, and I wanted to craft some potions. We’re getting a bit low.” They all drank a potion for curing disease after fighting vampires, even if they didn’t think they had been infected, just as a precaution. Rikke seemed relieved by the suggestion to stay in town, and as they entered the city Bryn couldn’t help worrying a bit about her. The pace they kept up was a bit punishing, and from the start Rikke hadn’t found adventuring her cup of tea, but she had been a good sport, and a great help. She was a solid warrior, an excellent strategist, and was stringent about enforcing Bryn’s position as High Queen everywhere they traveled. It seemed the traveling was getting to her though. No matter how fit Rikke had become, she wasn’t young. Sleeping in bedrolls every night and running and fighting every day were taking their toll. Bryn had come to enjoy life on the road, now that the problems with Vilkas were no longer swirling around constantly in her mind, though since seeing him in Whiterun she had kept thinking about him, and had some dreams about him, a few of them rather erotic, and she had woken up certain that she had been talking or moaning in her sleep, mortified, but Rikke and Ralof had still slept soundly, seeming unaware, to her vast relief. That was the last thing she needed Ulfric to hear about. She wanted to believe that Ralof’s first loyalty was to her, but it was too early to tell yet.

This time when they entered Riften, the city no longer smelled like rank, stagnant water, and Bryn saw that some long-needed repairs had been done. Well then, she would spare Maven another visit. They took a hard right to avoid going through the city and went directly to Honeyside. Bryn was pleased to see that Iona had added a few chickens to the garden and added a little fence to keep them in. She sighed happily and went to the door and knocked before letting herself in, and after greeting Iona she saw her housecarl’s eyes light up at the sight of Ralof, who flashed his most charming grin at her, making her let out a titter the likes of which Bryn had never heard from her before. She hadn’t thought Iona capable of tittering. The last time they had come to Riften Iona had obviously found him attractive, but Ralof had been too starry-eyed still about becoming the Queen’s Guard and getting dragon armor that he hadn’t even seemed to notice. Well, he was noticing now, and it made Bryn glad that Iona’s room was downstairs and had a solid door. She was sure Ralof was missing female company with the pace they had kept, and Iona could handle herself. What Ralof did during his off time was his own business, as long as he was ready to go in the morning.  
-  
A grumble and the shake of the bed next to her woke Rikke from a sound sleep, and when she saw her Queen going out the back door she rolled out of bed, grabbing her sword and going after her. When she was nearly to the door she heard the banging of a headboard against a wall downstairs and moans of pleasure, and she snorted a laugh and followed Bryn outside.

“Dibella’s sake,” Bryn whispered in irritation. “It’s the second time already!”

“Ah, kids,” Rikke said, amused. “I didn’t hear a thing. Sleep like a log after thirty-five years in the Legion. You learn to block it out early on.”

“I can’t block it out. It’s…ugh.” It had her aroused as hell, and there was nothing she could do about it, or rather nothing she would be immoral enough to do about it. It was going to make it impossible to look Ralof in the eye tomorrow. Bryn hadn’t been to sleep at all yet, unable to once Ralof and Iona had gone downstairs under the pretext of looking at Bryn’s armory. Like anyone was going to believe that! They’d started in within fifteen minutes, Rikke already passed out by then. From all the banging and moaning and muffled screams it sounded like Ralof was a sabre cat in bed. Just like Vilkas had been.

“Well, you’re young too.”

“Yes, unfortunately I am.” The bitter statement shocked Rikke, and Bryn muttered, “Forget I said that. I’m…just being morose.” She heard Rikke make a sound like she didn’t quite believe that. Bryn said nothing, not about to air her frustrations to her chamberlain. She would have in a heartbeat to Lydia, but then Vilkas was part of the problem and Lydia was around her brother-in-law constantly. Oh Vilkas, Bryn thought with grief. She had been missing him terribly lately; ever since seeing him at Breezehome he had been heavily on her mind, seeing the heartrending expression on his face over and over again as he stared at the fire, refusing to look at her, as if it was too painful to do so. He was still hurting, so why, _why_ hadn’t he answered her letter? Why had he told Ulfric to marry her? If he still loved her, why had he let her go so easily? It made her wish she had followed Dinya’s advice and gone to Whiterun and talked to Vilkas directly, after Sovngarde. Maybe seeing her face-to-face really would have made a difference, if Vilkas still loved her so much that he was still upset months later. Well, she still loved him too.

Rikke finally said, “You’re young, and Ulfric is not.” Bryn made a sound of embarrassment and leaned on the railing overlooking Lake Honrich. Rikke hadn’t missed Bryn’s anxiety before her visit to the Temple of Dibella while they were in Markarth, under the pretext of visiting the young Sybil to see how she was doing. Well, if that had been Bryn’s entire purpose she wouldn’t have asked Rikke to wait outside. She’d also asked Rikke to wait outside the Hag’s Cure, which had been highly unusual. It wasn’t hard to put together that Ulfric wasn’t quite meeting Bryn’s needs, which Rikke found hard to believe from the noise coming down from the marital chambers every night during their recent stay, and a few mornings as well. Rikke leaned next to her and asked, “Are you sure that’s all it’s about?” Bryn grumbled, and she went on, “I assure you, my _only_ loyalty is to you, my lady, not my first. And I have eyes in my head, and ears. And unfortunately, so does Ralof.”

“What do you mean?” she asked in a whisper of anxiety.

“You talk in your sleep sometimes. You always have, but for the first few nights after we left Whiterun it was worse. Ralof asked me the other day if I knew what _grohiiki_ meant.” She heard Bryn’s breathing stop short. “He couldn’t understand most of what you said, but that word was the one he said he kept hearing. I told him I had no idea, that it sounded like dragon language, and that if he really wanted to know he should ask you. He seemed too embarrassed to do so, for some reason.” Probably because he had heard Bryn moaning it, as Rikke had.

Bryn bit her lip, feeling her heart hammering, then she whispered, “Do you think he’ll ask Ulfric?”

“He’d better not, or he’s risking losing his position. His first loyalty is supposed to be to you. He isn’t here to be a spy for Ulfric.” When she heard Bryn swallow she asked, “Would you like me to have a talk with him in the morning, my lady?” She saw Bryn nod. “What would you like me to tell him?”

“The truth. That _grohiiki_ means my wolf,” she said painfully. “Ulfric is _kodaavi_ to me, my bear, but… Vilkas…Vilkas was my wolf, and I can’t help what I dream about. Ulfric is my husband and I love him. He means everything to me. I would never willingly hurt him. I would never be unfaithful to him.”

Rikke put her hand on Bryn’s shoulder and gently said, “He knows that, my lady. And he knows how you love him. Anyone can see it when you look at him.”

“Yes, but…” She made a sound of frustration. “You can’t imagine what it was like with Vilkas. It was…it was so…intense. He was so fiery, so fierce. Everything he did, no matter how minor, he did it full out. He had so much energy that when he wasn’t actively doing something he seemed ready to burst. He couldn’t just stand still; he was always pacing. Always thinking.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat. “Mjoll told me he had ruined me for anyone else. That isn’t true at all, but…I can’t help thinking about him sometimes when Ulfric isn’t around.” Ulfric was a wonderful lover and had put a great deal of effort into becoming one; he simply didn't have the experience Vilkas did, or the sensual nature Vilkas did. Ulfric kept her adequately satisfied, but he had never taken her to the dizzy heights of pleasure Vilkas had. He just didn't have it in him, and she didn't think it had anything at all to do with his past; it was just him.

“And yet when Ulfric is around…” Bryn nodded, looking at her wedding band then twisting it around her finger. Rikke gave the girl’s shoulder a squeeze then let go. “I think considering his age, Ulfric is doing pretty well for himself. And considering…other things.”

Bryn said in a guilty tone, “I wasn’t very circumspect about that, was I.”

“Only because I already knew some of what had happened. It won’t change how I behave toward him, and I will never let on to a soul, I swear it.” She sighed, “It breaks my heart, truly. That sort of thing would have been hard on any man, but…he was so, well, not shy exactly. Serious, I suppose. All those years with the Greybeards, I’m sure, because his father certainly wasn’t like that. Fjonnar was a big, gregarious man, popular with the ladies, but Ulfric was quiet, thoughtful. He hardly ever fooled around in camp like the rest of us youngsters did. It didn’t seem to bother or embarrass him at all, it just…didn’t seem to have much effect on him. Those… _monsters_ probably couldn’t have picked a worse target to inflict that kind of abuse on. It’s a testament to his love for you, and his trust in you, that he’s made the effort he has.”

Bryn whispered, “You’re right. Of course you’re right. Oh Ulfric.” He did make love to her as much as she had any right to expect, just as the priestesses of Dibella had told her, and it was always wonderful. It was just like her to never be completely satisfied with what she had. Well, she was just going to let the matter drop and focus on her marriage and try to put Vilkas out of mind. Ulfric was very good in bed, and it wasn’t as if his libido ever completely failed him. Bothela had admitted to her that the Stallion Potion was simply one that enhanced stamina for a few minutes, nothing special. Ulfric didn’t need that. She supposed he really didn’t need anything, other than an understanding wife.

She and Rikke were sitting at the table out on the balcony half an hour later, sharing a bottle of mead, when they finally heard the creak of feet on the floorboards. Ralof came out with his sword in his hand, looking worried, wearing only a pair of pants, and Rikke quietly clapped her hands and smirked at him. “Quite the performance, lad,” Rikke stated.

Letting the sword drop, Ralof grimaced and muttered, “Ah gods, were we that loud?”

“You could say that. I really liked that ‘Ah, sweet Divines, yes, yes!’ at the end.”

Ralof looked at the Queen, who couldn’t meet his eyes, but he could see even in the moonlight she was blushing deeply. He felt like smacking himself. Galmar had warned him that their lady had somewhat delicate sensibilities in that area because of her upbringing and to be circumspect about his modesty and his bedroom matters on the road, but he had thought no one would hear them downstairs with the door closed, and frankly once he got going all sense flew out the window. He bowed deeply, embarrassed, and said, “I’m so sorry, my lady. I was indiscreet. I should have thought.”

Unable to look at him, Bryn said with difficulty, “Well maybe I shouldn’t be so prude. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Maybe not wrong, but stupid.” She shook her head then glanced up at him, and when she quickly looked him over then just as quickly looked away he didn’t know what to do. He glanced at Rikke, who made a small shooing motion under the table, and he cleared his throat and said, “Well then, I will…ah, go to sleep, my lady. If you don’t need anything.” Bryn shook her head, and he rubbed the back of his neck then wandered back inside, feeling like an ass. 

He laid out his bedroll in the nice, warm kitchen area and crawled inside, and next thing he knew it was morning and the clinking of the pot over the fire nearby was waking him. He stretched and looked over, seeing Rikke stirring something and smelling porridge, and when she smiled at him he knew he wasn’t in trouble. He sat up, running his fingers through his hair, and when it caught on his braid he winced and starting undoing it. He leaned sideways to look into the main bedroom, but the Queen wasn’t in there, and it was silent downstairs.

“Our lady and Iona went to the marketplace for a bit,” Rikke stated. “She had some items she wanted to sell and some things to take to the children at the Orphanage.” Ralof looked relieved. “Don’t beat yourself up about last night. Our lady can be…hm, funny I guess, about that sort of thing. Sometimes she’ll crack a joke or say something that leads you to believe she’s just like any other Nord, but most of the time she’s a bit reserved in regards to sex.”

“But…” He trailed off, and when Rikke motioned for him to go on he said quietly, “I heard her with the Jarl. Every night. Everyone in our hall can.” From the amount and kind of noise she made it was obvious she didn’t have any inhibitions in bed. Ulfric had never been known for the frequency or length of his love affairs either, so Ralof had been pretty impressed with his nightly performances, and a few morning ones as well. He wasn’t exactly a young man, either. Bryn was young and pretty though, and no doubt Ulfric thanked his lucky stars every night for such a wife, though she wasn't really Ralof's mug of mead. He liked his women unable to break him into pieces and breathe fire. Well, it was just a testament to what a great man Ulfric was that he had landed a Dragonborn wife and managed her so well.

“I’m not sure our lady realizes that.”

“Ee-ooh,” he said with a grimace. “All right then.”

“She and Ulfric are still newlyweds, and unfortunately haven’t been able to spend much time together yet, so when she heard you and Iona going at it she was a bit…frustrated, shall we say.”

“Ah shit.” He felt his face growing warm, something he wasn’t exactly used to.

“She’s also been a bit upset since we visited Whiterun. About Vilkas.” Ralof frowned, his expression shifting to one that Rikke had trouble placing. Guarded, certainly. She knew quite well that his heart still belonged first and foremost to Ulfric, and that he felt his duty was to guard Ulfric’s wife, no matter the vow he had taken to the High Queen personally. Rikke hadn’t missed his measuring gaze as he’d looked between Vilkas and Bryn; no doubt Ralof worried that their lingering feelings for each other could someday spell trouble for Ulfric. Rikke pulled a chair over to the fire and sat down to keep an eye on breakfast, saying, “I’m going to tell it to you straight, son, because our lady said I could. She and Vilkas still love each other. Ulfric knows this and told her that he knows it, the night of the Moot. Ulfric talked to Vilkas and the two worked it out between them, man-to-man. Vilkas gave their marriage his blessing.”

Dismayed, Ralof asked, “Why would he do that when he obviously still loves her? You saw the man, he couldn’t even bear to look at her!” Even through his dismay he felt a huge wave of relief that Rikke had told him this before they returned to Windhelm. He would have made himself look like a fool, a tattle-tale, for running to Ulfric with the news that the Queen and Vilkas still cared for each other. It made him feel like a child for even considering it.

“Because he wants what’s best for our lady, and he knows it isn’t him. So does the Queen. But that doesn’t make the feelings go away. Time’s the only thing that can do that.” Ralof nodded, though Rikke doubted that at his age he knew a whole hell of a lot about real love. Even Rikke had fallen in love from time to time in the past, and her affairs would put Ralof's to shame. “ _Grohiiki_ …it means my wolf in the dragon tongue.”

“Ah. I see.” The Circle had always worn wolf armor, until for some reason they decided to put the tradition aside after Kodlak Whitemane’s death.

“She was mortified when she found out you had heard that. She knows she mumbles in her sleep sometimes. She’s never slept well, not even as a child, and since coming to Skyrim it’s been worse, for reasons that go without saying. Our Queen is an incredibly strong woman, in many ways, but every so often she gets tired, or lonely, or afraid. She never fears for herself, but she fears for Ulfric, and the people she has come to care about. You and I must do what we can to make things easier on her. She bears incredible burdens. Think of her as she was when she first woke up in that wagon with you, and then think about what she is now, what she’s been through in such a short period of time. It would break any normal person.”

Ralof nodded and murmured, “Yes ma’am.”

“You’re a good kid, Ralof. I mean that.” He smiled brightly at her, and she chuckled to herself and gave the porridge a stir. He was a pretty one, that was for certain. She would have taken him for a tumble herself if she were about ten years younger. Which she was not. Rikke sighed and said tiredly, “I wonder how much more of this vampire business we’re in for. I have to admit that I didn’t think it would take this long, or involve this much running about.”

He shrugged, unconcerned, and stood to get dressed. “Who knows? However long it takes, I suppose.” He nudged her as he passed and said with a grin, “What’s the matter, not having fun anymore?”

“Between you and me, it hasn’t been what I would call fun from the start. Interesting, sure. I’ve seen things in the last month I never would’ve guessed I would live to see, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything, or being in the Queen’s service. But as you may have noticed, I’m not a young girl.”

“Ah, come on Rikke, you could have fooled me.” She laughed at his flirty comment, making him chuckle. He wasn’t entirely joking; he could tell she had been quite lovely when she was young, and she was still an attractive woman. It was fairly obvious that Galmar had a thing for her, and obvious that she was studiously ignoring that fact. Ralof thought they would make a nice couple, or at least a convenient one. He wasn’t really sure what Rikke had against the arrangement, since the two seemed to get along well enough, other than her Imperial pride and refusal to take up with a former Stormcloak. One who had been the top Stormcloak officer. The Stormcloak general. For all her talk about healing Skyrim, Rikke sure liked to cling to the past. It was as if she expected only the Stormcloaks to be the ones to give.

She said, “I think I do well enough for myself, but…” She sighed heavily. She was dreading hitting the road again. She blessed Bryn’s heart for stopping here overnight, but the thought of going all the way across the country again made her want to cry. When she had asked to serve Bryn she hadn’t imagined she would be running back and forth across Skryim like this. It made her feel like a weakling for it.

Ralof pulled on his shirt and said, “So get another warrior to take your place, and stay in Windhelm answering the Queen’s letters and fending off her visitors. Jorleif seemed a bit stressed, from what I could tell. This isn’t what you signed up for, and our lady knows that. That’s why she suggested staying here last night instead of pushing on.” Rikke sighed again, and he went on, “The Queen would probably feel better knowing she has someone in Windhelm looking after her interests. Ulfric’s court has its own work to do.”

“Hm. Cute _and_ smart.” He laughed, blushing. She got up to find some bowls and stretched. “Let me think about it until we return to Windhelm, or something else comes up.” She had the feeling things were going to get nastier once they found the moth priest, and the Queen would be better served by another young, strong warrior in Rikke’s place. She just wasn’t cut out for this, not at her age, and the life of a Legionnaire wasn’t an easy one, so it had definitely taken its toll on her body. She felt a certain pride in how she had kept up so far with the youngsters, but she didn’t think she would be able to keep up much longer, and once she was unable to keep up she would become a liability. She had no illusions about that.

Since they were heading to Dragon Bridge, Rikke thought she might suggest they head up to Solitude once they found the priest. Tullius hadn’t been in town when they last visited, so she wanted to visit with him, and if she was going to find a replacement she was not going to let it be another former Stormcloak, no matter how well Ralof had worked out so far. It would have to be a Nord, of course, and with the young, handsome Ralof always about it would be better if it were another male so the two guards could keep their minds on the task of looking after the Queen. Not that a same-gender pair was immune to fooling around, but she hadn’t noticed that Ralof went that way.

_Hadvar,_ she thought suddenly, nearly saying the name out loud. Yes, Hadvar would do nicely, if he could be convinced to resign his commission with the Legion, and if Tullius could be convinced to let him go. Bryn still spoke very fondly of the young man, a year and a half later, and he had a strong record as a soldier and captain. Rikke knew there had been tension between Hadvar and Ralof, who had been childhood friends but had ended up on opposite sides of the war. Well, they would put it behind them and behave themselves, for the Queen’s sake. If Rikke could learn to get along with Galmar and Ulfric, and vice versa, anything was possible.


	40. Chapter 40

“Ambushed by vampires,” Dexion Evicus said thoughtfully as they entered the gates of Solitude. “I certainly wasn’t expecting that.”

“No one ever does,” Rikke replied in a tired tone.

He looked at Bryn and asked again, “And you’re truly the High Queen of Skyrim?”

“Yes, I am,” Bryn stated, trying not to sound testy. “Why, do I not look queenly enough?”

“Oh! Well…I can’t say that I know what a Queen should look like,” he said, sensing her irritation. “I had heard there was a Queen here now, but…well, I’m used to the Emperor. The finery and dozens of retainers and all that.”

“I can’t exactly fight vampires in finery!”

“Yes, I’m sure things are done differently up here. In ah, Skyrim.” He saw the guards and all the nearby citizens bow deeply to Bryn as they entered the city, murmuring greetings to her, and he said in dismay, “Oh my. I ah…I apologize Queen Brynhilde. I’m ever so grateful for your help, you realize--”

“Yes, yes,” she sighed. She turned to Ralof and asked, “Could you take him to the house, please? Rikke and I are going to see Tullius. And don’t let him out of your sight.”

“Yes my lady,” he murmured. Bryn had been irritated for several miles now, with the priest’s chattering and cluelessness. Ralof had expected a certain amount of oddness out of the fellow, but it hadn’t bothered him much. The Queen however hadn’t particularly enjoyed being treated like some common mercenary, Dexion not taking anyone’s word that she was the ruler of Skyrim seriously until just now. Even her Shouting at a pack of wolves to calm them on the way here hadn’t seemed to convince him.

They parted ways at the market, and as they walked up the ramp Bryn let out a calming breath. It was a bit ridiculous to let the old man get to her. She glanced at Rikke and saw a wistful expression on her face as she looked up at Castle Dour. “Miss it?”

“Oh, not really. Not the Castle, anyway. Legion life, a bit. The order, the routine,” Rikke answered.

“Speaking of that, I’ve been thinking about things. Since Riften.”

“Ah. Actually my lady, so have I. And Ralof.”

“Really,” Bryn said in surprise, stopping up by the fletcher’s shop.

Rikke frowned and stated in a tone of defeat, “I’ve said this before, too many times it seems…I’m not young. I’m so sorry, but…I’m not cut out for this, my Queen. I’m exhausted.” There was a reason most Legionnaires retired in their early fifties. The fighting started really catching up with you by that point. Well this wasn’t just fighting. It was fighting, walking, running, sleeping on the ground in a bedroll, and not eating regular hot meals. Even war was more comfortable than this! In the Legion there were supply lines and support staff to keep everyone fed and see to at last a minimum level of comfort.

“Oh Rikke,” she sighed. “I wish you had said something sooner.”

“I didn’t realize this quest would take so long.”

“Frankly neither did I. I expected to find the source of the problem, kill it, and go home.” She folded her arms and repeated, “Home. That’s what I’ve been thinking about. I have no one back there taking care of things. _My_ things. Jorleif tries but it isn’t his job. He has his hands full with Windhelm business, Eastmarch business. I can tell all this running around isn’t agreeing with you. If we can find someone to take your place out here so you can take care of my affairs in Windhelm, I think it would be easier on everyone.”

Rikke nodded, letting out a sigh of relief, though she couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty. “Thank you, my Queen. I’m sorry, but…”

“No. No sorries,” she said firmly, putting her arm through Rikke’s as they began walking toward the castle again. “I’ve noticed it’s been hard, and unfortunately it isn’t going to get any easier.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, and frankly… It isn’t that I don’t trust Jorleif, or Ulfric. But if you’ve already gotten that many letters and visitors, someone needs to be there to see to the bigger picture.”

“Exactly. Until I get rid of the vampires I won’t have the time to work on bringing the country back together, or forming any kind of court. I want Helgen rebuilt. I want trade flowing freely through the passes again. I don’t feel good about how long I’ve already spent on vampires when I’m supposed to be holding court and resolving disputes. If know you’re in Windhelm holding things together until I’m done I’ll rest easier.”

“Yes my lady.” By the Divines, she was relieved. The thought of sleeping in a warm, soft bed every night and being out of the weather made her weak in the knees. The thought however of being around Galmar every day wasn’t quite so wonderful. And he was always around.

“All I ask is that if the matter is something that involves former Stormcloaks that you think might cause controversy…please ask Ulfric or Galmar’s point of view, as I would.”

“Of course, my Queen.”

“Good, it’s settled then. We’ll keep our eyes out for a partner for Ralof. A _male_ partner.” Rikke laughed at that. Poor Ralof had been so embarrassed the morning after his rendezvous with Iona that he could hardly look Bryn in the eye, while Iona had seemed blissfully unaware of Bryn’s discomfort the previous night. Bryn would miss female companionship on the road, but she didn’t want Rikke’s replacement and Ralof constantly making eyes at each other and not focusing on the job at hand. She just hoped Ulfric didn’t get upset about his wife traveling about with two young men. He had seemed to ease up a bit while she was home, and had seemed fine when she left, but Rikke had been with her then. She thought she might write him a letter tonight then send it off by courier in the morning when they left Solitude to return to Fort Dawnguard, but she hadn’t decided yet whether to tell him she was changing her guard. She didn’t know whether to warn him in advance but risk him stewing over it while she was away, or springing it on him when she got home. Neither option was entirely palatable.

They entered Castle Dour without any challenge from the guards, both Imperials who bowed slightly to her as she passed. The castle was a hive of activity, but all went quiet as Bryn passed, soldiers moving out of her way with polite bows or inclinations of the head. She acted as if everything were normal, Rikke following in her wake silently. The soldiers here all seemed to be high-ranking, and their silence was a bit eerie. She found Tullius in the war room, talking to Commander Maro, who smiled broadly as she approached, his son at his back. “Commander Maro,” she said with pleasure. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“And you, Queen Brynhilde,” he said with a bow. It was interesting hearing the soft thunder in her voice when she spoke. He had heard about it but had thought it an exaggeration. It certainly wasn’t. He should have known that no rumors about her were ever exaggerated. And the eyes! Spooky as hell, but wondrous.

“We passed through Dragon Bridge this morning. I wondered why you weren’t there.” She looked at Tullius and inclined her head to him. “General Tullius.”

“Queen Brynhilde,” Tullius replied politely, giving her a small bow. She smiled slyly, no doubt pleased to be bowed to by him. He put his hands behind his back and said, “As you’re no doubt aware, Commander Maro is responsible for the Emperor’s security here in Skyrim. The Emperor had planned to attend his cousin Vittoria’s wedding, however the situation here being what it was, that was not possible. The situation here has stabilized, for now—“

“For now?” Bryn asked in a tone of mock curiosity as she folded her arms. “What would destabilize it, pray tell?”

“We have reports of bands of Stormcloak soldiers who are not following orders to return home.”

“How would bands of rogue soldiers destabilize Skyrim any more than bands of bandits? How many people are we talking about?”

“Altogether…hard to say. A couple hundred at most. However that isn’t an inconsequential number.”

“Yes it is. The type of people who would resist orders to disband and would disobey Ulfric and his commanders are the type of people who are unlikely to organize into large enough groups to put up any kind of resistance.” Tullius and Maro looked at each other but didn’t argue her opinion. “The last time I was in Windhelm, Ulfric and Galmar were meeting with the commanders and going through the last stages of completely disassembling the Stormcloak forces. Most have gone home. Some have either tried and gotten resistance, or fear going home out of worry they’ll be persecuted. I gave the commanders my…strong feelings about that. I told the commanders as I was leaving that if I run into any renegades who refuse to disband that I will destroy them.” Tullius nodded slowly, his hands still behind his back. “Give it another month or two, long enough for me to finish up with the vampires. If you’re still getting reports when I’m done, I’ll get up on Odahviing and scout out the stragglers. I think wiping out a few groups and letting word of it get out will be quite a strong incentive for the others to fall into line. The ones who don’t are deciding to become bandits.”

“All right then,” he said in a satisfied voice. He nodded to Rikke and said, “You look well, Rikke.”

Rikke smiled briefly at him and replied, “Thank you, General. So do you.”

Bryn added, “Yes, you look a bit more…relaxed.” He stared at her, and when she blinked and smiled innocently at him he pursed his lips and grunted. She very much doubted he had struck up any kind of romance with Elisif, or ever would, but it was fun to needle him about it.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Tullius went on, “now that the situation in Skryim is stabilizing, the Emperor has indicated an interest in visiting the province. In particular, he would like to meet you, Queen Brynhilde.” Bryn gazed at him, waiting, her eyes getting that intensity to them that so many found unsettling. Well, he did too, but he wasn’t going to let on. That she was getting that look in regards to the Emperor was what bothered him most. “Is there a problem, Queen Brynhilde?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she murmured. “I was expecting to be called to the Imperial City, so the Emperor could make a show of his Dragonborn vassal to the Elder Council and the Thalmor. Instead he comes here, to my country—sorry, province—and I can only hope he does not make the mistake of taking a tour of it.”

Commander Maro stiffened then said in a stern tone, “Begging your pardon, but I find that troubling, Queen Brynhilde.”

“Please, no need to keep calling me that, and I’m not making threats, Commander. I said I _hope_ he doesn’t tour Skyrim. I say that because it will look as if he’s strutting about taking inventory and gloating. Not that I would believe that, but a majority of Nords would. While the situation may be stabilizing, it is still new, and emotions are still raw. I would rather not have my people provoked, especially when it is my people who are going to be called on to fight in another war. I assume the Emperor received the box?” Both men nodded. “And?”

“He’s holding onto it until the time is right,” Commander Maro stated.

“It won’t keep forever.”

“He has mages making sure it will.”

“Ah. All right. I will wait. We could use the time.” She glanced around the room, seeing the officers all standing at parade rest. Well, if Tullius and Maro felt comfortable speaking openly about matters, so would she. “So, while we’re waiting for a war to start, I have something I wanted to speak to you about, General. Helgen.”

“Helgen,” he said with a frown. “What about it?”

“I want it rebuilt.” His eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. “We visited there a little while back, to show Rikke and reminisce.”

“You mean you and Ralof.”

Bryn shrugged. “He’s a good fighter and very devoted to the safety of Ulfric Stormcloak’s wife. He got me away from the block and Alduin. He’s a good man.” Tullius didn’t respond, his expression not changing. “I’ve been back to Helgen several times, trying to keep it free of bandits. It never stays free long. Rikke and I were discussing the need to have such a strategic position rebuilt.”

Tullius nodded, saying, “Actually, this is something we’ve discussed here a few times. Helgen does need to be rebuilt, as soon as possible.”

“All I ask is that the headman’s block be kept there, and the single broken tower behind it. As a reminder.”

“Gruesome, but doable.” He wasn’t about to ask her what it was supposed to be a reminder of. He wasn’t interested in any philosophical debates with her, or anyone else. What she asked wasn’t much, to be fair.

“When can it get started?”

“Right away. We have too many people sitting around here waiting for orders. They need to be kept busy. I’ll have to ask you to write a letter to Jarl Dengeir, notifying him that there will be Imperial activity in the area. The last thing I need is his paranoia making things difficult.” Bryn nodded agreeably. “There are other matters I wanted to discuss with you, eventually, but since you’re here we’ll get right to it. Since the war broke out, Skyrim’s tribute has slowed considerably. The Emperor of course doesn’t expect back taxes to be paid, and he realizes people are still unsettled and time is needed to get trade flowing again, however we’re preparing for a war. Imperial soldiers need to be paid and outfitted.”

“How much are we talking about, right now?” Rikke had warned her about this aspect of governance, one she found distasteful even if she understood the necessity of it.

“The equivalent of fifty-thousand septims should see us through the next six months.”

“That’s it?” she said in surprise.

Tullius frowned and said, “Yes.”

“Does it have to be in gold?”

“No, though that would be preferable.”

“I’ll have it to you by the end of the day.” She heard Rikke snort as the soldiers in the room shifted and looked at each other, and Maro looked at Tullius with a slightly confused expression. “I can do half in gold and the rest in jewelry, weapons and armor. I’m glad all my adventuring will end up benefiting Skyrim’s people. I refuse to have tax collectors going around harassing anyone right now.”

“Thank you, Queen Brynhilde,” he said with a nod of his head. “I will make sure word gets out that you did this.” It was an outrageously generous gesture, one that stunned even him. He had heard that she had ridiculous amounts of treasure stored away in each of her houses, but he hadn’t imagined that she had the ability to simply gather up fifty thousand septims worth just like that.

Maro added, “And I will make certain that Emperor Titus hears of this, personally.” He hesitated then added, “I will suggest to his Imperial Majesty that he limit his visit to Solitude. I believe that may have been his intent all along, but I will ascertain that.”

Bryn smiled and said, “Thank you both. I’m glad we have that all worked out.” She most certainly did want the Jarls and the people of Skyrim to know she had done this for them, and she wanted Titus Mede II to know what she was willing to do for her people. “Any idea when this visit might take place?”

“We will make sure you’re the first to know, Queen Brynhilde,” Maro stated.

“Well, I will see how quickly I can get the vampires dealt with so that won’t be a security concern. It hasn’t gone quite as smoothly as I expected. The problem is a bit larger than anticipated.”

Tullius dryly said, “Nothing you can’t handle, I’m certain, Dragonborn.”

“There is nothing I can’t handle, General, as long as it can be handled by sword or _thu’um.”_

“Not everything can, unfortunately.”

“I’m still on a learning curve.” She smiled at Rikke and said, “And Rikke has been invaluable in that regard, and so many others.” Rikke smiled back, her cheeks dimpling, something that Galmar probably found rather cute. She went on to the men, “Rikke is going to be seeing to my business in Windhelm when we get back. I need someone there looking after my interests while I wrap things up. So I will need another strong arm at my side to take her place.”

Tullius stated, “Someone who is not a former Stormcloak, I would hope.”

“Preferably not, but a Nord is a Nord at this point.” She changed the subject by saying, “So, General. Elisif.” She saw a slight twitch along his jaw, barely noticeable but telling. She waited to see if he was going to stop her, or suggest they speak in private, and he didn’t. “What do you want me to do? The last time I came through Solitude she refused to see me. Something tells me that will be the case this time. The fact that I’m doing her the courtesy at all should mean something, considering what she did at the Moot.”

“So it was being done as a courtesy then?”

“How would it look to pass through a Jarl’s city and not pay a visit? Yes, it was done as a courtesy, because she still needs to rule Haafingar. It was also done to remind her of my position, and hers. The Jarls should be aware that I can show up any place at any time while I’m rooting out the vampires, and after that.” She smiled at him. “Kind of like the way I showed up here.” He stared at her, waiting, none of the people in the room reacting in any way. She rolled her eyes and said in exasperation, “Good grief, you Colovians.” She had never seen such a dry, humorless bunch. Maybe just the ones who joined the Legion were like that. She hoped the Emperor had more personality than most of the Imperials she had met in her life.

“I’ll have another talk with Jarl Elisif and ask her to make certain she’s more receptive to your calls in the future. Is there anything else we can do for you, Queen Brynhilde?”

“Fine, fine, I’m going.” She patted Rikke on the shoulder and said, “You can catch up, if you’d like. I want to stop by Radiant Raiment and see if the snooty sisters have anything new in stock.”

“Yes, my Queen,” Rikke murmured with a bow. The Imperials inclined their heads or bowed slightly to Bryn, and she strode out of the castle, probably eager to get away from the Legionnaires. They weren’t as dull as Bryn thought, but when they were dealing with military matters they were all business.

Tullius looked Rikke over and said, “Your new life seems to suit you, Rikke.” She looked extremely toned and fit, and her gear was impressive.

“It’s been interesting, sir.”

“You don’t need to call me that any longer.”

“Habit.” He nodded, giving her a hint of a smile that warmed her. He hadn’t been happy when she retired, but he had understood. He motioned for the others in the room to carry on, and she moved closer to him as Commander Maro and his son left the room. “As the Queen said, I’m going to be staying at Windhelm for the most part once we get back. Her business is not Ulfric’s.”

“Agreed. So how has that been working out for you?”

“They’ve been decent,” she admitted. “They rib me every so often, but it’s all in fun, and I give back as good as I get. They _are_ committed to following through on the Queen’s orders, I can attest to that. They’re committed to peace in Skyrim.”

“Good. Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“She was serious, sir. She will destroy any roving bands of rogue Stormcloak soldiers. Believe me, the things I have seen her do in the last month have been…beyond legendary. She wasn’t exaggerating that day she first showed up here when she said there was no Legion left in Tamriel that could take her down, and she’s gotten even more powerful since. She will be the one who wins the war against the Dominion.”

“Well, as I have often said, battles are won by trained and disciplined men, but wars are won by talented and exceptional individuals. She is exceptional, no doubt about it. I've made the Emperor as aware of that as I can.” He folded his arms and went on, “I have to admit, I’m concerned about the Emperor coming here. I told Maro it was a bad idea, but the Emperor insists on meeting her and doesn’t want to take her out of Skyrim yet, not when the situation here is still somewhat fragile. I think he feels that it’s a sign of good faith that he is making the effort to come to her, but I don’t know if you Nords are going to see it that way.”

She smiled at him and said, “Ah, so you _are_ learning.” He laughed quietly at that. He was certainly a handsome man when he smiled, something he did so rarely. At least it seemed his burdens had lightened somewhat since the Moot, knowing Skyrim had a strong High Queen in place. If Elisif had ascended the throne Tullius might have been stuck in Skyrim forever, holding her hand and basically being forced to rule through her, something Rikke knew he had absolutely no desire to do. Bryn had mentioned to Rikke that she thought Tullius wanted Elisif and his propriety would never allow it, and Rikke had been horrified by the notion at first then had gradually realized that yes, the signs had been there. Elisif was young enough to be Tullius’ daughter, but that hadn’t stopped Ulfric from marrying Bryn. But then Tullius was older than Ulfric, and Elisif younger than Bryn.

“So, what’s on your mind, Rikke?”

“Besides Helgen?”

“We’ve had plans drawn up all along to rebuild. We were just waiting for enough stability to do so, and the Queen’s approval. Now that we have that, we can move ahead.” Rikke nodded. “I’m sure Brynhilde would like you to have some input into that. As soon as she gets sign-off from the Jarl of Falkreath we’ll get started.”

“Good. So…Legionnaire Hadvar.”

“Hadvar,” Tullius said in surprise. “Yes, what about him?”

“I’m going to be frank and say that I’m too damn old to keep running around after the Queen. It’s kicking my ass.” Tullius laughed shortly at that, though his gaze was wary. “I want Hadvar to replace me in the Queen’s service, if you will agree to release him from the Legion.” Tullius pursed his lips, staring at her. “The Queen speaks very highly of him. Always has. And there’s a nice balance there, don’t you think? He and Ralof both helped the Queen out of Helgen, and survived. One a former Stormcloak, the other a former Legionnaire. Boyhood friends.”

“And enemies as adults.”

“They’ll get over it. They won’t have a choice, any more than Skyrim does, or I did when I followed the Queen to Windhelm.”

Tullius frowned and stated, “Hadvar is a promising young soldier.”

“Yes, one of many the Legion has. He might even make his mark someday. However as one of the Queen’s Guards that is going to happen much more quickly.” Tullius grunted, seeming to think it over. “I want my replacement to come from the Legion. I want him to be a Nord and a professional soldier. Ralof is a good warrior, very good, and he’ll get better yet, but he was never truly a soldier. Hadvar is a couple years older than Ralof, experienced, and disciplined. I think with time, once any resentment wears off, they’ll complement each other.” She sighed and said, “I have to find someone, soon. I can’t keep doing this. I will, if I have to, but I would rather not. Running around like this is a young person’s game, and honestly, even a young person would have trouble keeping up with the Dragonborn.” She saw Tullius’ tongue in his cheek as if he was debating whether to say something, and she asked in a sly tone, “Wondering how Ulfric does it?”

“If I am, I’m sure as hell not going to say it out loud.” Rikke laughed at that. Tullius let out a long, thoughtful breath, then after a moment let his hands fall as he said, “I’m going to leave the decision up to Hadvar. He has fulfilled his minimum five-year obligation, and he’s nearly up for his second re-enlistment. I can let him go a bit early in the interest of good relations with the High Queen.”

Rikke nodded, pleased and relieved. “Thank you, sir. I think she’ll be very pleased with the arrangement.”

“If Hadvar agrees.”

“I don’t see any reason why he wouldn’t.”

“He comes from a long line of Legionnaires. He wanted to make a full career of it.”

“He’ll probably make it as far as I did. Not that Legate isn’t an extremely respectable position. But I would say that personally serving the High Queen of Skyrim is something more to aspire to.”

“We’ll see if Hadvar feels the same way.”  
-  
Bryn ran into Ralof’s back as he froze in the doorway of Proudspire Manor. He had just accompanied her to Castle Dour to drop off her tribute to the Empire, something that he had done with obvious resentment. Obvious to her, anyway; Tullius hadn’t seemed to notice, or maybe he just hadn’t cared. The Imperial soldiers had been agog at the display of obscene wealth: twenty-five thousand septims worth of coin, another fifteen thousand in jewelry, and the rest in enchanted weapons. It had put a sizable dent in her Solitude cache, but Jordis had seemed relieved if anything to see it go. She hadn’t fended off the level of assault that Iona had, but there had been attempted break-ins.

“Ralof, what…” She grunted and gave him a shove, and he grumbled and moved aside, muttering an apology. She felt a shock run through her as she saw the man standing next to Rikke. He was shorter than Ralof but more heavily built, his eyes a steely blue, brown-haired, his features on the craggy side. Bryn would recognize him anywhere, but her joy was tempered by the cold stare he had pointed at Ralof, who glared back bitterly. She moved between the two of them, breaking the face-off, and Ralof huffed and turned away to close the door, putting his back to it as he folded his arms. Bryn went to Hadvar and put her hands on his shoulders, and he let out a tense breath and smiled. “It’s good to see you again, my friend,” she murmured. He had a scar across the bridge of his nose that hadn’t been there before. He was dressed in heavy Imperial armor, with a helmet tucked under one arm.

“And you, my Queen,” he said with as much happiness as he could muster. “I’ve been following your career since we parted ways in Riverwood, as best I could.” The change in her was every bit as startling as he had heard. His memories were that of a sickly-thin stork of a girl who barely looked strong enough to pick up a weapon let alone wield it as well as she had. Now she spoke with the voice of a dragon and looked through the eyes of a Divine. He thanked Talos every day since hearing that she was Dragonborn that he had followed his gut and saved her. He had known there was something different about her, something meaningful.

“I hope I’ve reaffirmed your faith in me.”

He laughed slightly at that. “I would say so, my lady. I would most definitely say so.”

As she let her hands fall she said, “We’ll be sitting down to dinner in a little bit. I hope you can stay.”

Rikke stated, “I already took the liberty, my lady.”

“Ah, good.” She glanced behind her to see Ralof staring at Hadvar with an expression of almost hurt on his face. She was sure this wasn’t easy for either of them, when the last time they had seen each other was with Helgen burning down around them after Ralof had nearly gone to the block. Hadvar had told her on the way to Riverwood how much it had upset him to call for execution the name of someone who had been his childhood friend. Hadvar had tried to reason with the Stormcloaks during the escape from Helgen and they hadn’t listened. 

Ralof noticed Bryn’s gaze and met it, saying in a rough voice, “I’ll go help Jordis with dinner, if that’s all right, my Queen.”

“I’m sure she has everything under control.” Ralof’s expression tightened then he nodded and lowered his gaze, but not before he gave Hadvar another look of resentment. Bryn resisted the urge to roll her eyes and turned back to Hadvar, asking, “What brings you by? Just visiting?”

Hadvar grimaced a bit then looked to Rikke for help, and the older woman said, “I’ve been trying to convince Hadvar to leave the Legion and take my place by your side.” Bryn’s eyes widened in surprise, though a bright smile quickly spread over her face. Rikke heard a sound of dismay from Ralof, and her expression hardened as she said to him, “It isn’t your call, lad, or your place to protest it. You had no problem working with me—“

“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” Ralof said in a tense voice, “but I have no history with you.”

“The history you have with Hadvar isn’t all bad. In fact I would say there is more good than bad there.”

“That’s what makes this so…intolerable.”

“You’re saying you couldn’t tolerate working with Hadvar? Is that what you’re telling me, and our Queen?” His gaze shifted to Bryn, who stared back calmly, neutrally. Caught, Ralof didn’t answer, biting his lip. “What do you think Ulfric would say? What would he expect of you?” she prompted.

“He would expect me to shut my mouth and do my job,” Ralof muttered. “Ma’am.” Ulfric would be extremely disappointed in him for behaving like this. Like a child. But by Talos, to have to work with Hadvar would be deeply aggravating, and Hadvar didn’t look any happier about the prospect. It wasn’t as if he actually hated Hadvar, or Hadvar hated him. Well, not too much anyway. It was that…well, he wasn’t sure what. Helgen was a big part of it though.

Bryn sighed and said, “That isn’t what I expect. It isn’t Ulfric you’re serving, it’s me.” That was something she still wasn't sure Ralof completely understood yet. She went to Ralof and put her hands on his upper arms, and he looked at her with a pained expression. “Ralof,” she murmured.

“Yes, my lady.”

“We’re trying to heal rifts, here.”

“I know that, my lady. I’m sorry. I just…ugh.”

“For now, Hadvar is just visiting and having dinner, that’s all. I just want to catch up with him and see how he’s been. I owe him my life, as much as I do you, if not more. You’re both important to me.”

Ralof gazed into her golden eyes, seeing the pleading there, and he nodded and murmured, “Of course, my Queen.” The idea of disappointing her was horrible to him, and he could tell she was close to being disappointed in him. She expected better of him. If Ulfric and Galmar could set aside so many years of resentment and welcome Rikke into their home, the least he could do was keep his mouth shut and his eyes from glaring. If Ulfric found out that Ralof had shirked his duty in any way he would be in for it, but if he found out it was because of something like this he would lose his position quicker than he could blink, and possibly be banished back to Riverwood too. His family would be humiliated. He would never forgive himself. He had already messed up once with his bedroom antics in Riften.

Bryn gave him a smile of approval then turned away and motioned for Hadvar to sit, and he waited for her to do so before taking his seat. She said to him, “I just came back from Castle Dour. I must have missed you.”

Hadvar replied, “I was patrolling the waterfront, my lady. On my way off duty I was told to come here, to talk to Rikke. I thought perhaps you wanted to visit, but I wasn’t expecting… I’m very flattered, my Queen. I truly am.”

“But?”

“I’m just a soldier. I’m no one special.”

Rikke said, “You survived Helgen, when few others did.”

“More would have survived if they had listened to me.” He looked at Bryn and added, “Every one of them was a wasted life. They haunt my dreams more than any dragon.”

“I know, mine too,” Bryn softly stated, “for the longest time. But they made their choice, and in the end they went to Sovngarde either way.” If Alduin hadn’t feasted on their souls, anyway. “When I was there I saw Nord soldiers from both sides, both just as dead, but when Alduin was defeated and they began walking towards the Hall of Valor, they were arm in arm, brothers in death.” Hadvar stared at her with huge eyes. “I told Ulfric this and it made him want to weep. Think of the burdens he lives with, when dreams of Stormcloak dead haunt you.”

“Yes, my Queen,” he whispered.

“I didn’t know Rikke had you in mind when she suggested someone take her place. But knowing it was you…it makes me happy, Hadvar. I’m not going to pressure you. Take your time to think about it, but know you aren’t some ordinary soldier, any more than Ralof was an ordinary Stormcloak. Both of you saved my life. Both of you risked yourselves to get me out of Helgen. Both of you saw something in me worth saving, and therefore both of you saved the world.”

His eyes stinging, Hadvar choked, “My lady…no, I don’t see it that way at all. I’m…just…” He pulled his gaze away from her to look at Ralof. The blonde was staring at the Queen with worshipful eyes, and when they shifted to Hadvar then quickly away again he grimaced, torn. He didn’t know what to do. He impulsively wanted to do this, but he knew it would be a difficult path. He would constantly be around Ralof, someone he had a rather awkward past with, and he would end up living in a den of Stormcloak bears. There was no longer a rebellion, but it was a given Ulfric’s former followers still thought of themselves as Stormcloaks. Hadvar was adult enough to realize however that in time the divisions would fade, and he would get used to living in Windhelm, and Divines help him he would even learn to get along with Ralof. He also knew that no matter his modest words that he was a talented soldier, one of many in the Legion, just as Rikke had said, but as one of the Queen’s Guards he would make a much greater difference in the world.

“Think about it,” Bryn said.

Hadvar nodded slowly, still looking at Ralof, and when the other man glanced at him again he quietly asked him, “What say you, Ralof?” Ralof was startled by the question, his bright blue eyes flicking towards the Queen then back again.

“It is not my place to say anything at all,” Ralof muttered.

“And what if it was? What then?”

“I would do what my Queen wants me to do.”

Bryn said with a frown, “Your Queen wants you to speak your mind and be honest.”

Ralof licked his lips, knowing she did indeed want that, and wouldn’t censure him for it. He hesitated then looked at Hadvar, who waited for his answer. “I don’t like him, my lady,” he finally muttered.

“No one said you had to. But would you trust him? That’s what matters.”

“I…would trust him to guard you well, and not stick a knife in my back.” Hadvar laughed in bitter disbelief at that, shaking his head. Ralof angrily said, “ _That_ is what I don’t trust. That I won’t be subjected to mocking, and name-calling. Traitor and rebel, well I fought for what I believed in! My cousin was dragged away in the night, probably tortured to death by the Thalmor, and we never saw him again. What would you have done if it had been your cousin, Hadvar? Would you have just stood there as little Dorthe was taken away, or cut down in front of you? The same way you stood there and let Brynhilde get sent to the block when her name wasn’t even on your damn list?”

Hadvar replied in a heated tone, “No, I would not have just stood there, and maybe that would have been enough to push me into rebelling, but it didn’t happen. The Empire wasn’t the one taking innocent people away and torturing them! And yes, I do consider Talos worshippers innocent. My parents still have a shrine in their basement. Every Nord soldier I know worships Talos, and most of the Imperials as well. He is the soldier’s god, and by trying to take Talos away the Thalmor have tried to gut us. I don’t apologize for the White-Gold Concordat at all, damn it. The Emperor did it to buy time, not knowing that Ulfric was going to do what he did one day. He planned all along to tear the damn thing up and drive the Dominion out of Tamriel.” Ralof glared at him but didn’t argue any of his points. “I understand why Ulfric did what he did, torture or not. Most Nord soldiers do, but we weren’t yet ready to give up on the Empire. I can’t believe that you think I would mock you and call you names, in front of the Queen or behind her back it doesn’t matter. The civil war is _over._ We all fought for what we believed in. Neither side was entirely right or wrong.”

Ralof said nothing at first, his jaw clenched, then he muttered, “Then we should all be glad that our Queen put a stop to it when she did, because we former Stormcloaks and Ulfric are the only thing that will enable the Empire to put down the Dominion.”

“Yes, we all know that, and that is why the Emperor pardoned Ulfric, and the rest of you.” He paused then said, “I hated sending her to the block. I knew it was wrong, but I am only one man. If I had disobeyed orders I would have gotten cut down just like the horse thief. But the second there was something I could do about it, I did it, like you did, and here we are today. Now what?” Ralof didn’t answer, but his glaring seemed a little less intense. “I asked you what you thought, because you were the Queen’s man first, and you already have your place, and I am not about to make a move that will end up causing nothing but problems. What good would it do to take Rikke’s place if you’re constantly on guard against _me?”_

The two men stared at each other, and after a long moment Bryn quietly said, “Both of you think about it during dinner. I’m leaving it to the two of you to decide between yourselves.” Ralof made a sound of protest, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Ralof, but that’s how it is. I need to know that you would be able to work together. I understand trust would take time to grow, and I’m not asking you two to become friends. I’m sorry if this lands more on you Ralof, but Hadvar is right: you were here first.”

Bryn stood, Hadvar quickly following suit, and when the others headed toward the kitchen Ralof trailed after them. He couldn’t help resenting that he was basically responsible for making the decision. He supposed he was glad that the Queen cared that much about his opinion, and he knew that in the end there was really only one decision he could make. Rikke wasn’t young enough to stay on the road with Bryn and that was that, and if Hadvar didn’t take her place they would have to find someone else to do it, someone the Queen didn’t know and trust as she did Hadvar. Ralof knew damn well that Hadvar wasn’t going to needle him, any more than Rikke had done, in fact Hadvar was in much more danger of being harassed in Windhelm, though it would never happen to the Queen’s face.

Ralof stayed silent through dinner except when Rikke or Bryn asked him a question, keeping his eyes on his plate, anywhere but Hadvar, listening to how Hadvar responded to the Queen and Rikke, looking for any sign at all that this wouldn’t work out, and in the end he couldn’t find a compelling reason not to allow it. It was going to be stressful at first, and annoying, but he certainly wasn’t going to let that be the reason not to do it. Ulfric wasn’t going to be happy about it, but then Ulfric hadn’t been happy about Ralof guarding the Queen either, and he had come to the uncomfortable conclusion lately that it was out of envy, something Ralof hadn’t considered the Jarl being prone to. Ulfric didn’t want someone young and handsome around his wife, and having another young man guarding his wife wouldn’t go over well, though Ralof knew with complete honesty that he was better looking than Hadvar, and frankly Ulfric didn’t have much to worry about with Hadvar for one very good reason, a reason that Bryn probably wasn’t aware of. But then Ralof was straight as an arrow and wouldn’t dream of sleeping with the Queen. The thought had never even crossed his mind, and not just because she was Ulfric’s wife. He held her in too much reverence to view her as just a woman, and frankly he found her just a little terrifying now after seeing her in action. It took a certain kind of man to take a she-dragon to bed, and he wasn’t that kind of man. That Ulfric was made him respect his Jarl all the more.

A couple hours later Hadvar was gone and Bryn getting ready for bed, and when a knock sounded on her bedroom door she knew it was Ralof with his answer. She opened the door and continued brushing out her hair, seeing a troubled look on Ralof’s face. “Well? What did you decide?” she asked gently. As if she didn’t know.

“It would be…acceptable, my Queen,” he answered. She smiled at him approvingly and he blew out a long breath. “I’m sorry if I made things difficult, my lady. The shock of seeing him here when we got back… I knew Rikke wanted to replace herself with another Imperial, but I never expected him. I never thought I would have to see him again.”

“The problems between you two…is it all just the civil war behind it? Or is there more to it than that?” He hesitated, and she let the brush fall and said, “If it’s too personal, then it’s none of my business—“

“It isn’t that, it’s just…old business.”

“But you were friends once, weren’t you? You grew up together.”

“We were best friends, until he joined the Legion. He’s a year and a half older than me, so when he turned seventeen his pa took him to Solitude to sign him up. I was proud of him for doing it. I envied him a little, but I never wanted to leave Riverwood, let alone Skyrim. I liked working at the mill. It was all I wanted for myself.” He folded his arms and went on, “The first time he came back on leave he already seemed different. Older. The time after that I was of age and he wanted me to join up, to travel the world with him, and I didn’t want to. He made fun of me for it, calling me a provincial, a coward. He was so smug after that, every time he came back. By time we both grew up and he stopped mocking me, apologized for the things he had said, it was too late. There was already too much resentment there. Then I joined Ulfric’s cause, and… there was no fixing it by then.”

Bryn sighed, “Oh Ralof. He isn’t the same person he was then. Thinking of it now probably embarrasses him.”

“I know, my lady. He stopped being that person long ago, but…it’s hard to forgive. Maybe I never did, especially after the Thalmor took Dagnur away. They took him away because of agreements the Empire made, agreements the Emperor made a thousand miles from here. You can’t simply outlaw a Divine! First you send it underground, make it harder and harder to practice the faith, and generation after generation fewer are worshiping, until there’s no one left who remembers.” Bryn shrugged, with the Amulet of Talos around her neck, and he sighed, “You already know all this, I know, I’m just…frustrated. So Hadvar joins us, fine, but…I don’t feel any resolution. I don’t know that I ever will.”

“When the Second War with the Dominion is over and there are dead Elves as far as the eye can see, maybe then.” Ralof stared at her, his mouth slightly open, then he nodded and swallowed. She patted him on the shoulder then let her hand fall away. “Thank you for this, Ralof. I appreciate it.”

“I’m sorry I’ve made this difficult, my lady. I know I’ll get used to him in time, but…I didn’t want to.”

“I understand.” She sighed, “I just hope Ulfric does. I don’t think he’s going to be happy about this. He knows and trusts you, but between you and me, having two good-looking young men guarding me might be hard for him to take.”

“He doesn’t need to worry about Hadvar. Hadvar only sleeps with other men. Always has.” Which had also caused some tension between them in the past, but the Queen didn’t need to know that. Hadvar had outgrown that as well, and Ralof wasn’t particularly worried about it. Hadvar was professional enough to not try to get into his pants, even if they did get along. Which they did not.

“Oh! Well then, that will make it easier. I’m going to send Ulfric a letter in the morning, telling him what’s going on so he doesn’t worry. Of course doing so will give him things to stew about until we get home, but better than surprising him.”

Ralof said with an expression of worry, “Yes, my lady.” He appreciated the confidence the Queen had given him, but it was still troubling thinking about Ulfric being jealous. Jealousy was born of insecurity, and Ralof would never have guessed that the Jarl of Eastmarch was capable of that. He supposed if he was an older, not so handsome man with a beautiful young wife he might get that way too, but Ulfric always seemed so strong, so confident. Bryn seemed to be Ulfric’s weak point, but then Ralof supposed she would have to be, if she was the reason Ulfric had agreed to put an end to the rebellion. If Ulfric would do that, give up something he felt so strongly about, he would do just about anything. Ralof certainly wasn’t about to give the Jarl any reason to worry if he could help it. Maybe subconsciously that was another reason he had agreed to let in Hadvar, knowing that if Ulfric knew the other man couldn’t possibly ever have any kind of interest in Bryn that it would ease the Jarl’s mind. That look on his Jarl’s face wasn’t one he ever wanted to see again.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longish chapter, as there was no good spot to break it up.

“’In an age of strife, when dragons return to the realm of men, darkness will mingle with light and the night and day will be as one’,” Dexion murmured. “Hm. The voice fades, and the words begin to shimmer and distort. But wait, there is more here. The secret of the bow’s power is written elsewhere. I think there is more to the prophecy, recorded in other Scrolls.” He blinked, eyes focused on something none of the rest could see. “Yes, I see them now… One contains the ancient secrets of the dragons, and the other speaks of the potency of ancient blood. My vision darkens, and I see no more. To know the complete prophecy, we must have the other two Scrolls.” The Scroll retracted into its case, and Dexion staggered slightly, rubbing his eyes. “I…must rest now. The reading has made me weary.”

Isran took the priest’s elbow, saying with surprising gentleness, “Come on, old man. You should get some rest.” The elder nodded, clutching the Sun Scroll to his chest as Isran led him out of the room.

Once they were out of earshot Rikke muttered, “Great, we need more Scrolls.”

Hadvar watched the priest stumble, but Isran kept hold of him, helping him along. He quietly said to Rikke, “He’s going blind, isn’t he.”

“Aye lad, I think so,” she said sadly. “I’ve heard it happens.” At least Isran was finally treating the Queen with the utmost respect, seeming to realize how much everything hinged on her.

Ralof asked in a worried tone, “But…if we need to read the other two Scrolls, and he’s blind…”

Rikke glanced at the Queen, and Bryn was watching the priest and Isran slowly walking away with a wild look in her eyes that Rikke had never seen before. Not once. Her entire body was taut as a bowstring, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Bryn blinked and swallowed, and when Rikke touched her she flinched, staring at her fearfully. _By the Nine, she’s afraid,_ Rikke thought with a thrill of terror. Bryn was never afraid. “My Queen,” she whispered. “What’s wrong?”

Bryn shook her head. “Nothing,” she choked. “Not a damn thing.”

Serana cleared her throat and asked Bryn, “Um, do you have a moment to talk?”

“Not right now,” Rikke barked. Serana stiffened then put her nose in the air and looked away, folding her arms. Rikke turned back to Bryn and said, “It should be easy enough to get the Dragon Scroll, my Queen. You sold it to the librarian at the College of Winterhold, right? I’m sure he could part with it for a bit.” Bryn nodded. Rikke moved to stand in front of her, taking her by the upper arms. “Please,” she pleaded with quiet intensity. “What is wrong? I think we should know.”

Bryn took a deep breath, feeling sick to her stomach, and stated, “The priest is probably going to go blind. Who do you think is going to be expected to read the Scrolls once we have them all?” Rikke looked troubled, and Hadvar and Ralof glanced at each other with worry. She distantly noted it and wished she could feel glad about it. Their time on the road together had been tense, but other than a few curt snaps at each other early on they had gotten along as well as could be expected. They did their jobs and didn’t make small talk, and Ralof didn’t seethe too badly when Hadvar instinctively took the lead, which unfortunately he had to do as the older, more experienced warrior. She gently pulled away from Rikke and the older woman let her go. She rubbed her forehead, fidgeting, then she said in a fearful tone, “I lost my vision for a bit, after that first time, and afterward…I went a little, ah…mad.”

“Mad!” Rikke squawked.

“It was temporary, but…what if this time it isn’t? How the hell am I going to read more Elder Scrolls and be fine? I’ve already read one. I…I can’t do this. I’ll go blind or lose my mind, permanently this time. And then what? What good will I be then, to anyone? I won’t be able to fight, and the war, by Talos, what about the war?” She wasn’t afraid of dying. She never had been. But being cursed to a life of mad blindness was completely intolerable. She would kill herself if it came to that. She would climb to the peak of the Throat of the World and jump, and nothing and no one would stop her.

She shook her head and said, “No, I don’t believe that for one second, my Queen. Any effects will be temporary at best. Do you really think the gods have taken you this far only to let you become some blind madwoman? No.” Bryn folded her arms tightly, blinking, her breathing uneven, but the edge of her fear seemed to have lessened the slightest bit. “What brought you out of it before?”

“Sleep. And Vilkas and Farkas.” She swallowed and went on, “I was exhausted. Alduin came, not long after I read the Dragon Scroll. I don’t remember much for a few days after that.” And next thing she knew she was waking up in Vilkas’ bed, and he was refusing to marry her, and it was over. She closed her eyes, feeling a pang of old grief. Vilkas would have thrown a fit to find out she needed to read more Scrolls. He would have told her to wash her hands of the Dawnguard and walk away. Ulfric though… he would be worried, but he would have faith in her ability to do what needed doing and come through all right. Ulfric never doubted her strength, or her destiny. How she missed him. She opened her eyes and asked Serana, “All right, what did you want?”

The vampire looked at the Queen with worry, unable to help hearing everything. The thought of a mad Dragonborn was frightening even to her. She was well aware of the Queen’s capabilities. “The moth priest said we needed two other Elder Scrolls, and you know where the Dragon Scroll is. I think I know where we can start looking for the Blood Scroll.”

“You knew all along that we needed three Scrolls?” Rikke said in aggravation. “Why the hell didn’t you say something earlier!”

“Half the people in your little crew would just as soon kill me as talk to me. That doesn’t exactly make me want to open up. I got a warmer welcome from my father, and that’s saying something.”

“What is it between you two?” Bryn asked, annoyed. “How did all this start?”

“Ever since he decided to make that prophecy his calling, we kind of drifted apart.” She paused then said with a hint of hurt, “I don’t think he even sees me as his daughter anymore. I’m just…a means to an end.”

Hadvar finally spoke up and asked, “All right, sad as that is, where is the Blood Scroll?”

“We need to find my mother, Valerica. She’ll definitely know where it is, and if we’re lucky, she actually has it herself.”

Rikke stated with suspicion, “You told us you didn’t know where she went.”

“The last time I saw her, she said that she’d go somewhere safe…somewhere that my father would never search. Other than that she wouldn’t tell me anything. But the way she said it: ‘someplace he would never search’... It was cryptic, yet she called attention to it.”

“Maybe your mother didn’t trust you either,” Hadvar suggested warily. He knew he certainly didn’t. Vampires could never be fully trusted. They might cooperate with you for a while, if you had a common goal, but even this one would turn on them eventually, he was sure of it.

She snorted a laugh. “That’s always a possibility. She was almost as obsessed as my father by time she shut me in. But I can’t worry about that now. We need the Scroll, and she’s our only lead. Besides, I can’t imagine a single place my father would avoid looking, and he’s had all this time, too.” She hesitated then looked at Bryn, asking hesitantly, “Any ideas?”

Bryn nearly snapped at her to figure it out herself but settled for saying snidely, “I don’t know, his own castle?” Serana’s eyes widened, at first she thought in offense, then she nodded and smiled.

“Wait…that almost makes sense!”

Rikke groaned and said, “Of course it does. Divines preserve us.” She wouldn’t be going there, that was for damn certain. The two youngsters could traipse all the way across the damn province with the Queen but she’d be damned if she did. She could tell Bryn was highly aggravated by the idea, her nostrils flared as she stared intently at the vampire girl. Bryn didn’t mind traveling, but heading all the way back the direction they had just come from…twice… Even the two young men didn’t look pleased by the prospect. It certainly would have been nice if Fort Dawnguard was in a more central location.

After Serana finished her explanation, Bryn stared at her for a moment longer then turned on her heel and began striding out of the room. Serana hurried after her, crying, “Wait, where are you going!”

“I’m going home,” Bryn snapped. “Meet me at Icewater Jetty in two weeks.” She heard Rikke and the men follow, along with a sound of frustration from Serana.

“Two weeks? What on earth will you be doing for two weeks that’s more important than this?”

Bryn rounded on her, making the vampire gasp and back up a few steps. “Nothing. I’m going to sit at home with my husband doing _absolutely nothing!”_ The sound roared through the keep and Serana shivered in fear, her orange eyes fixed on the Queen’s golden ones. She saw heads peek around corners and ignored them, too angry to care how loud she was being. “You,” Bryn demanded thunderously, “you will begin addressing me with respect, _sosnaak._ You will address me as my lady, or my Queen, and whether you believe I am or not I don’t care. You are in _Keizaal,_ Skyrim, my land, my territory. _Zu’u los dovahsebrom!_ I am the Dragon of the North, and you will be careful, nightwalker, so that maybe I will find a reason to let you live when this is over.”

Serana lowered her eyes, trembling, her hands clasped in front of her, and whispered, “Yes, my Queen.”

“Two weeks!” Serana nodded, and Bryn turned and stormed out of the castle, not bothering to see if the other three were following, too angry to care. She could feel the anger and frustration boiling inside her, begging for release, and she didn’t dare, not trusting what she would do if she gave it free rein. When they were outside the fort she kept walking, not slowing or pausing, feeling only small satisfaction as the soldiers and workers outside avoided her eyes and bowed low as she passed. As well they should. She was sick of all this running around, sick of being the only one in the world seemingly who could solve everyone’s problems. She was the High Queen of Skyrim, and she was going to go home and spend a little time with her new husband. What was the point of being married if she was never home? It sent a sudden surge of grief through her; that had been one of Vilkas’ reasons for not marrying. Well, she wasn’t Vilkas, and she was going home to enjoy being married for a little while.

Her mood didn’t improve over the next several hours as she kept walking toward Windhelm. As it began to grow dark she heard voices behind her and the muted jangle of armor, and she nearly whipped out her sword until she realized that the running feet were silent and she had spent all afternoon walking ahead of the people who were supposed to be guarding her. Or at least accompanying her, anyway.

“My lady,” Rikke said breathlessly, more than a little angry, as Bryn came to a stop. “Can we _please_ stop in town for the night? At least long enough to eat?” They were nearing Shor’s Stone and she was damned if she was going to let Bryn walk all night without stopping, which she just might if she was left to her own devices. The single-mindedness of her pace had been as frightening as it was aggravating.

“Yes.” Rikke came around to face her, her expression tense, and she muttered, “Sorry.”

“I realize you want to get home, my Queen. If you want to get home that bad, call the dragon and fly home. Please.” Bryn shook her head, and Rikke let it drop, seeing that Bryn was still stewing about something, and the last thing Rikke wanted was to have the anger turned on her. Lydia had warned her about that, before she and Farkas returned to Whiterun after the wedding, that if Bryn was left in her own head for any length of time that she would turn in on herself and start obsessing, but Rikke had been afraid to bother her all afternoon, and Ralof and Hadvar were even less keen to do so than her. When Bryn sighed heavily Rikke said, “It looks like it’s going to rain soon, my lady. I’m sure one of the miners will let us stay indoors tonight.”

“Sure.”

Rikke tried not to sigh heavily as Bryn began walking again, her eyes straight ahead. She looked at the two young men, both obviously worried, and when she motioned them along they fell into step on each side of her. “I’ll talk to Ulfric when we get back,” she murmured.

“Yes ma’am,” they answered softly. Better her than either of them, and frankly they weren’t particularly excited about going back on the road with the Queen without Rikke there to manage Bryn. Neither of them had seen her temper before, and it had been terrifying. They hadn’t thought her capable of it.

Rikke relaxed the slightest bit when Bryn raised her hand in greeting as the miners leapt to their feet, gathered around a fire eating dinner, and when she kindly asked a young, dark-haired woman how her leg was doing Rikke relaxed the rest of the way. They added their supplies to the meal and before long the town smith was there as well as all the off-duty guards. It was a pleasant way to pass the evening and made the townsfolk extremely happy, and Rikke was extremely happy when the young woman, Sylgja, offered her house for the night. She could tolerate sleeping on a bedroll as long as she had a roof over her head and was warm.

In the middle of the night Rikke woke to the sound of mumbling and rustling, and in the light from the banked fire she saw Bryn in the throes of a dream. Hadvar was sitting up on his elbow next to the Queen, looking worried, but Ralof slept deeply, as did Sylgja.

“Ehh… _zu’u los daniik! Fin Kelle…daniik!”_

Hadvar saw Rikke muttering the words to herself, as if trying to memorize them, probably to ask Ulfric about, since the Jarl knew the dragon language. When Bryn whimpered Hadvar reached out and gently shook her shoulder. It was the first time he had touched her since joining her service earlier that week, and it felt wrong, but he wasn’t about to let her suffer in a nightmare. She snorted and grasped for his hand then fell back asleep, and when Hadvar looked at Rikke in dismay the older woman laughed softly and shrugged one shoulder then lay back down to sleep. Hadvar grimaced, not knowing what to do, and when the Queen’s hand tightened on his in her sleep he sighed and lay down again, unable to do anything else. He whispered, “Gods, don’t tell Ulfric. Or Ralof.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, lad,” Rikke replied in amusement.

Hadvar pillowed his head on his arm and did his best to go back to sleep, but it wasn’t easy. Bryn most likely wouldn’t remember this in the morning, since she had never really awakened, and if holding his hand brought her comfort so she could sleep more easily he wasn’t about to deny her that. She had asked little of him in the short time they had been traveling together. She seemed to trust him, and like him, a great deal. He didn’t regret his choice, though he supposed he hadn’t yet had time to. It was Windhelm that had him the most anxious, the notion of living in the heart of Stormcloak territory more than a little worrisome, but if Rikke had gotten along all right there, there was no reason he wouldn’t, and it wasn’t as if he was walking around in Imperial gear any longer. Bryn had taken care of that before they left Solitude, and he was now the proud owner of a set of enchanted steel plate, the masculine version of Rikke’s armor. He had to admit he was a bit envious of Ralof’s dragonscale armor, but he had always been more comfortable in heavy armor. Rikke had given him her dragonbone sword though, _Fahliil-Kriid,_ and he couldn’t wait to put the magnificent blade through its paces.

Bryn sighed in her sleep and murmured something unintelligible, her fingers twitching. Hadvar wasn’t sure how Ulfric managed to sleep through Bryn’s restlessness, though to be fair tonight was worse than he had seen so far, no doubt brought on by her extreme anxiety over reading more Elder Scrolls. Hadvar watched her face as she slept and pondered the strangeness of his current situation and how much Bryn had changed since they parted ways in Riverwood a year and a half ago. He had worried about the odd girl and how she would fare in Skyrim for weeks until word had started circulating that the Dragonborn the Greybeards had called was a blond half-Altmer girl who had escaped Helgen, and there was only one person that could be, though he had never guessed during their brief acquaintance that Bryn wasn’t entirely human. In hindsight it had been obvious, and a bit of a relief, actually. Easier to believe in her half-Elven blood than believe she was only a very odd Nord. It had certainly been a relief to his uncle Alvor. The poor man couldn’t figure the girl out.

When Bryn’s grip on his hand tightened again and a brief smile flashed over her face, Havar laughed softly and closed his eyes, wondering what she was dreaming about. At least this time it was good.  
-  
“Thank the Nine Divines,” Jorleif said with wild relief as Bryn and her small entourage entered the Palace of the Kings. He walked to meet them halfway and said to Rikke in a pleading tone, “Tell me you’re serious about staying next time the Queen sets out. I can’t take this anymore.”

“Yes Jorleif, I’m staying,” she reassured him. He blew out a breath of relief and smiled. Bryn headed straight for the back of the palace to go upstairs, giving the steward only a nod in greeting as she passed. Jorleif bowed to her, frowning, while Ralof and Hadvar stopped with Rikke, unsure of what to do. Rikke quietly asked, “Where are Jarl Ulfric and Galmar?”

“Down in the barracks, sparring. Is ah…”

Rikke put her arm around Hadvar’s shoulders and said, “This is Hadvar of Riverwood. He is the other fine young man that helped our Queen out of Helgen.”

“Riverwood? So you two lads grew up together, yeah?”

“Yes,” they both stated flatly.

“Uh huh.” Jorleif already knew the story. He also knew that no one was going to tolerate any problems between them either, least of all the Queen. Well, it wasn’t as if Hadvar was still in the Legion, and Rikke was all right. They were all Nords, and that was what mattered in the end. “Well lad, we’ll see if we can squeeze you in somewhere. Bit short on space right now. Might need to move some folks around.”

Ralof nibbled at his bottom lip then begrudgingly offered, “He can stay in my room.” Hadvar didn’t react other than to blink and lift his head slightly. “You can just…shove another bed in there or something. There’s space.”

Jorleif looked at Rikke, who shrugged in unconcern, then he asked Hadvar, “You all right with that, lad?”

Hadvar took a deep breath then nodded and quietly said, “Aye. Eh…thank you.” He recognized a peace offering when he saw one. He wasn’t about to be the one to make this hard. But by the Divines it was going to be awkward, more awkward than being on the road had been. While traveling they had always been moving, always been busy. With Rikke and Bryn there they hadn’t had to really talk to each other at all. There was going to be no avoiding that when sharing close quarters.

“All right, come on then,” Ralof muttered. “I’ll show you around.”

Hadvar hesitated, and when Rikke gave him a squeeze of encouragement then let go he nodded and sighed then followed after the blonde. Once they were out of earshot Jorleif said dryly, “Well, isn’t that cute.”

“It’s promising,” Rikke agreed. She and Bryn both had been fairly certain that with enough time the two young men would start mending fences. She looked around and saw they were alone other than the usual guards by the doors. “I’m going to go have a chat with Ulfric and Galmar. Delay the Queen if you could? For just a few minutes?”

The steward grimaced. “All right, but you owe me a crate of Honningbrew if she gets pissed off.” Hopefully she just wouldn’t come back down. It was obvious she was in a foul mood. She had written a week ago about Hadvar, but nothing had seemed to be amiss. Ulfric had summarized the letter and hadn’t seemed troubled by it. Galmar had been rather pleased, for reasons that would probably make Rikke rather annoyed. Obviously something had happened since they left Solitude that had the Queen angry or upset. That she hadn’t immediately asked where Ulfric was…well, it couldn’t be good.

“Deal.”

She made her way to the barracks, hearing the familiar, comforting sounds of soldiers training…the dull thuds of wood and leather practice weapons and shields, grunts of exertion and shouts of encouragement. When she got there she saw the center of the room had been cleared out and Galmar was there guarding against a redheaded female soldier who looked to be in her mid-thirties and experienced. She circled the housecarl with a grin on her face, wearing a short-sleeved tunic and light pants in the warm room. Rikke noticed uncomfortably that Galmar had no shirt on, his muscled back covered in a sheen of sweat. By Talos, the man had big arms, and contrary to his joking comment at Ulfric and Bryn’s wedding he was not fat in the least; he was a bit softer around the middle than a young man, but the muscles under his skin still rolled when he moved.

“Rikke.” She started at the voice nearby, and when she blinked Ulfric laughed quietly and said, “That was the second time I said your name. A bit preoccupied, are we?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stated evenly, keeping her cheeks cool with an effort, nearly impossible in the warm room. Ulfric’s shirt was soaked with sweat from sparring; he refused to take his shirt off in front of anyone but Bryn or Galmar. Galmar had the usual scars anyone would expect of a seasoned warrior, and wore them proudly. The two older men practiced frequently with their soldiers, well aware of the need to keep up their skills no matter their age, and both were more than able to hold their own.

“All right, we’ll play it your way then. Where is my wife?” It bothered him that Rikke was down here and not Bryn. Bryn was always eager to greet him when she first arrived home, always seeking him out first thing.

“Upstairs in your quarters. Changing, I assume. I ah…need to talk to you about her. Now, before she comes down. If she even does.” Ulfric frowned deeply then turned and walked away to the doorway, out of earshot, and when he turned back to her and folded his arms she said, “You got the letter, I assume. We took the moth priest back to Fort Dawnguard, and he read the Sun Scroll. He said we need two more: a Blood Scroll and the Dragon Scroll that Bryn got rid of in Winterhold. The problem is…the priest looks like he’s going to lose his vision. Bryn…she’s probably going to have to read the Scrolls in his place. The last couple days she hasn’t been herself, and she’s been sleeping poorly. _Zu’u los daniik. Fin Kelle, daniik._ She said that the first night in her sleep but not since. I made a point of remembering. It sounded like dragon tongue.”

Ulfric nodded slightly, his jaw clenched. “I’m doomed. The scrolls, doomed.”

Rikke said in a tone of worry, “I’ve never seen her afraid before, never for herself, but when that priest walked away…she was terrified. She said that the one time she read an Elder Scroll, up on the Throat of the World, that she temporarily lost her vision and her mind afterward. She fears it happening again, permanently this time. I told her that I doubted it would be permanent, that her nature would probably protect her against it, and that seemed to help a bit, but she’s hardly said a word the entire way home, and when we got here she just went upstairs without a word to anyone.” Ulfric’s scowl deepened, not a flattering look on him, then he turned and walked down the stairs with a determined stride. Rikke sighed, unable to help being worried, and when she looked back to the center of the room she saw Galmar watching, wiping his face with his shirt. He started over and she had to resist following Ulfric out of the room, knowing it couldn’t possibly look good if she did. But by Dibella, Galmar certainly looked good. The trail of graying hair going down his stomach into the front of his pants was a definite distraction. Great Divines, the man was built! She’d had no idea at all.

“What’s the matter?” Galmar quietly asked, not about to flirt with the woman right now when something was obviously wrong. He hadn’t missed her reluctantly appreciative gaze though. No he had not. In fact she was doing her best to not look at him at all now that he was close.

“The Queen isn’t herself. We ran into a…complication.”

“Another one? What the hell?”

Rikke shook her head and said, “This entire thing hasn’t at all panned out the way any of us expected. We figured we’d find the cause of the problem, Brynhilde would go in and destroy everything, and we’d be done.” Galmar motioned with his head and she followed him out into the stairwell, not minding since the guards were taking too much of an interest.

He stopped at the base of the stairs and asked, “So what went wrong? Is the new lad not working out?”

“No no, he’s perfectly fine. He and Ralof are sorting things out, and the Queen likes him a great deal. He’s a bit older and more seasoned than Ralof, and he has a good head on his shoulders.” She lowered her voice further and added, “And hopefully Ulfric won’t find him any sort of threat, like he did Ralof.”

Galmar admitted, “He did seem relieved to read that. Not that Ralof is any kind of threat either, but I suppose that’s beside the point. So what is the problem?”

“The Queen is going to have to read more Elder Scrolls in the priest’s place, and she’s scared to death.” Galmar frowned at that, seeming to find it hard to believe. “She thinks she’s going to go blind and mad. Personally, I don’t, but she’s been stewing over it for the last two days, and sleeping poorly. She’s going to be here for a little over a week this time so I hope Ulfric can calm her down and they can spend some time together. It isn’t good for newlyweds to be apart this much. Maybe with two youngsters on her tail and no old woman holding her back, Brynhilde can get this business wrapped up a bit more quickly.”

He smiled and said, “Come on, Rikke. No old woman fills out a set of armor like that.” Rikke’s eyes narrowed, still not looking at him, and when she started to move away he gently caught her arm, making her pull away and glare at him. Time to lay the cards on the table, because he was sick and tired of pussyfooting around. “What the hell is the problem?” he growled. “What did I do?” 

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re still…punishing me, or whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Galmar.”

“That isn’t like you.”

“What do you know?” she retorted, feeling a twinge of guilt at the hurt look that crossed his face.

“If I knew you didn’t want me I would let it go, but I’m not blind or stupid, damn you!” She made a sound of shock then looked away, her cheeks pink. She didn’t deny it though. “Fine, maybe I don’t know you at all, and maybe that’s just how you want it, eh? Are you going to spend the rest of your life here always holding yourself apart, living off that stiff Imperial pride of yours? What the hell do you think I’m after, anyway? Do you think I’m trying to trick you or something?” Rikke didn’t answer, her expression tense and hard to read. “All I wanted was your company, as much or as little you wanted to give of it. No children can come of it at our age, so I thought we could ease each other’s loneliness once in a while, but since you came here you’ve acted like my interest offends you, like I’m… distasteful to you or something.”

A lump in her throat, Rikke whispered, “You’re…not distasteful.” Here she was wounding him again, without ever intending to. Well, it wasn’t as if she had known. She had completely misjudged the situation. She didn’t often make tactical errors, but she seemed to keep making them with Galmar.

“So what is it then?”

Her cheeks warm, she hesitated then said, “I…thought…ugh.” Galmar waited, leaning against the stone wall, and she demanded, “Would you put your damn shirt back on!”

He smirked at her and flexed his arms, saying, “What’s the matter, Rikke? My manliness is distracting you, eh?” She made a sound between a laugh and annoyance, pinching the bridge of her nose as she shook her head. “Fine, fine.” He pulled the damp, smelly shirt over his head then leaned back against the wall again and folded his arms. “So?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m not an idiot, woman. Try me.”

She tapped her fingers on the hilt of her sword, one of fire-enchanted ebony from Proudspire Manor’s much-diminished armory. “Well, at first…yes, it was my Imperial pride. I didn’t want to…I didn’t want it to get out that…that I had gone over that quickly and easily.”

Galmar said with a frown, “What, to the other side? To the enemy, is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes.” He sputtered and shook his head, looking away from her, clearly offended. “I know it was wrong. I know there are no more sides, but…it’s a hard feeling to get over, even if at times I ah, sympathized. With your cause. I always worshiped Talos, and I understood why Ulfric was doing what he did. I think Tullius sensed that, and I didn’t want to confirm his suspicions. I didn’t want it to look like I was jumping ship at the first opportunity.” He opened his mouth to say something and she quickly said, “I know that isn’t how it actually would have been, but that was how it felt at the time. I didn’t feel I could just…do it. The Queen, the Dragonborn, she can do whatever the hell she wants, being with Ulfric, and who is going to gainsay it?”

“And you’re the Queen’s right hand, and you don’t answer to Tullius anymore.”

“I know that, but…I didn’t want to disappoint him.” Galmar rolled his eyes. “After that, it was just easier to avoid the issue. I was never here for long, so it didn’t matter.”

Galmar snorted and said, “Well Rikke, you had better find something to keep you busy now.” She was going to be here permanently, taking care of the High Queen’s business. Ulfric and Galmar both thought it a very good idea, seeing how stressed Jorleif was, and how tired Rikke had been the last time she was in Windhelm. He stood away from the wall, saying in a tone of regret, “You win. I’ll leave you alone from now on. I suppose I should be glad it wasn’t something about me.”

“Galmar,” she sighed. He stopped, turning to look at her, a guarded expression on his face. She grimaced, hating having to say this, but she wanted the air clear between them, especially now that she was staying. She rubbed her nose and looked away, saying haltingly, “I…do, uh, find you attractive. But, I…well, I’ve spent the last thirty-five years sleeping around, playing the field. That’s the other reason I didn’t respond. I was afraid it would start out fooling around then I would grow attached and…I’m at the point of my life where I want someone comfortable to grow old with. Something for keeps.” Galmar’s eyebrows rose as his mouth fell open slightly, then he cleared his throat and looked away, a bemused expression on his face. “You were with Eldi for nearly twenty-five years, and lost her just a few years ago. I understand why you don’t want anything permanent. Nothing can replace her.”

“That is true,” he murmured. “Replacing her, that is.” A distant rumble sounded from the other side of the palace, startling them both. “Ah shit. That isn’t good.” He’d heard enough to know it was anger. The Queen’s bedroom sounds didn’t carry any farther than their wing of the Palace, thank Dibella.

“No, it isn’t.” She shrugged and started for the door, passing Galmar. “But then maybe it is. If she’s yelling at least she’s opening up, and I’m sure he can hold his own just fine.” Ulfric was probably the one man who could handle her anger without being afraid of her.

“Rikke…” She stopped at the turn in the hall, and the way the shadows from the nearby sconce hit her face made it look a good ten years younger. Ah, but she was a lovely woman, in an entirely different way than his Eldi. He could still see the great beauty that Rikke had been when she was young and the men couldn’t stay away from her. Even he had succumbed to her charms, once, early in their acquaintance, when they were barely more than kids, just a distant memory that had no bearing on the here and now. “I ah…eh. What if…hm.”

“Yes Galmar?” she asked patiently. He bit his lip and scratched at his ribs, and he looked so much like an old gray bear it made her bite back a laugh.

“Ah, Rikke,” he murmured, seeing those dimples that were no doubt half the reason she had never wanted for partners. “I said I wanted your company, didn’t I? As little or as much as you wanted. I never thought you wanted any more than that.” She blinked, taken aback, then her expression grew wary. “Yeah, I was married a long time. I wish it had been longer. And I do miss her, every day, and I’m not looking to replace her. But…I got used to it. Always having someone there. I wasn’t looking to just fool around, but I figured I would take what I could get.” Her expression softened, disbelieving. He cleared his throat again, not exactly used to this sort of thing. Not anymore. “Don’t write me off, Rikke. I don’t want to grow old alone either.”

Rikke stared at him for a moment, at the earnestness in his expression, and the sad loneliness, the kind that only someone who had lost a spouse could ever know. She certainly couldn’t imagine what it was like. “Oh Galmar,” she whispered, feeling the rare sting of tears in her eyes. He moved a little closer to her, uncertain, testing, and she reached out before she let herself think about it and change her mind. She took a handful of his shirt and pulled him close, making him chuckle in relief and put his hands on her waist.

“I like a woman who knows what she wants.” She smiled hesitantly at him and he chuckled again and leaned in for a kiss, barely more than the light touch of lips. It sent a pang of grief through him, and even a little guilt. She searched his eyes, worried, and he admitted in a rough voice, “I haven’t been with anyone but Eldi since I was Ralof’s age. It…will take some getting used to.” Rikke made a sound of sympathy, laying her gloved hand on his cheek, and he took it and held it in his, finding the feel of leather and steel odd and intriguing. No, Rikke was nothing at all like Eldi. Rikke was tall, blond, fit, a warrior; Eldi had been brown-haired, short and pleasantly plump and soft, extremely feminine. He was glad they were nothing alike. The less alike the better.

_“I SAID I DON’T WANT YOU TO!”_

The roar shook the Palace, the stones beneath their feet trembling, and Galmar breathed, “Shiiiiit! What in Oblivion are they fighting about?”

“By Talos, I’m not sure I want to know,” she said with worry. “But it was just a matter of time. They both have…hm, strong personalities.”

“Well Ulfric better calm her down before the ceiling comes down on our heads.” They heard the sound of booted feet coming their direction from the hall outside, and Galmar grumbled and pecked Rikke’s cheek then let go of her hand. Two guards came bursting through the door, dusted with snow, looking frantic.

One said, “Sir, the shouting…we can hear it outside.”

“And so can everyone else,” the female guard added.

“Yeah, so?” Galmar retorted. “Next time the Cruel-Seas have a lover’s quarrel, you gonna come tell me about it?”

The first guard said in a halting tone, “But…er…oh.”

Rikke stated, “The Queen is loud. We all know she’s loud. Right now she’s upset, and that makes her even louder, got it?”

“Yes ma’am,” the two guards murmured.

“Off with you,” Galmar ordered, and the two looked at each other in embarrassment and left the way they came. He sighed and offered Rikke his arm, and she beamed at him and took it. When he felt her give his bicep a gentle squeeze he laughed and flexed his arm again. “You like that, eh?”

“It’s quite nice, I must admit.”

“I can still put the young ones through their paces, same as Ulfric.”

“Let’s hope Ulfric can deal with the young one he has on his hands right now.”  
-  
As the thunder died away Ulfric slowly lowered his hands from his ears, his eyes wide with barely controlled fury. Only the knowledge that his wife was lashing out in fear was tempering it at all. “You… _dare_ to shout at me like that?” he seethed. “What the fuck are you trying to do, shatter my eardrums? Bring the Palace down? You will calm yourself or by all the Nine Divines I’m going to take you over my knee!” he yelled. Bryn recoiled, blinking as she breathed heavily. Ulfric repeated, “I am going to be with you when you read those damned Scrolls, do you hear me? When you have them all you’re going to come back here and get me.”

“Who are you to tell me what to do?” she said through gritted teeth.

“I am your husband! Don’t you try to pull rank on me, damn you. Not here in our marital chambers, in our private quarters. I won’t tolerate it!”

“Oh really. What do you plan on doing about it?” His jaw clenched as his expression grew even more furious, if that was possible, his hands tightening into fists. “What, are you going to hit me? Shout me into the wall?”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you? I almost think you want me to do it, you little… Ugh, no, I will not give you the satisfaction, no matter how much I think you need some sense smacked into you.” He would never raise his hand to a woman like that, any more than his father ever had, and it didn’t matter one bit that she was stronger than him. He wasn’t about to call her names either, even if she was acting like a little bitch. Gods how he wanted to though. He had no idea what to do with her. This was their first real fight as a married couple and he detested it. The only comfort he had was that he was the one man in Skyrim other than the Greybeards who could halfway control her; if worse came to worst he could Shout her down with all three words of Unrelenting Force and truss her up and shove a gag in her mouth before she could collect herself. Even she wasn’t immune to that. “Promise me you will come back here when you have the other two Scrolls,” he demanded.

“No. There’s no point in you being there.”

Seeing her anger was finally starting to falter, Ulfric countered, “There are a number of reasons for me to be there. The simple fact that I want to be there should be enough for you, but since it apparently is not, I should be there because if you really do go mad I’m the only person in Skyrim who can deal with you, because of my _thu’um._ ” Bryn looked shocked at that, and when she took in a shuddering breath and looked away from him he felt his anger start to subside as well. “I don’t for one moment think that you’ll go mad. You are Dragonborn, a creation of Akatosh. Your nature will not allow you to go mad. You didn’t even truly go mad before. You were exhausted and stressed, that is all. Once you rested you recovered.” Bryn frowned and turned away, and he prompted, “Is that not true?”

“Yes, in that when I rested I recovered.” She pulled the circlet off her head and tossed it onto the table, her head aching. She massaged her temples and cast a healing spell, hearing Ulfric take in a sharp breath then slowly let it out.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I did go mad, but not very much, and it went away when I slept.” She poured water into the washing bowl and dipped a washcloth into it, and as she wiped her face she muttered, “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I shouldn’t have done that.” It actually could have damaged his hearing or hurt him somehow. She never would have forgiven herself for that.

Ulfric sighed, “Ah, precious…” He went to her and put his arms around her waist from behind and leaned his head against hers. They were both a bit sweaty and smelly, but not enough to be a deterrent. He kissed her neck and murmured against it, “I will be there when you read the Scrolls.”

“All right.” She felt him let out a breath of relief and kiss her neck again as he held her tightly. His damp shirt was cold against her back, but she didn’t mind.

“Let me take care of you, if only that much.” Bryn nodded. “How long are you staying?”

“A week.”

“Good.” He took the washcloth from her and threw it on the table. “We’ll save that for later.”

“Oh?” Ulfric’s hand slid down the front of her underclothes, making her sigh and back up against him. The other hand came up to knead her breast as he nibbled at her ear, a growing hardness against her backside.

He murmured, “It’s good to know I can tame my _rekdovah,_ hm?”

“Oh yes, do that…”

The breathy, submissive reply sent a shiver of shocked lust through him that left him confused and speechless for a few seconds, while also hardening him to the point of near pain. He licked his lips then reached up and wound his fingers in her hair and felt her move against him. He gave her hair a gentle, experimental pull and was surprised when she whimpered and thrust herself against his hand, growing wet. This wasn’t at all what he had expected to do it for her, but he wasn’t about to overthink it, and it was something she was probably rarely in the mood for. They had been together such a short time that there were doubtless a number of things like this that they didn’t yet know about each other. Maybe she felt at the moment that she really did need taming. It wasn’t really his thing, normally, but it was damned exciting right now.

He directed her over to the bed and pushed her face down onto it then pulled her underclothes down and off, and the sight of her toned backside in front of him nearly made him lose reason. He impulsively pulled her hands behind her back and wound the flimsy cloth around them, knowing she could easily pull her hands free, and she whimpered and spread her legs, going up on her tiptoes. He slid his fingers inside her as he leaned over and nipped at her back, making her shudder beneath him. He fingered and rubbed her until she climaxed with cries that were muffled in the blankets, and when he got behind her and slowly entered her he grabbed another fistful of hair and tugged her head back. She responded with a long moan, pushing back against him, and the sudden surge of aggression it sent through him made him growl in response and move faster, ignoring the uneasiness the entire thing was causing in him. His wife wanted it this way, and he had to focus on that and that alone.

“Hit me!”

Ulfric’s breath caught in bewilderment, and when she demanded it again he found her giving her a stinging slap on the backside that made her cry out and buck her hips. He gave her another one, harder, making her squeal in delight. He thrust into her as hard as he could, her screams ringing in his ears, and all too soon he climaxed so hard it made him shout in surprise. He let go of her hair and pulled her hands free then collapsed onto her, shivering as echoes of pleasure went through him. Bryn made a warm sound of happiness and writhed under him, and he bit her shoulder and growled, “Damn dirty girl...” It had been the most intense thing he had ever taken part of in bed, though that wasn’t saying much. He wasn’t altogether comfortable with it, but it had been damn hot, that was for certain, and his wife had certainly enjoyed it. He kissed by her ear then whispered into it, “I love you.”

“I love you more, _kodaavi.”_

He sat up on one elbow enough to take some of his weight off her and rub her backside as he said, “I think that’s going to leave a mark for a little while.” There was a very distinct red handprint there that he wasn’t at all happy about.

“Mmm, good.” She heard him huff as he pulled out of her and yanked up his pants to lay on his side next to her, and when she saw the deeply troubled look on his face she sighed and said, “Darling, don’t. I loved it, all of it. It was just a mood I was in. It doesn’t make you mean or a bad person for enjoying it.”

“I know that.” The sullen mutter made her sigh again and roll to her side to face him. She leaned close and gave him a kiss, her first since coming home. He grumbled and ran his hand down her flank to her hip. “So tell me more about what you did while you were away.”

Seeing he didn’t want to talk anymore about what they had just done, Bryn said, “Rikke and I met with Tullius and Commander Maro. It looks like the Emperor is going to be visiting Skyrim soon. He wants to meet me.”

“Wonderful,” he said in a snide tone.

“I told them that I don’t want him touring my country. Our country. They didn’t take well to that, but they understood why. He’ll stay in Solitude and I’ll go there.”

He grumbled, “I knew the day would come that he would want to meet you. It would be remiss of him to not inspect his new weapon.”

“I’m glad he decided to inspect it here and not call me to the Imperial City.”

“Yes, I suppose,” he admitted. It would be all too easy for the Emperor to just keep her there if that happened. Not that she could be kept there for long.

“Tullius brought up the Stormcloaks who aren’t disbanding. They’ve been noticed.” Ulfric grunted and nodded, his brow furrowed. “I told Tullius to leave them alone until I get the vampire problem resolved. If they don’t go home by then I’m going to get up in the air on Odahviing and scout out their encampments and strongly encourage them to disperse. Hopefully they will go home before that.”

“They had better. It does not speak well of them that they’re ignoring orders.” It made him wonder what their objective was. It made them look little better than common bandits, and it was an embarrassment to him that such folk had fought under his banner. If the commanders couldn’t ferret out those remaining groups and get them to go home, the Dragonborn would be within her rights to scatter them however she saw fit. Ulfric knew she didn’t want it to come to that. No one did, even Tullius.

Bryn went on, “Rikke, Ralof and I stopped in Helgen, after passing through Whiterun.” Ulfric’s lips pursed as he nodded. He knew she had been back there several times. “Ralof found it upsetting, but I think it was good for him to go back there and see it. We took out a group of bandits while we were there. Rikke and I came to the conclusion that the town should be rebuilt, and Tullius was in full agreement. I wrote a letter to Dengeir telling him that work would start soon and to not be alarmed by it.”

He conceded, “It’s in a strategic spot. It should be rebuilt. I can only hope Dengeir doesn’t choose to be alarmed anyway.” He paused then said, “Word has gotten around that you paid Skyrim’s taxes out of your own pocket.” She made a sound of assent, unconcerned. “That…hm, it was generous, very generous, and the people will love you for it. But I would be careful about that. It wouldn’t do to let the Jarls think that you will continue to do that, while they hold onto their own wealth. While I don’t like the idea of paying tribute, I do understand that it serves a purpose. The Empire is the first line of defense against the Dominion, and the Legion doesn’t pay for itself.”

“It was the one and only time I’ll be doing it, believe me. That was a lot of loot for even me to come up with on the spot.”

“Good. Did you get all the masks together?”

“Ah, yes,” she said in surprise, having forgotten all about it. She slid off the bed, grabbing up her underpants and pulling them on to catch the seed leaking out of her. She desperately needed a bath, but that could wait for a bit. She went to her pack and dug around in it then held up a golden mask. It was slightly different in style than the others, but the two tusks were the biggest change. The hood attached to it was black and gold, instead of brown and gray. _“Konahrik,”_ she stated.

Ulfric thought for a moment then nodded slowly, feeling goose bumps rise on his skin as he murmured, “Warlord.” She brought it to him, and he was surprised by the weight of it. “This is solid gold,” he said in amazement. He couldn’t imagine the outrageous value of the thing.

“I was able to temper it, but I haven’t worn it yet other than briefly putting it on when I got it. The enchantment only kicks in when the wearer is very low on health. I’m saving it for the war.”

“It seems fitting.” He hesitated then held the mask up to his face, curious, and when he felt the tingle of magic he quickly took it off and handed it back to her, unsettled. “What did you do with the other masks?”

“I left them in Bromjunaar Sanctuary. They’re safe there. I still have the wooden mask, and no one can get in there without it.” She took Konahrik to one of the wardrobes and set it on the highest shelf, out of sight. She had no need of it until it came time to battle the Aldmeri Dominion. She couldn’t remember the last time she had taken so much damage that it would have helped. Maybe when she fought Alduin on the mountain. Yes, it certainly would have helped then.

“Were you able to see your friends while you were in Whiterun?”

“Yes. Lydia is doing well.”

The short answer was telling. He got off the bed and went to the water bowl to clean off, and as he pulled his shirt off he asked, “Did you see Vilkas?” There was no point dancing around the issue. She made a scoffing sound as she looked for a clean dress to wear, but she didn’t say no. “Was it awkward?”

“Yes it was, and he made it that way,” she said in hurt irritation. “Bowing to me and not looking me in the eye, in Lydia and Farkas’ house no less. Like I’m going to…to behead him or something if he doesn’t pay obeisance to me. It was offensive. I asked him if that was really necessary and he just nodded. He wouldn’t say a word to me. I left Breezehome right after that to have dinner with Jarl Balgruuf.”

“Is he still fucking his housecarl?”

Bryn burst into laughter at the blunt question. “Well, once you start I imagine it’s hard to stop.” Ulfric laughed and slid his boots off. “It didn’t show, and I didn’t get the chance to speak privately with him about how things are going. He seemed happy though. Less stressed. His children seem a little less bratty than usual too. I stopped by Jorrvaskr on the way up to Dragonsreach and said hello to everyone, since Vilkas was staying at Breezehome for dinner. Everything seems to be going well, but Tilma…she’s so very frail. I don’t think she’s long for this world. I know it’s the way of things, and the hall is in good hands with Lydia and Aerin, but I’ll be sad to see her go.” Visiting Jorrvaskr always made her a bit sad. It had felt like home, since the day she had set foot in it. Maybe it was just the people there who made it feel that way. Regardless she missed it. Some days she wished… Well, it was pointless. She was Dragonborn and the High Queen of Skyrim, and there was no going back.

“It was like that when my nanny passed away. I made sure she was cared for to the end, and I thought it would never be the same around here without her. And it wasn’t, but in time you get used to it.”

“I suppose. Aela and Mjoll are getting married soon, in Riften. Another month or so, once Skjorta is a little older and heartier. I told them I would go to the wedding.”

 _“We_ will go to the wedding.”

“Yes, sorry, that’s what I meant.”

Ulfric didn’t reply to that, knowing she was mostly telling the truth. She had been gone for so much of their marriage so far that it simply didn’t occur to her that married couples fulfilled that sort of social obligation together, just as it hadn’t occurred to her that he would want to be there for her when she read the Elder Scrolls. At least she wasn’t putting up a fight about him going to the wedding. He was going to be right there next to her, holding her hand, as her husband. The thought of her sitting there by herself in the Temple of Mara with Vilkas most likely nearby, the two of them thinking about each other, was intolerable to him. They would do so even if he was there, but at least with him there they wouldn’t be casting any longing glances at each other. 

He was clearly going to have to be more assertive with her from here on out. She was so unused to the idea of having to compromise with another person that she simply did what she wanted and expected everyone else to fall in line, including him. He was going to be there when she read the Scrolls, and he was going to be at the wedding with her, and he would be present when she went to Solitude to meet with the Emperor, as her consort. He was fine with the knowledge that Titus Mede II would want to speak privately to her, but he was going to be right there the rest of the time. Sitting here in Windhelm while she was off doing gods knew what was necessary much of the time, but not all the time.


	42. Chapter 42

“By the Nine Divines,” Hadvar breathed as Bryn stepped out of the boat with Serana’s help. The vampire girl seemed much more solicitous of the Queen than before, looking at her with concern as Bryn leaned on her arm. The Queen’s skin had a frightening gray pallor and there were purplish circles under her eyes. They had been on the island for a day and a half, during which time Ralof and Hadvar had entertained themselves by cleaning bandits out of the nearby Northwatch Keep and poking around for whatever treasure Bryn had left behind long ago when she had rescued Thorald Gray-Mane. The forced time alone had gone a long way towards loosening things up between them, beyond their sharing of a room in Windhelm. They weren’t buddies at this point by any means, but most of the resentment was gone.

Ralof hurried to take Bryn’s other arm and asked with worry, “What happened, my lady? Did vampires attack you?”

“No, vampires would have been preferable,” she said in a rough voice. “I’ve just been to Oblivion and back.” She didn’t know how the Hero of Kvatch had tolerated it. Granted, the plane of Oblivion he had accessed while closing all those Gates had been completely different, but it was still no place for a living, breathing being. Bryn would rather fight dragons any day.

The two young men looked at each other, and Serana added, “Literally Oblivion. A plane of it, anyway.” She moved out of the way as Hadvar came to take the Queen’s other arm. As they led her toward the Keep, she followed, saying with anxiety, “It’s a place of the dead. I…I had to, well, make her a little dead to—“

“A _little_ dead!” Hadvar and Ralof exclaimed at once. Ralof growled, “How the hell do you make someone a little…Ugh, never mind, is it reversible? Will she get better?”

“I thought she would be better by now. She has her whole soul back.” That Bryn had come out of the Cairn looking like that worried Serana to death, figuratively speaking. The Dragonborn was the only one who could put an end to all this, and put an end to Harkon. But more than that…in the Soul Cairn Bryn had started treating Serana like a person. They had gotten lost several times, the place hard to navigate, and so they had had plenty of time to talk. Serana had found herself getting drawn into conversation with the Queen, who was willing to tell Serana all about her own past, things that Serana had found intriguing but confusing, and she had found herself responding. Not a lot, but just listening had been…nice. She supposed. She wasn’t used to anything…nice.

Hadvar angrily said, “You should have let us come with you.”

“I couldn’t!” Serana protested. “The more people with us, the greater the chance of my father sensing something amiss. And there was no way to take you into the Soul Cairn with us. I couldn’t make all of you, well…”

“A little dead,” Hadvar muttered. “Got it.” He put his arm around Bryn’s waist and said to her, “Ralof and I cleaned out the Keep, my lady. We’ll go inside and get you warm and some food into you, then you can sleep.”

“That sounds good,” Bryn whispered.

“And you have the Blood Scroll, my lady?” She nodded. “We’ll head to the College after this for the last scroll then go to Windhelm and get Jarl Ulfric, but let’s get you recovered first.” Ulfric would not be happy at all to see her like this. He had taken both young men aside together mid-way through last week and impressed on them that under no circumstances were they to let Bryn read the Elder Scrolls without him there. It had been an uncomfortable conversation, and once it was over Ulfric had eyed Hadvar as if considering saying more to him, about gods knew what, then he had seemed to think better of it and walked away, much to Hadvar’s relief. The Jarl and Galmar had been distantly polite to him and hadn’t made things awkward, though most of the guards eyed him with either coldness or resentment, knowing who he was. Well, that was their problem. He didn’t have to work with them. The Jarl seemed to trust him, and the Queen definitely did, even Ralof did, and that was all that mattered.  
-  
Hearing a muffled sound of apprehension from Ralof, Bryn said to him, “You can stay here in town if you want. Really. I won’t think any less of you for it.”

He stared up at the College of Winterhold, his skin crawling, and he admitted, “Maybe that would be for the best, my Queen. I don’t want to embarrass you.” He just knew that he would react to something before he could stop himself and look like a fool. He could see cold beams of light shooting up from the place, and gods only knew what they were. The whole place also looked ready to topple over, perched on a column of rock that didn't look nearly sturdy enough to hold an entire compound like that.

“It’s all right,” she assured him, putting her hand on his arm. “Go to the Frozen Hearth and have a drink, but I warn you, an Altmer wizard lives there. There’s no getting away from magic here.”

He grimaced and replied, “Yes, my lady.” He could ignore a single mage better than a whole keep full of them. He looked at Hadvar, who kept a neutral expression on his face. He knew very well that the other man had no problem with magic and had fought side by side with battlemages and spellswords. Ralof supposed he would have to get used to it, if there was war in their future. The Queen had also made it clear that the ancient Nords had not disdained magic and that there had been many mages in Sovngarde. She had also told him that she had the ability to become a mage herself and hadn’t simply because she hadn’t yet needed to, that the option to do so someday was still on the table, and had reminded him that she was half-Altmer. He knew all that, but feeling comfortable with it was something else entirely.

Bryn smiled at him then headed for the entrance to the College walkway, Hadvar at her side. She was pleased to see that the damaged buildings in town had been torn down and the rubble cleared away, and a rudimentary set of stairs was in the process of being set into the hillside down to the water. She was spending the night as a guest of Jarl Korir and would commend him on the progress. She was sure he had grumbled about it the entire time, but most of the coin wasn’t coming out of his pocket, the rebuilding of Winterhold being funded by Bryn and the College equally as a goodwill gesture.

As they went up the walkway Hadvar said, “This will be…interesting, my lady.”

She laughed and replied, “Never thought you would come here, I imagine.”

“Never had reason to.”

“I actually like it a great deal at the College. I think in another life I would have liked to become a mage, if for no other reason than to prove my aunt and grandmother wrong. Auntie wasn’t particularly gifted, not like my father supposedly was, and she was a terrible teacher. I found it so easy to learn here. Having good teachers makes all the difference.”

“There’s no reason you can’t pursue learning more, my lady.”

“Oh, there’s a very good reason. The one I’m married to.”

“Oh.” He hesitated then added in a wry tone, “Any reason he would even have to know?” She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling. He said innocently, “Being exposed to it a bit more might make Ralof relax, my lady, and I think at this point he isn’t likely to go running to the Jarl or Galmar to tattle on you. Also, we are going to war against Elves. Magic users.”

“You make a compelling case.” As they came to the narrow, broken section of walkway she muttered, “They really need to fix this.”

“It’s ah, a bit…” Hadvar trailed off, feeling his balls tighten up practically inside his body as he looked hundreds of feet down to the thrashing sea and jagged rocks below. “Kynareth preserve me,” he whispered in fear, sweat breaking out over every inch of his body. He hadn’t really imagined that he was afraid of heights before this, but then this would frighten anyone. He felt Bryn’s hand slip into his and he looked at her gratefully, his face warm. She slowly led him through the area as he kept his eyes on the stones in front of his feet, trying not to see anything other than that. She kept hold of his hand until they were up the slope and into an enclosed area, and he let out a shaky breath of relief as she let go. “Thank you, my lady,” he murmured. “But I’m not at all looking forward to going back down.”

“We’ll worry about it then.”

They entered the courtyard and Hadvar let out a whispered, “Wow…” The Arch-Mage’s tower rose behind a statue of a mage, in front of which was a pool of light that set his hair on end.

“Shalidor,” Bryn explained. “Some say he founded the College and was one of the most powerful mages who ever lived.” As they headed toward the main building Bryn said, “I hope Urag is willing to sell back the Scroll. He can be a bit gruff.”

“He wouldn’t be an Orc otherwise.” She laughed slightly at that. They went inside and Hadvar was grateful to be out of the cold, though he could hear/feel a faint humming that sang along his nerves, making him shiver. He heard a crackling sound coming from the hall in front of them as the room lit up in white, and Bryn made a sound of interest and headed that direction.

“This is the Hall of The Elements,” she explained. “The lectures and most practicing takes place here. It’s close to lunchtime though, so I’m not sure who…ah!” As they entered the Hall she saw a young Nord mage casting lightning bolts at a target. She whistled to get his attention, and he turned and smiled brightly in surprise.

“Bryn!” he called, hurrying over. He embraced her and added, “Sorry…my Queen. We couldn’t believe when we heard! Well, I mean, we did, but…”

“Oh, forget that,” she chided. She put her arm around his shoulders and said in introduction, “Hadvar, this is my friend Onmund. We started at the College together with a couple other students.”

“Hadvar,” Onmund said with a nod and a smile, extending his hand, waiting for the inevitable Nord warrior’s discomfort, but when the other man easily took it his smile broadened. Well of course he wasn’t uneasy around mages, being a former Legionnaire.

Hadvar murmured, “Onmund. Good to meet you.” By Dibella, the man had the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He looked a few years younger than Hadvar, and he had a strong grip for a mage, and he was tall and well-built for one too, but then he was a Nord. When Onmund’s smile grew warm and he blushed slightly, Hadvar realized he was still slowly shaking his hand. He cleared his throat and let go, feeling his own cheeks grow warm.

Bryn said to her friend, “I’m going down to the Arcanaeum to talk to Urag, then I need to track down Tolfdir. Could you show Hadvar around?”

“I’d be glad to,” Onmund replied, hoping it didn’t sound as eager to their ears as it did to his. Show Hadvar around…wouldn’t he love to do that, though from the looks of him Hadvar had already seen more things than Onmund could ever show him. He hadn’t exactly gotten out much, or around much, but he knew who Hadvar was. Everyone with ears had heard who he was lately. He had to be pretty impressive if the Queen’s right hand had asked for him personally for the Queen’s service.

The Queen smiled innocently and headed to one of the side doors, and Hadvar couldn’t help a soft laugh to himself. She certainly didn’t miss a thing. Hadvar shifted his helmet under his other arm and looked around, saying, “I never thought I would ever have reason to see this place. It’s impressive.”

“I suppose it is. I’m so used to it now I forget how it looked to me when I came here. Wide-eyed and fresh off the farm, everything looked so big, so amazing. Not that it still isn’t, but, you know what they say about familiarity.”

“To me, familiarity has always bred comfort, not contempt.” He sighed and added, “There hasn’t been a lot of familiarity for me lately. You get used to things being a certain way in the Legion, you know?”

“Not really.” Hadvar laughed and nodded. “I think that’s why I like it here so much. It’s become like a family. A couple of the members are like that cousin you wish would get stomped into mush by a giant, but on the whole we really look out for each other here.”

“That is a lot like the Legion. I think that’s what I miss the most about it.”

Onmund motioned for him to follow and they went out the front doors. A cold blast of wind knocked the breath out of them, and Onmund said, “I’ve only heard bits and pieces. We get kind of isolated up here. They say you helped Bryn, uh, the Queen, out of Helgen?”

Hadvar shook his head and said, “She helped me every bit as much, believe me. It…” He shook his head again as they passed the statue. “It was a hard time. Had nightmares for weeks afterwards. But after those few weeks, when I started hearing whispers of a Dragonborn and put it all together…the nightmares stopped. I just knew…everything would be all right.”

“Wow,” Onmund breathed. “And now you’re running around Skyrim after vampires with her. I’m envious. I’ve learned so much here at the College, but…we don’t get out much.”

“Do you have a specialty? A certain school you’re following?”

“Destruction. Shock and lightning spells, in particular. I liked the idea of becoming a battlemage or spellsword, but I really don’t have any skill with weapons, and Talos knows my parents and older brothers tried to drill it into me.”

Hadvar shrugged and said without concern, “Everyone’s good at different things. If you ask me we need more Nords pursuing the magical arts. You should ask the Queen about her visit to Sovngarde. Tsun himself called magic the clever craft, with respect, and there were mages aplenty there.”

“Really.”

The hurt, disbelieving tone to Onmund’s voice made Hadvar pause and look at him. The younger man looked troubled, angry even. Hadvar asked in concern, “What’s wrong?” Onmund sighed and shook his head, and Hadvar put a hand on his shoulder and asked, “Maybe…we could talk it out over dinner at the Frozen Hearth? Tonight?” It was a bit of a risk; sometimes it was hard to tell if he was reading other men’s signals correctly. Maybe Onmund’s smile and blush had been embarrassment instead of interest. Onmund’s eyebrows rose in surprise then a shy smile spread over the other man’s face, relieving him.

“I would love that. I can’t remember the last time I, ah…well. Winterhold, you know. It’s isolated.”

Hadvar laughed, “I noticed.” He let his hand fall and went on, “The Queen is staying with Jarl Korir. I’m sure she would excuse me for a while, maybe even overnight. My partner can attend her just fine.”

“Partner?”

Hearing the sudden wariness in Onmund’s voice and seeing it in his eyes, Hadvar shook his head and said, “Oh, no no. _Work_ partner. Partner in the Guard. Sorry, I should’ve used a different word. Ralof doesn’t go that way at all, and even if he did… No.” Ralof was a fine-looking man, but too well aware of it, and too overtly masculine for Hadvar’s tastes. When they had been younger, in their mid-teens, Hadvar had been interested, and had made the mistake of acting on it, but only once. He thought with regret that maybe that was where their troubles had started. He shivered and motioned toward the small magical well nearby. “Is that warm? It’s freezing out here, even for a Nord.” Onmund took his arm and led him to the closest door and they went inside, and once they were in there and it seemed quiet Hadvar murmured, “So…no partner-partner in your life?”

Onmund laughed and looked away, his face growing warm. He let his hand fall as he quietly said, “No. There are no men here who like men, and even if any of them were I would never…ugh. The atmosphere here isn’t really conducive to that sort of thing, anyway. Kind of…dry. Academic. And we’re still not terribly welcome in town, and there’s hardly anyone there. And then, well, I came from a really small town. Not even a town, really, in Hjaalmarch. Just a few families, and we were all kind of distantly related to each other.” He made a sound of frustration, and seeing the sympathy in Hadvar’s gaze he went on, “My father and brothers said I would never get into Sovngarde if I became a mage. That’s what I was upset about when you mentioned it. My mother said coming to the College would be a death sentence. I still wonder if she worried I would die, or if she was implying I would be dead to them if I went. I haven’t talked to any of them since I left home.”

“Ah, hey,” Hadvar softly said, giving Onmund’s shoulder a gentle shake. “I’m sorry. Most of our people are still so narrow-minded. You were brave to leave home and come here to follow your own path, and I promise you, the Queen says the Hall of Valor was full of mages.” Onmund nodded, and Hadvar moved closer to him and stated, “You know, I have to say, you have the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” he whispered in surprise. No one had ever told him that before. Plenty of Nords had blue eyes. Hadvar’s were blue, but a lighter blue touched with gray. Steel blue, he thought it was called, and it was fitting for a warrior. The other man’s nearness in his steel plate armor was rattling his nerves in a pleasant way. He had never been with an experienced warrior, or someone so massively built, so confident and obviously worldly. He hadn’t been with much of anyone at all.

“Yes, really. I grew up near Lake Ilinalta, and in the summertime when the sun hits the water just right… even then, not nearly as blue.”

“Oh…”

“I’m sorry I threw you for a loop earlier with that mention of a partner. I don’t want you to think I’m anything like that. If I was serious about someone I wouldn’t go behind his back. I wouldn’t go against my own honor.”

Onmund nodded briefly and mumbled, “I believe that.” He should have known that was the case. The Queen probably wouldn’t tolerate anyone at her side who wasn’t perfectly honorable in every aspect of his life. He fidgeted and admitted, “I ah, well, about tonight, I’m, well, I should let you know, I’m not really, well…I haven’t, um, much…”

Hadvar laughed and gave him another gentle shake. “Ah, you’re sweet. No worries, Onmund, really.”

His face hot, he said, “It’s just that…well, you were in the Legion. You’ve been all over Tamriel. You’ve probably seen and done things that…I just really don’t think I could…um, measure up to.”

“Well, I do have to admit I’ve been around, I won't lie about that. You can’t be in the Legion and not have that happen, but frankly, I like that you haven’t been, and I won’t be doing any measuring of anything. I’d just like your company and to get to know you better, that’s all. We really could just have dinner if you want.”

“Oh no,” Onmund said with a touch of worry. “Sweet merciful Dibella, don’t leave me all…pent up.”

Hadvar laughed softly and stroked his cheek. “No worries there. I’ll send you home happy, lad, I promise.” Onmund stared at him with dilated eyes then nodded, and Hadvar leaned in and kissed his cheek then left it at that. The poor thing was flustered enough as it was. He found the younger man’s innocence charming, though he hoped he wasn’t completely innocent. At Onmund’s age he hoped not, since he looked to be about twenty-four or twenty-five. Surely he had gotten around at least a little bit in that time. 

He supposed he would find out later. At this point he just wanted some company, something he hadn’t gotten in a few months, something that didn’t come along quite as often as it did for Ralof, who had a wider pool of potential partners to fish from. Rikke had talked to Hadvar early on about being discreet in his bedroom matters around the Queen, and had implied that Ralof hadn’t been and had gotten a mild talking-to over it. Hadvar knew better than that, had much better control than that. He was glad his orientation wasn’t an issue with the Queen, though he hadn’t expected it to be. The only difference it had made was in Bryn being more relaxed with him than she was with Ralof, which he appreciated, and which Ralof didn’t seem to care about. Ralof still somewhat viewed Bryn as ‘Ulfric’s wife’ more than his Queen. Hadvar didn’t operate under that illusion, regardless of Ulfric’s demands last week. Hadvar reported to Bryn then Rikke, in that order, and had only agreed to Ulfric’s instructions because he knew the Jarl was right, and he knew the Jarl was doing it out of love and concern.

As a sweetly relieved Onmund continued showing him around and introduced him to the other students and some of the instructors, Hadvar couldn’t help worrying distractedly about just what was going to happen when Bryn read all three Elder Scrolls. Rikke seemed to think nothing serious would happen; Ralof seemed to be trying not to worry too hard about it, even though it was obvious he was worried; Serana hadn’t said anything about it, though to be fair she hadn’t had the chance. She had gone straight from Northwatch Keep to Fort Dawnguard, knowing she would not be welcome in either the College of Winterhold or the Palace of Kings. Bryn seemed much more tolerant of her since their ordeal in the Soul Cairn, and Serana much more respectful and solicitous of the Queen, who indeed had been fully recovered in the morning. Hadvar hoped that all she would need to do after the reading was sleep, and that nothing terrible happened before she had the chance to do that. He wasn’t at all convinced that there would be no immediate and serious consequences from it. Dragonborn or not, no one could do such a thing, something that to his knowledge had never been attempted before, and come through unscathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, in my headcanon Onmund looks just like Tahmoh Penikett. I never insert real-life actors into this sort of thing, but seriously, Google the guy...it's spooky.


	43. Chapter 43

The sound of heavy boots coming out of the war room made Bryn turn to look for her husband, and when she saw him she sighed, “Oh, _kodaavi…_ You look splendid. So handsome.” He was wearing the ebony armor that Oengul had crafted for him, the helmet tucked under one arm, and he was carrying the Shield of Eastmarch. He was armed with his steel war axe of cowardice, which he refused to part with since it used to be his father’s, but he had let her improve it at Oengul’s forge, where she had also surreptitiously improved the armor, so as not to hurt the Master Smith’s feelings. She had also enchanted the armor to enhance the regeneration of health and stamina, enchanted the gauntlets to enhance one-handed weapon and archery skills, and enchanted the boots to help him resist fire damage and carry extra weight. She didn’t really have any other enchantments that were useful for the helmet, not that Ulfric would ever use, so she had applied waterbreathing to it. It was unlikely Ulfric would ever need it, but she couldn’t leave just the helmet unenchanted. Wuunferth had watched her the entire time as if she had sprouted an extra head, seeming almost horrified that she could force two enchantments into items. She had offered to teach him how and he had shaken his head vehemently, as if the skill were an abomination. It had actually been rather annoying. The enchanting teacher at the College had been thrilled that the method had finally been worked out, though Sergius didn’t have the skill to do it.

Bryn met Ulfric and put her hand on his cheek, and he murmured to her with a smile, “I can’t go running around after my beautiful High Queen looking anything less than magnificent.” She laughed and kissed him tenderly and he returned it, feeling more than a little excited about heading out on an honest-to-gods adventure with his wife. It would be interesting to see how she operated on the road and how the people reacted to her, and to him with her. It would also be interesting in a morbid way to talk to a vampire. Bryn trusted the creature, even spoke somewhat fondly of it. He supposed if she had relied on Serana in that revolting Soul Cairn it would build some trust and liking. Hearing about the place had been extremely unsettling, and it hadn’t been until he had asked for a report directly from Ralof and Hadvar that he had gotten the full extent of it and what it had done to his wife. Their description of her condition afterward had been upsetting but they had both sworn that she had been perfectly fine the next day with seemingly no lingering effects. He wasn’t sure how being ‘a little dead’ couldn’t leave permanent damage, but that it hadn’t somewhat reassured him that she would handle reading the Scrolls well enough, if she was allowed to sleep it off afterwards. He was going to make sure that she did.

“You sure you’ve got everything?” Galmar asked, unable to help feeling worried. He didn’t like his Jarl and his best friend leaving Windhelm without him, especially on a trip like this. He would be glad for some time alone with Rikke, and maybe the chance to advance their relationship a bit further, but not when this was the reason for the opportunity. He supposed it was ridiculous to worry when Ulfric was in the company of not only his extremely protective Dragonborn wife but two strapping young warriors, all of them armed, armored and enchanted beyond belief. Ulfric was an impressive warrior himself and was geared up to near invincibility. He had nothing to worry about. Even if the last time Ulfric had left Windhelm without him, his Jarl had nearly gone to the block in Helgen. He was sure nothing would happen. And yet he couldn’t help being worried.

Ulfric rolled his eyes and answered, “Yes Galmar, I do. I appreciate your concern, but it’s misplaced.”

“It’s my damn job.”

“I’ll be back before long, I’m sure.” He looked between Galmar and Rikke, who was standing next to the housecarl, and added wryly, “Use the time wisely.”

“Good grief, Ulfric,” Rikke muttered, shaking her head at him. He chuckled and smirked at her, and Galmar cleared his throat, seeming embarrassed of all things. She had let him take things at his own speed since their meeting of the minds a couple weeks ago, and now that he had her cooperation and agreement he was taking things at what she felt was a snail’s pace, but he was the one working through lingering grief, and bits of guilt. His own daughters had told him that Eldi wouldn’t have wanted him to be alone. Rikke had finally met the girls, or young women rather, and they seemed to accept her, though they had seemed to be at a loss as to what to say to her. She wasn’t what they were used to in a woman, having been in the Legion her entire adult life, but it wasn’t as if that really mattered. It was sweet watching Galmar interact with his daughters, showing her a side of him that she had only recently become aware of. It would be nice to see him with some grandchildren someday. She wasn't sure what that would make her, though.

After what seemed an interminable length of time the four were on their way to the stables, Ulfric muttering, “What does he think is going to happen to me? I’ve never seen him so worried.”

Bryn said, “I think he’s more worried about himself, beloved.” Ulfric laughed and nodded in realization. “It’s sweet that they’re taking their time.”

“Rikke hasn’t been the one responsible. She’s going to pounce on the poor man while we’re gone.” He snorted a laugh and added, “And hence Galmar’s anxiety.”

“Once they get over that first time he’ll be fine. If he introduced her to his daughters it must be serious.” Rikke hadn’t really said much to Bryn about it and Bryn hadn’t asked, to avoid looking nosy, but she knew Galmar told Ulfric everything, and Ulfric probably told Galmar more than he should. She supposed that was how men were, and Galmar didn’t treat her any differently because of it.

“I would say it is.” He looked up at the sky and said, “I hope the weather holds out.” Bryn could easily clear the skies with a Shout, but she deeply disliked using that one, afraid it would cause problems with the weather that she couldn’t foresee.

“Afraid to get your fancy new armor muddy?”

“Yes.” His response made her laugh and the two young men behind them chuckle.

“Well it looks very nice on you.” He smiled warmly at her, and she was serious. It was a slightly different style from Vilkas’ ebony plate, which was in an older design, but both sets were lovely. It was highly unlikely that any bandits would trouble them on the road, impressive as the four of them looked. She added, “Maybe you’ll get lucky and we’ll come across a rogue dragon.”

“That would be fantastic. Unlikely at this point, but fantastic.”

“You never know. Odahviing says they’re still out there, but they don’t seem to be causing any harm at this point so I’ve left them alone.”

Ulfric glanced back at Ralof and said, “If the lad got the chance to fight two, it’s only fair I get one.” Ralof shrugged sheepishly then grinned. Ulfric laughed and they continued on their way to the stables to take a carriage to Riften. He was happy to get out of the Palace and spend some time with his wife doing things he had never done before, seeing things he would likely never get the chance to see ever again. He could only hope that they came across a dragon that needed killing, both for the thrill of fighting one and the chance to see Bryn absorb a soul. Every one she took increased her power, and she would need all she could get.

As she climbed into the wagon ahead of him he saw the shape of the two Elder Scrolls in her pack, making his happiness dim. She hadn’t said much of anything about them, and he hadn’t asked other than whether she had them. She had spent a couple days at home and now today they were off. She seemed fine and in good spirits, but maybe she was avoiding thinking about it. He prayed to Mara, the Goddess of Compassion, that the moth priest’s eyesight really had recovered and Bryn wouldn’t be forced to go through with the reading, but he knew that there really was nothing Mara could do. Ulfric knew little to nothing about the priests or the Elder Scrolls, but he knew that the Divines rarely intervened in the matters of mortals, though he would have thought they would be a little kinder to this particular one.  
-  
 _The Scrolls have a mind of their own. If they didn’t want you to find them, they wouldn’t allow it._

Ulfric stifled another shiver, desperate to not let his wife or the two Guards see it. He wouldn’t be able to pass it off as the cold; they were in Falkreath hold, and while it was snowing lightly and they were in the mountains, it was nothing compared to the chill of Windhelm. They had fought a number of bandits on the way here from the town of Falkreath, along with a few vampires, so he was warm from that as well. Bryn hadn’t said a word except when spoken to since they had left Riften, and no one had spoken to her since Falkreath, respecting her wish to be alone in her own head. Well, that was going to change when they reached the Ancestor Glade. He had the feeling that being alone in her head was not at all good for his wife, and he wasn’t going to allow her to continue.

The trip so far had been more interesting than expected, and Fort Dawnguard itself had been impressive. It was in much better shape than the majority of forts around Skyrim, probably due to the shelter of the canyon. And armored trolls! The armored trolls had thrilled him more than anything else he had seen. He had stayed there watching them for several minutes while Bryn spoke with the smith Gunmar. He couldn’t wait to tell Galmar about it. All in all, Ulfric had found the visit to the Fort well worth it. There had been refugees camped outside, folk whose homes and families had been attacked by vampires, something Bryn had found surprising and Serana had viewed with something akin to guilt, or what he supposed was guilt. The vampire girl wasn’t particularly expressive, from what Ulfric could tell. She was a beautiful girl, but he couldn’t help viewing her as a monster, something that needed to be destroyed. She most likely could tell from the look of distaste on his face every time she looked at him. It was probably why she had stopped looking. Ralof and Hadvar ignored her for the most part, most likely the best course of action. Her assistance in all this had been invaluable, but he couldn't help but hope that Bryn forced Serana to get cured at the end of this, or destroyed her. No matter how friendly the creature seemed, she still fed on people against their will, and that could not be tolerated.

It was with mixed relief and foreboding that Ulfric finally saw the cleft in the rock they were looking for, with what looked to be an abandoned hunter’s camp outside. He motioned everyone inside the cavern, glad to get out of the wind. At first glance it looked no different than any other mountain cave, and he quietly said to the young men, “Be on your guard. Such places are never uninhabited.” They nodded, probably better aware than he was. It seemed quiet here though. Unnaturally quiet.

As they headed in Serana said, “Hmph. Not very impressive is it?” She looked at Bryn and went on in a worried tone, “If this ends up being a wasted trip, your friend Dexion and I are going to have words when we get back, my Queen.” She was as sick of all the running around as the rest of them were. Bryn didn’t answer, looking around the cave silently. Too silently. She had been so silent since they left Fort Dawnguard that even Serana was starting to get spooked.

“Why don’t we go further in before we decide that,” Ulfric stated, and she looked away and nodded, lowering the protective hood she wore outside. Bryn glanced around then went to the left, up onto a ledge, and as she crossed a log spanning the gap Ulfric quietly said to Ralof and Hadvar, “You lads guard the entrance here.”

Ralof nodded obediently, and Hadvar softly asked, “My lord…you’re sure you can manage if…well, the worst happens?” He was willing to take Ulfric’s orders when Bryn didn’t seem capable of giving them, or chose not to. The Jarl had Hadvar's respect if nothing else yet. The older man had been a strong, uncomplaining traveling companion and clearly adored his wife. He certainly complained a lot less than Rikke had. He had kept up with the younger folk quite well and more than held his own in a fight, his efforts to keep up his skills and his fitness obvious. Hadvar had never sparred against the Jarl but he had against Galmar, and the old bear wasn't as fast as Hadvar but he more than made up for it in sheer strength and experience. Hadvar was sure sparring against Ulfric would be much the same.

“If you hear me Shout, you’ll know it did. Then I may need your help.”

“Aye, my lord.”

Ulfric nodded and hurried after Bryn and Serana, feeling a warm, moist breeze flow past him as he followed the path down, water dripping off the rocks around him. He stopped as the cavern opened up into a scene of breathtaking beauty, but Bryn walked on as if she didn’t see the beam of light shining down from the open roof, or the moths fluttering serenely in the breeze, didn’t smell the sweet fragrance of mountain flowers and the blooming trees below. The vampire girl was affected as much as Ulfric though, her orange eyes wide with delight. She was definitely a pretty girl, if one could look past those eyes. And the fangs. Which he could not.

“Wow,” Serana breathed, “look at this place. No one’s been here in centuries.” She took a deep breath and added, “I doubt there’s any other place like it in Skyrim. It’s…beautiful.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed, feeling something should be said. “A sacred space indeed.” He hurried after his wife as she headed around a bend towards the floor of the cavern. He saw bubbling pools of hot water, very similar to the ones that dotted the volcanic tundra of Eastmarch and probably responsible for the lush plant life here. The moths seemed to be the only fauna in the cavern, making Ulfric relax the slightest bit. It was highly unusual for such comfortable accommodations to be uninhabited, but perhaps some sort of ancient magic was guarding the place. Which didn’t quite reassure him.

He followed the path down, and by time he reached the bottom he saw his wife passing through a series of stone trilithons. As he met up with her he found her staring at an odd, circular carved stone, at the center of which a double-handled knife eerily floated. She reached out and plucked it from the open space, and he asked her, “That’s for gathering the bark?” She nodded, and before she could turn away he put his hand on her shoulder, stopping her. Serana was further back, wary of the beam of concentrated moonlight, and probably equally wary of Bryn right now. “Precious,” Ulfric murmured. Bryn didn’t answer but didn’t move away. “Don’t keep shutting me out. It doesn’t help.” She shivered, her stony façade cracking slightly, and he whispered, “I know you’re afraid. I’ll be right next to you when you do the reading.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be,” she whispered as she slid the pack off her back and left it at the base of the stone circle. The Scrolls weren’t going anywhere, and if they did it was by their own choice.

“I won’t look at the Scrolls, trust me.” They were so far outside his understanding that he doubted they would affect him in any way, but he wasn’t one to take chances. Not chances like that.

“But…what if I hurt you?”

“You won’t.”

“I might if I go crazy.”

“I doubt you would harm me even then, and if you do go mad, it will be temporary. Do you truly think the Scrolls let you find them only to leave you mad and blind? There’s no purpose in that. No, there is a reason they wanted you to find them, and read them.” He put his hand behind her neck and added, “You are Dovahkiin, the strongest one who has ever existed, a daughter of Akatosh, dragon-souled. This will not break you. I believe this with all my heart.” Bryn stared at him with a pained expression, one he hadn’t seen since they first came together: _I hate what I am._ It left him feeling helpless. Maybe he had reminded her of her nature too much over the last couple weeks. It was a delicate dance he wasn’t really prepared for. He had thought she accepted her nature by now. All he could hope was that once the vampires were destroyed and she was able to truly make a home with him in Windhelm that she would find a more permanent peace of mind. And if she didn’t, well, he had sworn when he married her to accept all of her, for better or worse. Mara knew he was the one who had benefited most from the marriage so far.

He kissed her cheek and gently ordered, “Go gather the bark and catch the moths.” She nodded obediently, and it made him feel uncomfortably like her father for a moment, but it was obviously necessary. Ulfric glanced at the vampire, who gazed back with glowing orange eyes that made his skin crawl, nearly as much as her blank, lifeless expression did. He motioned slightly with his head towards Bryn, and Serana stiffened slightly then wrinkled her nose and came towards Bryn, staying out of the shaft of light.

Serana awkwardly said, “Well then, we have the knife. Now all we need to do is track down one of those Canticle Trees, right?” She pointed to the tree with pink blossoms nearby. “Maybe this one?”

“Sure,” Bryn muttered. She followed Serana to the tree, which grew out of one of the steaming pools. She looked up at the canopy of delicate pink blossoms overhead then closed her eyes, breathing in the spicy/sweet scent, trying to let it soothe her. Well, it smelled good anyway. She sighed heavily and opened her eyes and laid her hand on the bark, which had a flaky texture to it, and when she pulled her hand away it was dusted brown. She sniffed at it and realized it was the source of the spice she smelled. She asked Serana, “What do you think? Just shave a few strips off?”

“Sounds good to me.” Bryn took the knife in both hands and drew it down the trunk several times, peeling off a few strips. She handed the knife to Serana, who said, “I hope the moths like that bark as much as Dexion said they would.” She sniffed then put her hand over her nose. “Wow, uh…pungent.” Now that it was off the tree it was giving off an intense fragrance that was almost overwhelming. It was on the knife too, and she went to the stone circle and set the knife back inside, where it began floating again. She returned to Bryn and touched her arm as she pointed at a cluster of moths nearby. “Let’s try those ones and see what happens. Just walk up to them, I guess.”

Bryn tried not to grumble as she walked over to the moths, and they ignored her until she walked right into the center of the cluster. They dipped to taste the bark then began lazily circling around Bryn. She had to admit, they were quite pretty, and she could hear the faintest trilling sound, just on the edge of her hearing.

Serana laughed, “Look at them! They’ve definitely taken a liking to you.” She paused and tilted her head as she added, “And unless I’m seeing things, you’re starting to…uh, glimmer.”

“Wonderful,” Bryn said shortly. “I’ve never glimmered before. That’s just fantastic. Maybe that will end up being permanent too.”

Bryn stalked off, and Serana looked helplessly at Ulfric, who shook his head. The vampire moved off to the side again, out of the water, and Ulfric waited near the shaft of light and watched as his wife walked through the cavern gathering moth swarms to her, a ball of light growing around her the more she attracted. When she returned to Ulfric and moved into the column of moonlight his breath caught. She looked like…he had no idea, but he had never seen anything even close to it. Divine. She glowed softly as several dozen moths fluttered around her, and he could hear a soft sound coming from them, almost like crickets on a summer evening in Cyrodiil. It was eerie and beautiful, more beautiful than nearly anything else he had ever seen, but Bryn’s obvious fear and discomfort sullied it. “Is that all of them?” he asked. Bryn nodded stiffly, in fact her entire body was stiff, as if it was taking all her willpower to not just take off running. He couldn’t go to her either, with the moths in the way. “Let’s get this done then.” He asked Serana, “In what order should the Scrolls be read?”

“I’m not sure it matters,” she replied. She went to Bryn’s pack and pulled out the Scrolls, seeing there were still three there. She gathered them into her arms and went to Bryn, picking out the Blood Scroll and holding it out to her. Bryn stared at it, swallowing hard as her nostrils flared, and Serana could hear her heart pumping fearfully. Feeling sorry for her, Serana murmured, “We won’t let anything happen to you, my Queen, I swear it.”

“You might not have any say in that,” Bryn stated, and she plucked the Scroll from the vampire’s hand and clutched it to her chest. She stared at Ulfric, who gazed back evenly. Fearlessly. He truly believed nothing terrible would happen to her. Maybe she wouldn’t go mad, or blind, but this was going to end up doing something awful to her. The last time she had done this she had fought the World-Eater and days later lost the love of her life. Vilkas would have come here with her, and he would have been afraid for her. Maybe Ulfric was and just didn’t let it show. Maybe Ulfric viewed her so strongly as Dragonborn that it overrode everything else. He nodded to her, urging her to go on, and she didn’t say anything, as she had planned to. He knew she loved him, and anything she said right now would come off as melodramatic.

Ulfric took a slow, deep breath as Bryn lowered her gaze from his then pulled the first Elder Scroll open. He kept his eyes on hers and off the strange magical…whatever, it wasn’t quite parchment or anything else he could identify, and he wasn’t about to stare at the thing to figure it out. Bryn blinked and studied the Scroll, then she let it retract back into its case and handed it to Serana, who gave her another. Ulfric resisted the urge to hold his breath, watching his wife for any sign of madness, and as she pulled open the second Scroll he saw her blink hard as if trying to clear her vision, her pupils narrowing to pinpoints. She whispered softly to herself, her eyes moving over the markings that he didn’t dare even glance at. She nodded then closed the Scroll and traded it for the last one, and when she opened this one she staggered slightly, the moths suddenly starting to whirl madly around her.

_“Dovah Kel,”_ she muttered, her eyes scanning the Scroll intently.

“Dragon Scroll,” Ulfric whispered at Serana’s frown of confusion. Bryn shook her head as if to clear it, closing her eyes for a long moment, then they flew open as the moths’ trilling intensified.

“Martin,” she whispered. “If he only knew how you loved him. He never knew your last thoughts were of him. Do you know what he has become?”

Ulfric frowned deeply in confusion, his wife’s words so meaningless that he couldn’t begin to guess what she was talking about. Then the moths’ trilling rose to a near scream, and Ulfric had to resist the urge to put his hands over his ears.

“The blood of dragons will rule again over White-Gold Tower…”

Ulfric felt his heart go into his throat at the statement, and when Serana made a choking sound and went for Bryn’s pack he could only stand there in confusion as to what she was doing. The girl shoved the two Scrolls into the pack then dug around for something and came up with a battered journal and a nub of pencil, flipping to the back to quickly write something down.

“The golden wave will break and retreat to the Isles of Summer, never to rise again. The gift of Akatosh shall not fail as long as dragons fly…fly Northern skies…” Bryn frowned and mumbled, “The Empire’s future lies in the blood, _dovah sos_. But that means…” She squinted at the Scroll, her irises so tightly constricted that not even a hint of pupil showed. “Oh…” A smile briefly flitted across her face. “Isn’t she beautiful, Vilkas? She has your hair, _grohiiki,_ your mouth. Little cub, come see your baby sister…” Bryn suddenly wailed in despair, throwing the Scroll away from her with a shriek then grinding her heels into her eyes, the moths bursting away from her and scattering, their trills going silent and the glow shutting off instantly.

When Bryn screamed again in horror, the roof of the cavern rumbling ominously, Ulfric grabbed her upper arms and shook her, yelling her name, and she slid down out of his hands to the ground with a moan then began to sob hysterically. “Ah, precious,” he choked. She put her forehead to the ground, her hands over her head, and when she began to rock back and forth and keen he sank to his knees next to her to pet her hair, tears pricking his eyes. He had never really seen her cry other than the occasional tear sliding down her cheek. This weeping was heartbreaking. He rubbed her back and was about to softly say something to her when he heard distant shouts and the sudden clash of weapons above. Serana dropped the journal and ran full bore up the path toward the fight, her hands lighting up with magic, and Ulfric cursed helplessly and stayed where he was to guard his wife. He had to trust Ralof, Hadvar and Serana to deal with the problem, whatever it was. He had vowed not to leave his wife in her moment of need, and he wouldn’t unless he had no other choice.

Ulfric grit his teeth as the sounds of fighting grew nearer, and he turned to keep the entrance to the cave in sight, his hand near his axe. It drove him to distraction to sit here while they were basically under attack. Bryn seemed completely unaware of it, but her weeping was loud, resonating around them, something that would no doubt horrify her; she couldn’t even grieve without everyone hearing it. It probably wasn’t even her weeping keeping her unaware, since she didn’t acknowledge his touch or presence in any way, and he wanted to believe she would if she could. He patted her back, the touch not as comforting as he would have liked through her armor, and whispered, “My poor sweetheart.” None of them had bargained for what had happened. _Prophecy,_ he thought with a superstitious shudder. He hesitated then reached over her back to pick up the journal off the ground, and as he did so a folded square of paper fell out of it. He picked it up and unfolded it, stained and worn along the edges and creases, as if it had been opened and refolded dozens of times.

_My dearest love…_

His breath caught as he realized what it was: a love letter from Vilkas, an old one by the looks of it. He licked his lips uncertainly, then he shook his head and cursed his nosiness as he quickly read it, short as it was. So the impressive gold bracelet the Harbinger had worn at the Moot had been a gift from Bryn, probably one she had crafted herself knowing her. He had sworn to never take it off, and he seemed as good as his word. Ulfric took in a shuddering breath and carefully refolded the letter then tucked it inside the journal, with no idea of where it had fallen from, and if it became an issue later he would own up to reading it and tell her why he had. He wondered if he still would have read it if she hadn’t just spoken of a vision of having children with the other man. A daughter with Vilkas’ dark hair, and another child before that. _Grohiiki…_ my wolf. A little blond wolf cub, and a beautiful dark-haired baby girl. He wasn’t sure how the Elder Scrolls worked, but it was cruel of them to show her a vision of what could have been, when there was no purpose to it that he could tell.

Ulfric sighed heavily with guilty grief and looked up to see Serana coming back down, looking a bit disheveled but fine, and when she nodded to him he relaxed and sat down cross-legged next to his wife, staying in contact with her. He paged through the journal, sadly fascinated by the crossed-out entries, starting with her very first task for Balgruuf and his wizard to fetch something called a Dragonstone. As Serana neared he flipped back to the entry the vampire had made, and it sent fresh chills through him. It wasn’t a particularly vague prophecy, as they went.

“Vampires,” Serana murmured as she bent over to pick up the discarded Dragon Scroll. “They must have been following us, or were hunting for us and heard her screaming.” Bryn’s sobs had died down to soft weeping and her rocking stopped. Serana tucked the Scroll into Bryn’s pack with the others, feeling terrible for her. Sympathy. Yes, that was what she was feeling: sympathy. It was rather unpleasant.

“Did the lads drink a potion afterward?” Serana nodded. “How many were there?”

“Three vampires and several thralls. It wasn’t too difficult. Ralof and Hadvar didn’t take any serious injuries.” Ulfric nodded and looked down at his wife then the journal in his hand. Serana said in a wary tone, “So, did that prophecy mean what I think it did?” She hadn’t really spent much time getting caught up on world events, but she knew this Empire that had been in place for a while was in danger of toppling because of Elves, and had only started failing when the Dragonborn bloodline ruling it had failed. Some Martin person that Bryn had mentioned at some point, the last Dragonborn Emperor, had died and left a power vacuum; maybe that was the Martin she had just spoken of so mysteriously. For not the first time Serana wondered if the Dragonborn actually had the blood of dragons in their veins. She wouldn’t dream of drinking a drop of the stuff even if it was freely offered. Divines only knew what would happen to her if she did.

“Probably.” It would figure that defeating the Aldmeri Dominion would come at the cost of Bryn becoming Empress. Titus Mede II had no direct heirs; he had never married or fathered children on any of his many mistresses over the years, and his nieces and nephews were rumored to be completely useless, either uninterested in the responsibilities of ruling or interested in ruling for all the wrong reasons. Ulfric wouldn’t put it past the Emperor to pass over them all to name Bryn his successor. Having another ruler with dragon blood on the throne could pull the Empire back together, what remained of it, and a strong Dragonborn dynasty would keep it together after that. Ulfric didn’t particularly relish the thought of any of his children ruling the Empire, or living outside Skyrim. Well, it wasn’t worth worrying about now. He held out the journal to the vampire girl, who took it and stowed it away in the pack, finding the pencil and putting it away as well. “Quick thinking,” he offered. He could give her at least that much.

“Thank you. I was afraid we might forget the exact words later.” She frowned and asked, “Do you think she’ll remember any of it?”

“I hope not.”

“Who is Vilkas?”

“Her first love. The Harbinger of the Companions of Whiterun.”

“So there are still Companions and a Harbinger? Interesting.”

“Yes. They took her in, when she first came to Skyrim, after Helgen. Trained her, gave her safe harbor. She still thinks of them as family.” One she obviously missed a great deal.

“But…why would the Scroll show her with him? With children? It makes no sense.”

“How so?”

She folded her arms and stated, “The Scrolls are a record of that which has already happened, and that which may still happen. They don’t deal in might-have-beens. To the Scrolls, the past is over and done, recorded.” Ulfric stared at her, frowning deeply, looking unsettled. Serana suddenly realized what that could mean, and she quickly said, “Well, maybe it was just…I don’t know, her imagination. She wasn’t herself. She still isn’t.”

“Perhaps,” Ulfric murmured. “Let us hope so. I would suggest we both keep this to ourselves, if she doesn’t remember it. There’s no sense in troubling her more than is necessary.” It was troubling him, but it would torment her. Ulfric would have to die for the future she had seen to happen. Well, of course he could die at any time. Anyone could. And if he died, he hoped she and Vilkas could work things out between them. There was really nothing that terribly ominous about it, when it came right down to it, but knowing Bryn she would obsess on it until she drove them all mad with it.

“All right.” She was more than willing to let it go. She motioned towards the pathway going up and out of the cavern. “Should we try moving her? Maybe see if she can get some sleep up above?” Bryn was moaning softly, still oblivious to their conversation going on right over her head, occasionally shuddering as she clutched her head.

“That may be best.” Ulfric gently shook his wife, murmuring her name, and as expected she didn’t respond. He hauled himself up to a squatting position then put his arms around Bryn’s waist and tried to pull her up. “Gods have mercy,” he grunted between gritted teeth. It was like trying to move a statue. His wife was not a dainty woman, as tall as him, and while beautiful and feminine she was also quite muscular, but still he should have been able to at least make her budge. She hadn’t even noticed that he had tried.

“Shout at her.” Ulfric quickly looked up, appalled by the suggestion. “You don’t have to blast her, just… give her a nudge with it.” Serana wasn't about to put her hands on the Queen herself. That just wasn't her thing.

“The _thu’um_ is not… No, she will just sleep here.”

“We shouldn’t be separated.”

Ulfric stared at her, knowing she was right. Ralof and Hadvar would need sleep as well, and they would all sleep better together. It was also too damn warm down here amongst all the hot springs with armor on. He sighed and stiffly rose to his feet, saying, “Go join the others. I don’t want them to worry when they hear it.” Serana nodded and picked up Bryn’s pack then took off at a run. He waited until she was up near the cleft in the rock then disappeared into it, then he turned back to his wife, writhing with guilt at having to do this. He knew from her studies with Paarthurnax that she was resistant to Unrelenting Force. His Shout really would do little more than nudge her, if he used only the first Word of it. He had been fully prepared to use the _thu’um_ to subdue her if she truly went insane, but this didn’t seem right. He knew it should be done, but it wasn’t easy. He nibbled at his bottom lip for a moment, then he sighed heavily. 

Taking a deep breath, Ulfric focused then Shouted, _“FUS!”_ at her. As expected, all it did was rock her slightly, but to his relief she made a mewling sound and lifted her head. He quickly knelt by her and gave her a shake. “Brynhilde. You have to get up,” he gently demanded. She made a sound of pain and pushed herself up onto her hands. “There you go, precious. Come, get up. On your feet.”

_“Nid,”_ she moaned. _“Bein qostiid…vul grohiik ahmul? Nid!”_

“It was only a dream,” he said through the choking lump in his throat. “A… _munax hahnu.”_ A cruel dream, showing her the man she had truly wanted, a dark wolf husband at her bedside, with children in both their arms. Well Ulfric was the husband she had in reality, and one day he would give her children of his own. He took her upper arm and pulled, and with another whining sound of protest she got up onto her knees, and when he pulled again she finally struggled to her feet.

_“Zu’u los porah!”_

“Your vision will return, my treasure, I promise.” He put his hand on her cheek and she flinched away, her eyes staring through him, the pupils still constricted down to nearly nothing. Her eyes were red from weeping and her expression was one of dumbstruck horror. He touched her again and this time she allowed it, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. “Ulfric is here, precious. I will take care of you, all right?” She swallowed and nodded. He put his arm around her waist and she shivered and clung to him, relieving him; he’d been half afraid she would push him away. “We’re going back up, out of the cave. Closer to the entrance. Vampires attacked. We need to stay together.”

_“Geh.”_

“Come on. I’ll guide you.” He carefully led Bryn through the stone arches, wondering how long she was going to keep speaking in dragon tongue, wondering why she even was. Some effect of the Dragon Scroll, most likely. The other two Scrolls hadn’t seemed to bother her at all, but that one had affected her profoundly.

_“Kelle…”_

“Serana has the Scrolls. They’ve served their purpose. We’ll take them to the moth priest when we’re done, and he can take them back to Cyrodiil with him. Tullius can spare men to escort him back, once it’s safe.” Bryn didn’t reply, even to nod. She closed her eyes, useless as they were, and he continued carefully leading her up the path, steadying her when she stumbled on the uneven steps.

It took some doing to get her down off the ledge, Ralof and Hadvar hurrying over to help, but between the three men and Serana they were able to get Bryn down and camp set within view of the entrance to the cave. Bryn refused to eat and retreated into her bedroll, pulling it up over her head, Ulfric sitting on his next to her, and when she shuddered and began weeping again there was nothing he could do but lay his hand on her to let her know he was there, his heart hurting for her. The two young men looked pained, helpless to do anything. Ulfric wasn’t about to try to explain why she wept, either. He wouldn’t even know where to start. The future would play out either way, and all he could do was help his wife if the first prophecy came true, and do everything in his power to stay alive so the second did not.


	44. Chapter 44

Farkas knocked on his brother’s bedroom door, wondering why Vilkas wasn’t up yet. His twin wasn’t a particularly early riser and never had been, but he was usually up by now, and when he didn’t answer the door Farkas let himself in; Vilkas had told him a number of times to wake him if he wasn’t up by nine.

When he went in he saw his twin sitting on the side of the bed, his back to the door and his head in his hands, and Farkas paused in the doorway, stunned to see the pillow was wet. “Hey,” he said quietly, “everything okay?” Vilkas shook his head and sniffed. “Bad dream?” They both still had them sometimes, though they dreamed less than they had with the beastblood and slept more deeply, and with the better memory Vilkas had always had it worse. The nightmares hardly ever made either of them cry though.

“Was it bad?” Vilkas snorted a bitter laugh. “No, it…it was a good dream, but it will never happen, so… maybe it was bad.” He rubbed his face and felt his brother sit next to him, and he muttered, “You were right. Everything you ever told me about her was right.”

“Bryn?”

“Yes.” Vilkas made a sound of pain and angrily said, “Why does Mara continue to torment me? What did I ever do to her? I know I was wrong, I know I should have married Bryn, but it’s too late now! Why would Mara show me something I can never have?” 

Farkas slowly shook his head, looking sorrowful. “It was just a dream, Vilkas. I’ve never heard of Mara doing anything cruel. She just doesn’t.”

“It was too real to be just a dream. I’ve never had a dream like that. Every detail…so real.” 

“Well…what was it?”

Vilkas sniffed and went on, “I don’t know where it was. It was a room I’ve never seen before, but it was…regal. The bed was on a dais, and there was a fireplace behind it. Bryn was…she was lying in the bed, and a healer was leaving, a Dunmer I think, and…and she had our daughter in her hands. A newborn with dark hair, so tiny and perfect, and I had our son in my arms, a blond little boy of maybe two. She called me _grohiiki._ How in Oblivion could it be just a dream when I don’t even know what the hell that means! I’ve never even heard that word before!”

When Vilkas choked and put his face in his hands again, Farkas sighed heavily and put his arm around Vilkas, not knowing what to say. It was too sad for words. He couldn’t even guess what it meant. The dream really did seem too detailed to be Vilkas’ sleeping imagination, but there was no way it could ever be real; Bryn was married to Ulfric.

“What am I going to do at Aela’s wedding?” Vilkas groaned into his hands. The thought of seeing her with Ulfric made him sick to his stomach. Seeing her holding Ulfric’s hand during the wedding, the way she’d held Vilkas’ at Farkas and Lydia’s wedding. Seeing the matching wedding bands on their hands. Vilkas had never had the courage to ask Farkas or Lydia about Bryn’s wedding, but he had overheard Farkas telling Aela about what a ‘great party’ the wedding feast had been; Vilkas had left before he could hear any more.

“I guess…just don’t look.”

“Right,” he scoffed. “And just not listen while I’m at it?” 

“Maybe you should talk to the priests of Mara about it. The dream. While we’re in Riften.”

Vilkas sighed and lifted his head. “Maybe you’re right.” It was actually a good suggestion. Not that Farkas’ suggestions were always dumb. He leaned against his brother and mumbled, “Thanks.”

“No problem. I’m sorry. I wish I knew why this happened. You’re right that it seems too real to be a dream, but…I just don’t get it. Why would you dream about a room you never saw and a word you never heard?”

“Because I’m cursed, that’s why.”

“Kinda self-absorbed too.”

Vilkas elbowed Farkas in the ribs, making him laugh. Vilkas got up and muttered, “Bastard.”

“Yeah, well if I’m a bastard that means you are too.” The old joke made his twin laugh quietly, then Vilkas sighed. “I wonder how Bryn’s doing against the vampires?" Farkas said. "Last I heard things were going pretty rough. I’m glad she was able to get that Hadvar guy, but it worries me that it was even necessary.”

“Vampires are nothing to trifle with, even for her,” Vilkas quietly stated, pulling off his nightshirt. He had never been comfortable with Bryn traveling and fighting alone, something she had done much too often. The two young men with her these days would be more than adequate Guards and were probably seeing more action than they had ever bargained for. Vilkas couldn’t help being a bit envious of that. He spent more time here in Jorrvaskr than he liked, though it was partly self-imposed. Maybe he would be better off doing more jobs, taking Erik with him. The more time he spent around the lad the more he liked him, and while it was much too early yet, he could see the redhead one day taking his place. The young man had all the fire and personality the other junior members lacked, without Vilkas’ temper. The Companions never wanted for work these days, so doing a few more jobs here and there wouldn’t be a bad thing.

“One of her letters to us said that Odahviing said even the dragons stay away from their island.” He shuddered. “Ugh, a whole island of bloodsuckers. Gives me the creeps.” Not as much as an island full of spiders would, but still pretty bad.

“I hope they get destroyed soon. Everyone is running into them much too often. Lydia’s potions have been a blessing.” Farkas smiled proudly, and Vilkas laughed and began to dress. Farkas had certainly done well for himself in taking a wife. Vilkas couldn’t imagine Jorrvaskr without her now. Tilma rarely woke these days, constantly attended, and was refusing solid food, so it was only a matter of weeks or even days before Lydia truly became the mistress of the mead hall and inherited the Heart of Jeek of the River. The thought always sent a shiver of anxiety through Vilkas, fearful of the secrets that his sister-in-law would discover when the Heart began whispering to her; Tilma had told her about the Heart a few weeks ago, and she had taken the news fairly well. He didn’t doubt that she would eventually discover that the Circle had once been werewolves, and that Aela still was one. He was still torn as to whether to wait for her to find out on her own, or take her aside and talk to her about it right after Tilma passed. Either option had its problems, but he was leaning towards telling her himself. Lydia would be furious if the news came as a surprise from some weird, mystical source like the Heart. Lydia and Farkas had been married long enough that it hopefully wouldn’t cause problems between them.

After Vilkas dressed and Farkas headed up to the Skyforge, Vilkas decided to push ahead and tell Lydia, and no time like the present, before he talked himself out of it. He went upstairs to get breakfast and saw that Aerin was sitting with Tilma today, feeding the elderly woman some broth from a mug, too weak to hold it herself. He quickly ate then went outside to find it raining heavily and Athis and Torvar sparring while Lydia practiced archery under Aela’s tutelage and Mjoll sat with baby Skjorta in her lap, propping up the little one to watch, pointing and explaining the fine points of archery to her. The sight made Vilkas laugh softly to himself. As if an infant could learn anything like that, but it was cute to see, though it made his heart ache anew over the dream. He could still feel the little boy in his arms, holding onto him tightly, trustingly. He could still see the tiny swaddled newborn in Bryn’s hands, the baby’s dark hair still damp from being washed after birth, her little lips pursed and brow furrowed. It had all been so real. Until that dream he had never really imagined what it would be like to be a father, had never really wanted children of his own no matter how he had loved Bryn. Now he grieved the family that could have been, and would never be. He supposed he would just have to make do with what he had here: Aela’s daughter and Farkas’ child. Lydia’s belly was just beginning to swell, barely visible under her tunic shirt.

He took a seat next to Mjoll, who smiled at him, though it faded slightly when she saw his grieved expression. “Everything all right, Shield-Brother?” she asked. “It isn’t Tilma, is it?”

“No, no, she’s awake and having some broth with Aerin. I…just had a bad dream.”

She made a sound of sympathy, then she held out the baby to him. “Here, babies make everything better.” Vilkas’ expression tightened then he curtly shook his head and looked away from Skjorta, folding his arms. It confused and concerned Mjoll. Vilkas never went out of his way to hold the baby, but he never refused her when she was offered, though it was more a calculated move on his part to form a bond with a child who would grow up in the same household than any real desire to hold her. She gently offered, “Well, if you need a shoulder, you know where I am.”

“Thank you, Shield-Sister, but…I don’t think it’s a subject you’ll be inclined to be sympathetic about.”

“Ah, I see. I don’t think you’re altogether right about that, but have it your way.” To be fair Vilkas hadn’t seemed to have been moping about Bryn lately, but he was so moody in general it was hard to tell. Mjoll didn’t really understand what Bryn had seen about the man other than his looks. He was a good man, an outstanding warrior, and sure he was probably great in bed, but you didn’t spend most of your time in bed. She had to admit though that he seemed to be a very good Harbinger. He took the welfare of the Companions quite seriously and ran the business well and kept the younger members in line. Vilkas grumbled, and she asked in concern, “What are you going to do at our wedding?” He made a sound of annoyance and got up and walked away.

“Lydia,” he called. His sister-in-law lowered the bow and looked at him, and he motioned with his head towards Jorrvaskr. “Can I talk to you for a bit? Inside?”

Lydia handed the bow and arrow to Aela, who asked with worry, “Is it Tilma?”

“No, no.” Not in the way Aela was thinking.

Lydia hurried over to him, asking, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing really. It’s ah…something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, that’s all.”

“All right,” she said warily. His expression told her otherwise, and when he led her all the way downstairs and into his bedroom then shut and locked the door she knew it wasn’t good. She shook her head when he offered the bed for her to sit on. She folded her arms and said, “Like hell nothing’s wrong. Out with it.” He grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. “Is it really about Tilma?”

“Yes, in a manner of speaking. And the ah…the Heart.” She nodded slowly, her expression wary. “What did Tilma tell you about it?”

“That it has belonged to the mistress of the house for thousands of years, and tells her everything she needs to know about what’s going on here, inside the walls and right outside them. She said it whispers to her. I have to admit it’s a little weird, but I think I can handle weird after what I went through with Bryn.”

“Yes, well…this is a whole different level of weird,” Vilkas said uncomfortably. Lydia frowned at him, waiting. “The Heart…I don’t know how it works, exactly. Jeek’s spirit or something, I suppose, watching what goes on here. The thing is…eh, by Ysmir, I don’t know how to say it…”

“It’s going to tell me something bad, is that it?”

“It depends what you think is bad. It…it’s something that went on here for a long time. Something Kodlak and Bryn put an end to. In Ysgramor’s tomb, right after he died. A tradition that never should have been started. A curse, that only the Circle bore.” She waited, wary and tense now that she knew it had to do with her husband. “Bryn took on the curse, for a little while, only a few weeks, trying to understand it better, but her dragon blood negated any effects of it. Kodlak figured out the cure and sent her for it, but by time she came back he was already dead. By the Silver Hand.”

Lydia paled, feeling sick to her stomach, her arm around her middle. “Werewolves!” she whispered in horrified realization. “Stendarr’s mercy, you really were all _werewolves?!”_ Vilkas looked at her with a pained expression, not denying it. So that was why Farkas had waited so long to ask her to marry him. Why Vilkas’ behavior had mellowed somewhat, his temper more easily controlled. Why Farkas wasn’t as distracted as before. Why they had stopped wearing the wolf armor. The Silver Hand had had real reason to attack them. At that Lydia’s fury wavered slightly; she refused to believe that her husband and his brother had deserved it, no matter what they were, and the honorable Kodlak and Skjor had certainly never deserved being cut down. “Did you ever eat…ugh, tell me you didn’t, Vilkas! Tell me Farkas never did!” When he didn’t answer immediately she cried out and put her hands over her mouth.

“Only when we were first turned, when we were young, until we learned control,” he said intently. “I swear to you, it wasn’t anything we could help! You don’t understand how horrible it was. Bryn tried to by taking on the Blood. She tried and it didn’t work, there was no way she could understand. Farkas and I were turned when we were younger than you, when we joined the Circle. It was simply the price that had to be paid, to become part of it, but it’s over now. Well, mostly over—“

“What do you mean, mostly over!” she yelled furiously, her fists clenched. She was one second away from taking a swing at him.

“Aela never took the cure.” She stared at him with wild eyes, seething, looking betrayed. “Mjoll knows and made her promise that it ends with her, but she can’t be cured or she’ll never see Skjor again. Werewolves are taken to Hircine’s Hunting Grounds at death. That was part of the reason we were so desperate to be cured, so we could go to Sovngarde like true warriors, not spend eternity as beasts, and Kodlak was there, Bryn saw him, so it worked.” Lydia was still furious, and he went on in a pleading tone, “Please, sister, just listen. Mjoll knew and almost left Aela over it, but Aela showed her how it is, that she isn’t, we weren’t, like normal werewolves. We had control over the change, we didn’t forget ourselves as much in beast form. It came directly from Hircine. The whole thing ends with Aela and Skjorta won’t know until she’s an adult, and even then she will never be offered the Blood. Mjoll is willing to live with it. So was Bryn. She told me—“

“I’m not Bryn!” she shouted. “I’m _nothing_ like her. What were you going to say, that she was willing to marry you while you were still cursed?”

Vilkas stated in a grieved voice, “Yes, she was. She saw me change. Me and Farkas. And she wasn’t afraid.” It hurt all over again to say those words. Of course no normal woman would tolerate knowing all this. Bryn hadn’t been normal, and Mjoll had seen so much in her nearly twenty years of wandering Tamriel that not much fazed her, but even she had nearly left Aela.

“I’m not afraid. I’m disgusted. I was…I was sleeping with him while he was still like that!”

“He never changed or hunted even once after he started seeing you, I swear it. The one time Bryn saw him change was the last. In Dustman’s Cairn.” He made a sound of panic and begged, “Please, don’t make Farkas pay for this. He only ever took the Blood because I did it. This doesn’t change who we are, Lydia. Hate me for it if you have to, but not Farkas. He’s the same person he always was. We both are. I told you all this because I didn’t want you to find out from the Heart—“

“If you’d had your way, I never would have found out at all!”

“Damn straight I--” At that Lydia finally swung at him, punching him in the jaw, and he staggered back with a yell, rubbing his face, his mouth hanging open in shock and his ears ringing.

“You bastard!” she shouted, her voice breaking.

He shouted back, “What would you want me to do? Kill myself? Tell Bryn to kill us all? Think about it, why don’t you! I hated what I was! Ask her next time you see her, how much I hated myself. She helped Kodlak cure us, so what were we supposed to do after that, pay for it forever? Farkas should just never marry, never have a family, because his idiot brother made a stupid choice for him? Farkas is a good man, the best man I’ve ever known, and I won’t let you hurt him over this!” She made a sound of angry frustration and rubbed her eyes, and he said with less heat, “Blame me if you want. Farkas shouldn’t have to pay for this.”

“He should have told me, before we married! Before…”

“The child won’t have anything wrong with it. Skjorta was conceived by two full werewolves, carried in the belly of a werewolf, and she has no taint of it on her. It doesn’t carry through to children.” He paused then went on, “It wasn’t as if he was trying to trick you. We just wanted it to end, to be over. He went to you with a clean soul and a clean heart. I don’t see how his not telling you is any kind of betrayal. When he asked you to marry him he was no longer a werewolf. You didn’t marry a werewolf, a beast.”

“No, I was just sleeping with one. I—“ She stopped short, staring at Vilkas with sudden comprehension. “ _That’s_ what it was,” she said in distaste. “About you.” Vilkas looked away uncomfortably, his cheeks turning pink. So that was why women couldn’t tolerate more than one round with him: they sensed something wrong with him. Something bestial. And of course Bryn didn’t mind, because she was a damned dragon. Farkas had never shown any sign of beastblood, had never acted weird in bed, had never behaved aggressively, the only sign of any change after the cure a slightly better ability to pay attention. The difference in Vilkas though had been pronounced, but Lydia had put it down to Bryn taking Jorrvaskr in hand and the burdens off Vilkas’ shoulders. The reason for it now was obvious, and it made her shudder.

“I hated it,” Vilkas whispered. “You have to believe that. And Farkas only took the Blood because I told him to. We lived here our entire lives and all we ever wanted was to be part of the Circle. We didn’t understand the price we would end up paying. It was why Vignar never joined, until we were cured. He knew better.” He looked at her and said intently, “Please sister, I’m begging you, don’t make Farkas pay for my mistake. He was clean in heart when he went to you, I swear it. He never once changed after he started seeing you. All he ever wanted was a wife and a family, and—“ He stopped, choking up, feeling a sudden surge of grief that brought tears to his eyes. He understood all too well now what Farkas had always wanted. The coziness. The comfort of knowing you wouldn’t grow old alone, knowing that the little ones you had lavished care on would grow up to care for you one day. He suddenly understood it perfectly.

Lydia said in disbelief, “You think I would leave him over this. You really think I would do that.” She couldn’t bear the thought of the look on Farkas’ sweet face if she wounded him like that. They were going to have a good long talk later, that was for sure, but she would never leave him. Because he was a very good man, and he did have the decency to wait until he was cured to ask her to marry him. She pointed at the door and demanded, “Open the door and let me out.”

Vilkas asked warily, “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going home. I don’t want to be around any of you right now. Tell Farkas to come home if he asks where I am. So we can talk.” Vilkas hesitated, and she threatened, “Don’t make me punch you again, damn it. Go drink a potion or something, or you’ll have some explaining to do.”

“I just…I don’t want…don’t be mad with him.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Am I not allowed to get mad at my own husband? It isn’t the end of the world.” He stared at her with a wounded expression, with that face so much like her husband’s, tears in those eyes that were just like Farkas’, that it made her anger falter. She shook her head and asked, “What on earth is your problem? Is it more than…what we just talked about?” Vilkas was plenty emotional, but not prone to tears.

“Farkas has a wife and family now. It was what he always wanted.”

Lydia frowned at the odd statement. “Yes. I know that. What about it? It isn’t like he’s going to lose that. I’m just upset right now.” She huffed and added, “I shouldn’t have hit you. I’m sorry.”

“I just don’t want anything to happen to risk what he has. He’s happy.”

“I see. And he has what you think you can’t, and he’s happy where you’re not.” She sighed heavily, “Why are you still dwelling on it? It’s _over.”_ She hated saying it, and before today she never had.

“Then why doesn’t it ever feel like it is!”

“Because you won’t let it.”

“How the hell can I when…” He ran his fingers back through his hair and stated miserably, “I think I’m doing fine, and I start thinking maybe I can learn to live with it, then she shows up, or I hear someone talking about her, or I hear Mikael singing a song about her. Or I hear someone talking about Ulfric. Then…then last night…” He made a sound of frustration. “It’s like Mara is punishing me, showing me what I can never have, what I threw away.”

“You had a dream about her?” Lydia had never heard him say such a thing before. Farkas had the occasional bad dream, but after she gave him a gentle shake he went back to sleep and never remembered a thing in the morning.

Vilkas went to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. He fingered the bracelet on his wrist and explained, “It was more than a dream. I’ve never had a dream so detailed, so real. It was like… like a memory, but more than that. Like it was happening right then. So clear.”

“Was it bad?”

“No. We were happy. We…had children.” He sighed miserably and looked at his hands. “I was holding a little boy. A blond little boy, and he had his arms around my neck. He looked to be maybe two years old, hardly more than a baby himself. We were standing by a bed, and a priest was leaving, a healer, Dunmer. Bryn was lying on her side with our new daughter in her hands. She said, ‘Isn’t she beautiful, Vilkas? She has your hair, _grohiiki_ , your mouth.’ Then she motioned to our son and said, ‘Little cub, come see your baby sister.’ I don’t see how it could be just a dream; I’ve never heard that word before, _grohiiki._ I think it’s the dragon tongue, but how can I dream a word I don’t even know, something she never called me when we were together?”

Lydia whispered, “I don’t know.” It was eerie, the level of detail.

“And that room…I would know it in an instant if I ever set foot in it. It was perfectly real. I was standing right there, on the dais next to the bed. I’ve never seen a room like it before, with a wooden dais at the center that the bed stood on. There was a fireplace on the back wall, and stone columns at each corner of the room. Strange columns, with ravens’ heads at the top, like nothing I’ve ever seen. The center of the ceiling was tall, and the room had odd windows. Slanted. Frosted. Old-style glass.” He looked up at Lydia and she had gone pale, staring at him with an expression of dismay. She quickly schooled her expression and he asked, “Do you know it? Is it one of her other houses?” He had only seen Breezehome and Honeyside.

“N-no. She doesn’t own any house like that.” She gave him a brief smile then turned away. “I’m sure it was just a dream, Vilkas. I’ve got to go.”

He made a sound of confused surprise but Lydia ignored it, practically fleeing the Harbinger’s quarters, her heart pounding and tears stinging her eyes. There was no way Vilkas could know what Ulfric’s room, Bryn’s room in Windhelm, looked like. Farkas didn’t know either; he hadn’t had reason or opportunity to go up there, but Lydia had a couple times during the week they had stayed in Windhelm, and she hadn’t described the room in any way to her husband. The room was very distinctive though, and Vilkas had described it perfectly. It didn’t seem possible that he had experienced what he had, and yet something had given him that vision. She wouldn’t call it a dream. And yet for that vision to come true, Ulfric would have to die. She couldn’t understand why…whoever or whatever it was, a Divine, or even a Daedra, why they would give Vilkas a vision like that. There had to be a reason.

She hurried home, trying not to grieve and finding it impossible. Vilkas’ dream gave her a terrible sense of foreboding. She couldn’t say a word about it to Farkas, either. She couldn’t really say anything to anyone. She didn’t want to burden anyone else with her worries for Bryn. Not this kind of worry. There wasn’t anything anyone could do about it, if it was going to happen. Maybe whatever it was that had given Vilkas the vision knew it was going to happen and had teased him with a taste of the future to keep him thinking about Bryn. Keep him interested in her. In love with her. Available to her. It seemed cruel, even if it was intended to someday give Bryn comfort. It kept Vilkas from moving on, and that was terribly unfair. But then maybe it was necessary, because who knew what Bryn would do if something happened to Ulfric and Vilkas wasn’t there to turn to?

Lydia changed out of her wet clothes and was hanging them up to dry in the spare bedroom when the front door opened, and she called down, “Farkas honey, we need to have a talk. A serious talk.”

“It isn’t Farkas.”

She made a sound of annoyance at the sound of Vilkas’ voice, and she hurried downstairs, feeling more than a little uneasy that he had basically followed her here. He was pacing in front of the fire, still dressed in regular clothing, the red mark on his face healed. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asked in irritation. As if she didn’t know. Not much got by him, and he was tenacious as hell when something was on his mind.

“You know that room,” he said in accusation.

“I told you already: her other houses don’t have a room like that.”

“Yes, I heard you. So what house does?” Lydia didn’t answer, probably reluctant to lie and say she didn’t know. Because she damn well did know. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her tunic. “There’s no purpose to you not telling me!”

“What does it matter what house?” she retorted. “How does that change anything?” Except it would.

“How does _not_ telling me change anything? How does it help in any way?” That she knew where that room was and wouldn’t tell him was driving him mad. He went to her and said intently, “You have to tell me where it is, damn you!”

“It doesn’t matter where it is!” she cried. “It’s not like you can get in there and look at it!”

“Why? Why can’t I?” Lydia nibbled at her bottom lip, and he had to resist the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. It was mean, first of all, and she was pregnant, and she would either punch him again or tell Farkas so his twin could kick his ass, or try to. “You’re going to let me drive myself crazy trying to figure it out, is that it? I had that dream for a reason!” At that Lydia looked pained, almost in tears, which was even rarer for her than it was for him. He pleaded more gently, “Please sister, don’t leave me like this. I can’t stop thinking about it. I won’t be able to stop. At least if I knew where the room was it would help me figure out what the point of that dream was.” 

Lydia made a sound of sorrow and looked away. He was unfortunately right about that. Her not telling him wouldn’t stop Ulfric from dying, if that was fated to happen, but her telling Vilkas would give him some small peace of mind, and it would keep him from being with anyone else seriously. Keep him available to Bryn if she needed it. Lydia had to think of what was best for Bryn. And in the end, maybe it would be best for Vilkas too. Nearly half a year the two had been separated and he was still pining for her, and unfortunately Lydia knew that Bryn still thought of him much more often than a married woman should.

“Windhelm,” she finally whispered. “The Palace of the Kings.” Vilkas grunted and backed away, stunned, then he shook his head as he practically stumbled to a chair by the fire and fell into it. He leaned over and put his face in his hands, and Lydia said with quiet grief, “Yes, that’s what I’m afraid of too. That you saw a vision of the future, and you’re with Bryn because Ulfric is dead.” Vilkas made a choking sound. “The room you saw is their bedroom. The Jarl’s private chambers. I’ve only been up there a couple times, but it’s distinctive.” He didn’t reply. She came over and sat in the other chair, sighing, “I wish to Mara you two had sorted things out before she went to him. I promised I wouldn’t say anything about it, and Bryn told me to stay out of it, but… If you’re still this upset over losing her, you should have answered her letter when you had the chance.” Lydia hadn’t known that Bryn had sent Vilkas a letter until after she married Ulfric, when the two were sharing some quiet time, getting caught up, in the very room Vilkas had seen in his vision. Lydia had been furious with Vilkas for not even bothering to answer the letter, but Bryn had made her promise not to say anything to anyone about it, even Farkas, or to give Vilkas any grief. Well, sorry but she had to right now.

“I never got it.”

“What?!”

He grumbled and lifted his head, repeating, “I never got it.” He had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t tell anyone, not after his talk with Ulfric, but he had to tell someone, and Lydia was good at keeping secrets. Farkas was too forgetful, trustworthy as he was, and Lydia would do what she had to, even if it was hard. “I didn’t know there even was a letter until Ulfric brought it up at the Moot. He asked why I was so angry when I’d had the chance to make things right, while she was still in Riften, and he told me about the letter, but I swear upon all that’s holy that I never got any letter. If I had I would have gone to her, but it was too late by time he told me. She was already with him, and she loved him. I didn’t want to force her to choose. He said he loved her and wanted to marry her, and I thought he would be better for her than me. So I told him to do it and keep the letter between us. He didn’t like the deception, but he ended up going along with it, for her sake.”

“Oh Vilkas,” she said painfully. “What a mess.” It would kill Bryn to know that he hadn’t even gotten the letter. She unfortunately had to agree with Vilkas and Ulfric that it was best if she never knew. Lydia really couldn’t say who Bryn would have chosen if she’d found out at the time of the Moot. It was impossible to say. Having to make a choice would have completely torn Bryn up, and she would agonize over her choice afterwards for who knew how long, the way she mulled over things.

He looked at her and said, “I told him I didn’t want my happiness to come at the expense of another, and I still mean it. If this happens…it would destroy her to lose him.”

“Was she happy in your dream?”

He sighed and looked back to the fire. “Yes.” Her eyes had shone as she held their daughter, and when she looked up and motioned to him and their son her smile had been purely happy. She finally had the family she had always wanted, yes, but at what cost?

“I hate to say it, but people die all the time. And there’s a war coming. He’s also twenty-two years older than her. Whatever happens, if it happens, it wasn’t because you had the dream.”

“Right,” he murmured. “I know that. It’s just…going to be hard to live with. Always wondering when it’s going to happen.”

 _“If_ it’s going to happen.” Vilkas looked at her out of the corner of his eye then got up, shaking his head. Well, Lydia didn’t really feel much hope either. Such a strong vision didn’t seem likely to be just a mild possibility, and the source of it was still a complete mystery. “Vilkas, about the letter…” He turned to look at her. “She said she sent it along with the letter to me and Farkas. By the same courier.”

“Then how did it get lost? Those couriers don’t just forget to deliver a letter. I’ve never known one to fail, unless he was attacked.”

“And this one wasn’t, but… Do you remember those letters from ‘a friend’ Bryn used to get? Did she ever tell you who she thought was sending them?”

He shook his head, saying, “No, only that she had a suspicion. She received one while we were on our way to avenge Kodlak. Did she tell you who she thought it was?”

“Talos.”

“Talos? You’re joking!”

“She told me that she had done some research on the Nerevarine, while she was at the College of Winterhold. There are a lot of records from Morrowind there, and the Nerevarine was, is, Dunmer. Supposedly Talos appeared to him, as an avatar. The Divines do that sometimes, I’ve heard. What if this ‘friend’ was actually Talos? Who else could it be?”

Vilkas stared at her, bewildered, then he slowly said, “All right, I could see that. But how would he get hold of my letter? And why?”

“You can’t see why? With Bryn being Dragonborn, destined for great things, like Tiber Septim was? And Ulfric is Talos’ number one fan, other than Heimskr I guess. Ulfric is a Jarl, someone who could have become High King under the right circumstances. He was nearly a Greybeard and understands the Dragonborn and the _thu’um._ He could help Bryn reach her full potential. Help mold her into a Queen. Maybe even an Empress, someone who could rejuvenate the Empire that Tiber Septim founded with a new Dragonborn bloodline. Ulfric isn’t reluctant to make war, and he’s especially keen to make war on the Aldmeri Dominion.” And then there had been that clap of thunder, at Bryn and Ulfric’s wedding, as if Talos himself was giving his blessing to the union. She couldn’t quite bring herself to tell Vilkas that.

He tried to absorb all this, seeing it but finding it appalling that a Divine would interfere in someone’s life in such a way, if indeed it was true. “And I would just hold her back, is that it?” he asked. The question was mostly a rhetorical one.

“In the mind of the God of War, who knows? You like to fight, but that doesn’t mean you’d want to make war, no matter what you promised Bryn.”

“That promise still holds. It held before this…vision or whatever it is came along.” He folded his arms and went on in confusion, “And I still don’t understand where it came from.”

“Maybe it really was from Mara. Two Divines can play at that game, I suppose.” Lydia hated to think it, but it was Vilkas that Bryn had prayed to Mara for so long and so hard, not Ulfric. Ulfric was good to her, and even good for her, but maybe it had only been meant for a while, not forever. It was a depressing thought. Vilkas and Bryn had always seemed to be made for each other, had always seemed a perfect fit. Lydia had fully understood and supported Bryn’s decision to leave Vilkas, but she had also believed they would always get back together eventually, up until the day after the Moot when Bryn had announced that Ulfric had proposed to her and she had said yes.

“I don’t want Ulfric to die,” Vilkas whispered. “Whatever else he may be, he’s an honorable man, and Bryn loves him. I would rather be alone forever than have her lose her husband.” He had been fully prepared to be alone the rest of his life before Bryn came into it. He had never wanted marriage, never wanted children, and now this!

“I’m sorry to say this, but I would rather have it that way too. But when—if—she does lose him…well, I guess… this is good to know. That you’ll be there to take care of her.”

Vilkas made a sound of sorrow and leaned over and kissed Lydia on top of the head. “My brother is a lucky man, you know.”

“He made his own luck.” Farkas had seen the life he wanted and had made it happen, and she would always be grateful to him for it, and to Mara for giving him such a sweet, pure heart. She said in mild annoyance, “I still haven’t forgotten the whole werewolf thing. Don’t think you can charm me out of being mad about it.”

He snorted as he walked to the door. “Farkas is the one who got all the charm. I’m the one who ended up with all the problems.”

Vilkas let himself out and began walking back to Jorrvaskr in the now-heavy rain, hearing distant thunder over the plains, but it was just thunder. He felt a distressing mix of depression and relief, thinking he might get Bryn back someday, yet under terrible conditions. Part of the relief came from unburdening himself to someone who he knew could be trusted implicitly, someone who Bryn trusted with her life and soul. While he trusted Farkas just as much, like it or not his brother didn’t see all the complexities to the issue that Lydia could. He wasn’t sure whether to be glad or not that Lydia saw the issue the same way he did. He’d half-hoped that she would tell him he was out of his mind and the dream didn’t mean anything. But it did, and they both knew it. Vilkas wasn’t sure how they were both going to keep the knowledge of it out of their eyes at Aela’s wedding, but at least now he felt that maybe he would finally be able to look Bryn in the eye when he saw her again.

-  
The sound of rustling in a bedroll drew Ulfric’s attention from watching the entrance to the cave, and when he saw Bryn sitting up he let out a long breath of relief and went to her. It was still light out and he doubted any vampires would be attacking any time soon; their own vampire was rolled into her bedroll as far from the entrance as she could get, dead for all intents and purposes, unmoving and unbreathing. It was creepy as hell, and yet he supposed the creature’s trust was flattering. He knelt at Bryn’s side as she sat up cross-legged and rubbed her eyes, grimacing, then her hand lit in a golden glow of healing magic. “How do you feel?” he softly asked. She grunted and shrugged as her hand fell. “You’ve been asleep all day. It’s late afternoon.”

Bryn cracked her eyes open, still tired, her stomach rumbling. “Where are Ralof and Hadvar?” she asked.

“Hunting dinner. They should be back soon. Are you hungry?” She nodded, pulling one knee up to put her elbow on it and lean her head on her hand. She stared at the entrance, her expression unreadable. Ulfric touched her head and her eyes shifted over to him, her expression unchanging. Cold. “What do you remember?”

“A map. I need to go to Darkfall Cave. I know where it is. I went in there once, while I was working The Reach, but it had nothing of interest in it other than a few veins of ore so I went back out again.” Ulfric nodded, waiting, then he sighed and turned away. She grabbed his arm before he could move away, and when he looked back at her with a wary expression she muttered, “I’m…glad you were there.” That wasn’t altogether true, but it had been good that he was there, from what she remembered of it.

“So am I. The young ones…I don’t think they would have known what to do.” He snorted and added, “Neither did I, really. Serana told me to Shout at you, to get you up.” He put his hand on her cheek and stroked his thumb across her brow, looking into her eyes. “Is your vision clear again?” Bryn nodded, though she looked pained. He leaned in and kissed her softly, and she responded, to his relief. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips.

“I love you too, _ahmuli.”_

“Do you…ah, remember anything else?” Her expression tightened as her eyes shifted away from him, her body tensing. So she did remember. It was…unfortunate. He gently grasped her chin in his hand and stated, “I would have this in the open between us, Brynhilde.”

“Which part? My becoming Empress, or my having children with Vilkas?” Ulfric didn’t flinch, though she regretted the words right after they left her mouth.

“Both.” She launched to her feet with a growl that he could nearly feel. He got to his feet and followed her as she stalked toward the entrance of the cave. “You can’t avoid this,” he said sternly. “You can’t pretend you didn’t see it—“

“I didn’t just see it,” she hissed, turning on him, though he didn’t flinch back. “I felt it. Felt her, in my hands. I could smell her, hear her tiny breaths. I could feel the memory of my whole body aching from giving birth to her, even after the healer left. I was there.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. All I know was that I saw her, then I looked up and saw him. Them.” Vilkas staring at her with the most intense love in his eyes, and clinging to him was a blond little boy, his face hidden in Vilkas’ neck, his arms around it. She choked and ground the heels of her hands into her eyes, feeling the beginnings of a scream bubbling up inside her, then she felt Ulfric’s hands grabbing her wrists to pull her hands down. _“Zu’u los daanik! Nid filok!”_ she cried.

“No,” he said firmly. She stared at him with an expression of panic, and when he felt her begin to pull away he tightened his grip on her wrists and pulled her back. “No! You will stay and face this, Brynhilde. _We_ will face this.”

“I can’t! Don’t you understand what it means?”

“What it could mean. The future is never set in stone—“

“Mine was! In Alduin’s Wall!”

“And that future is now the past, over and done, and it wasn’t altogether correct, was it, with its male Dragonborn. What you saw in the Dragon Scroll was only a possibility.” Bryn shook her head and tried to pull away again but he hauled her back. “So, what if it does happen? Anyone could die at any time. I could slip going down the steps in Windhelm on an ordinary errand and crack my head and it would be over.” She stared at him in open-mouthed horror, and he cursed himself for not thinking before he spoke. “All I am saying is that I don’t want you living under a cloud of doom for the rest of our lives. Whatever the Scrolls told you, it isn’t as if seeing it will make it happen. You won’t make it happen simply by seeing it. I don’t intend to live my life any differently than before, and I hope you won’t either.”

“Live my life,” she said in despair. “When have I been able to just live my life? When! When does the life I was supposed to have start?”

“You’re nearly there. Find that bow and get rid of Serana’s father—“

Bryn quickly yanked her hands away before he could stop her, saying, “It’s always something. Something I have to finish before I can have what I want, but there’s always something more after that!”

He said with extreme patience, “We will have our time together after you are done with the vampires. You promised the people of Skyrim that you would do this for them. The attacks have gotten worse since you started this. You know that.” She turned her back on him with a sound of irritation and looked outside, folding her arms. It had been raining heavily all day but was now starting to taper off. He moved up behind her and quietly stated, “You knew when you became High Queen that you would have little time of your own. You knew you would belong to the people. That is the way of all who are born to rule, if they truly care about those under their protection.” He hesitated then went on, “I have not done what I should have in that regard. I hope you would do better than I have.” She didn’t answer, but didn’t protest either. She knew what she had to do and was simply letting out her frustrations. He put his arms around her waist and laid his head against hers, still finding it odd at times that he had a woman tall enough to do that with. She huffed but put her arms over his.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you!”

“If it does or not, it would have happened regardless.” He lifted his head and kissed by her ear then said, “You may have given me more time, more life, than I would have had. We both know you wouldn’t have stayed out of the civil war forever. If you were forced to make a choice between the Stormcloaks and the Empire, we both know that in the end you would have chosen the Empire. It would have ended in my death, and probably Galmar’s as well. You had your sympathy for me, but that wouldn’t have stayed your hand when it came down to it, because my death is the only thing that would have ended the civil war. By coming to me the way you did, with the dossier, you changed what might have been previously destined to happen.” Bryn whimpered and turned in his arms to put hers around his neck, and he held her tightly. “You’re more precious to me than anything. Believe me that I won’t let anything happen to me that would cause you pain.” He felt her nod. 

He wished they had the time and privacy for him to comfort her more fully, perhaps loll about in those hot pools afterwards, but they were both fully armored, and the young men were due back any moment. He didn’t have the freedom to continue on her adventures with her, having come this far only to help her keep her sanity during the reading of the Elder Scrolls, but they would have their moments together on the way back to Windhelm. She would need to get rid of the Scrolls, so they would stop in Riften on the way to Fort Dawnguard and spend the night in her charming, cozy house there, then spend another night together in Windhelm before she set off for Winterhold to drop off the Dragon Scroll back at the College. He didn’t see how this entire quest could take much longer, with Auriel’s Bow nearly in Bryn’s grasp. Once she had that it should only be a matter of finding a way to dispatch Harkon, then they would be able to live as a proper married couple for a while before the next inevitable crisis cropped up. Because it always did. It was naïve of Bryn to think she could be Dragonborn and High Queen and have her life be a simple, easy one. Whether she had asked for this life or not, it was hers.


	45. Chapter 45

Bryn slowly walked up the steps to the final Wayshrine, and when she shook her head and looked back at Gelebor the ancient Snow Elf was watching her with a quizzical expression. “You hesitate, Champion,” he stated. “One would think after the trials you went through to gain it that you would be more eager to claim your prize. You now hold Auri-El’s Shield. Take his bow as well.”

“I came here to keep the bow out of the hands of others, not specifically to gain it for myself,” she answered. How she wanted it though. Coveted it. She wanted the bow more than she ever lusted after the glass armor once upon a time. The bow spun slowly above its pedestal, surrounded by sparkling motes, gleaming softly in gold and dark silver, the silver embossed with a slight vining texture, a weapon of such incredible beauty and obvious power that it took her breath away. It made her dragonbone bow look barbaric and clunky. And the shield…it was gorgeous. It was seriously making her consider going back to using a shield. Frankly she was going to need one when she fought the Dominion, and she did take more damage when she double-wielded. She wasn’t sure what the shield’s power was, but it surely had one. Better to find out what it was before the war started.

“Yet another sign, in my mind, that you are worthy of possessing it.” Bryn frowned at him, then grimaced and shook her head, looking back to the bow. Confused, Gelebor asked, “Do you fear the bow’s power?”

“Not at all. However I do fear its master’s retribution once I put both items to their intended use.”

“Auri-El allowed you to find them. I think your fears unfounded.”

“I’m taking this bow and shield to war one day, Gelebor. Against Elves.” She heard his sharp intake of breath. “I assume most of the pilgrims who have come to you over the centuries have been mer. Have they kept you up to date on what goes on in the outside world?”

“Yes, to some extent.”

“Have you gotten any coming through recently?”

He hesitated before simply answering, “Yes.”

“So you know about the new Aldmeri Dominion, then. The Thalmor. Have any Thalmor come to visit you?”

“Yes, a few. None have returned. Clearly Auri-El does not favor their objectives.” Bryn finally turned back to look at him, with those eerie eyes that he couldn’t place. He knew of no race of Man or Mer that possessed such purely golden eyes. The girl was as tall as an Aldmer, but powerfully built like the Men of the North, and she had their coloring, though her hair was as soft and fine as one of his own kind. He glanced at the two young males who stood off to the side, silent, clearly Sons of the Snow, as even the vampire maiden was, but he couldn’t figure out what the creature in front of him was, now that he was taking the time to truly observe her. He never paid much attention to those who passed through his domain, knowing their end would always be the same. He wished he had paid more attention to this…person. She had a rather odd voice as well. Resonant, as if she had studied with Masters of the Voice, but she looked much, much too young to have reached the point of her voice changing.

“My lady,” Serana murmured, deeply uncomfortable with the way Bryn and Gelebor were staring at each other. There was no threat on either side, but Serana wasn’t sure just what the ancient Knight-Paladin was capable of. That he was still alive at all after so many thousands of years meant he was nothing to fool around with. Bryn languidly moved her gaze to Serana, who said, “Maybe if you told him who you are…”

Bryn hesitated, and Ralof raised his voice and said with pride, “Our lady is the High Queen of Skyrim, and Dragonborn.”

Gelebor whispered in shock, “Dragonborn!” Bryn slowly nodded and looked away at the surrounding mountains, a weary expression on her face. “But…that means you are a child of Auri-El himself. Of Akatosh, by the name you know him.” He moved closer to her and urged, “Take the bow.”

Bryn warned him again, “I will use it against mer.”

“From what the mer who have come through my domain over the last century have told me, you would be justified in doing so.”

“Why is that?”

“They seek to unmake the world. Even after all these ages, too many of them resent our loss of divinity, of immortality. They seek to rejoin Aetherius, permanently.”

Bryn shook her head, appalled. Paarthurnax had hinted at such a thing, that her birth balanced the odds against those who sought to prematurely end the world, but she hadn’t thought too hard about it at the time, too overwhelmed by everything for the comment to do more than stick at the back of her mind. Well it certainly made sense now. “I destroyed Alduin. That will not be happening as long as I or my descendants exists.” If she ever had descendants. Her mind’s eye still drifted back to those two sweet babies when she let it. Which she did her best not to. If she did she might start screaming again, and Ulfric wasn’t here to contain her this time. Her husband’s lack of concern about her vision was still bewildering to her. She would never understand the Nord view of death, even though she had seen Sovngarde. She was in no hurry to go there one second before she absolutely had to, or leave behind those she loved. An eternity of singing, boasting and feasting sounded incredibly dull to her. She had always enjoyed the parties at Jorrvaskr, but she didn’t want an endless afterlife of that.

“Once again, another sign that you were meant to have the bow. If Auri-El himself gifted you at birth with the blood of dragons, with the soul of a dragon, then he wished to put a stop to Alduin, and the machinations of the Aldmeri Dominion, and therefore does not wish this world to end.” He shook his head and said in sorrow, “It is the greatest arrogance of all, to assume one knows the mind of a Divine, without the Divine giving you any sign that is so. Your existence should be warning enough to these deluded mer that they are on a wrongful path.”

Bryn snorted a humorless laugh. “Deluded. Yes, an apt term for them. They refuse to even acknowledge that Martin Septim was the being who permanently closed the Oblivion Gates.” She still wondered if they honestly believed that they had done so, or if they were just playacting to achieve their objectives. Bryn didn’t doubt that the Thalmor had gone in and closed a great many of the Gates in the Summerset Isles, as House Redoran had done in Morrowind, something the Hero of Kvatch had accomplished single-handedly in Cyrodiil. The thought of him made her heart ache as she heard the Dragon Scroll’s words and and saw its images whisper through her mind again. She could only begin to imagine the depth of grief that would drive the man to give up his sanity and become Sheogorath as a way to forget his loss and the horror of seeing his lover become an Avatar of Akatosh before his eyes, sacrificing himself for his people as any true ruler would. After the dozens of Gates he had closed, the horrors he had seen, and the intense love he and Martin had shared in what stolen moments they had, insanity must have seemed a relief. Well, she would never have that refuge. If she hadn’t gone mad by now, she never would, and unfortunately if she did go completely mad it would probably be Pelinal Whitestrake style.

“Ah. Yes. Well, I spent little time in debate with the mer who passed through my realm recently. My existence seemed to embarrass them. Perhaps it uncomfortably reminded them that even the proudest race of mer can be brought low, even driven to extinction.”

“I will not be committing genocide, I assure you. I have a large number of friends and acquaintances among all the mer. I’m half-Altmer myself.”

Gelebor’s pale eyebrows rose, then he murmured, “There is a lesson in that, I think.” So that was why the girl was so bizarrely tall, and her hair so pale and fine, but no race of mer he knew of had eyes like that. He wasn’t about to be so rude as to inquire about it, either.

“I think if there is, it will escape them.”

“Nothing is impossible. Even the Divines can change their minds, given enough time and incentive. Auri-El personally led the mer against the forces of Lorkhan, Shor, in retribution against his trickery in bringing about the creation of the mortal plane, fighting with that very bow and shield, however once he ascended back to Aetherius that war ended. Mer should be striving to create the Divine within themselves, instead of destroying Mundus. They should be attempting to learn the lessons this existence can teach us. Perhaps you will be the one to teach them this lesson, finally. Change does not come quickly, or easily, for mer, unless it is forced on us.” He gestured toward the Wayshrine and said, “Please, Dragonborn, take Auri-El’s Bow, and use it as you will. If he disapproves of your use of his artifacts, they will simply leave your custody, as they have done with others, and return here.”

Bryn let out a long breath as she nodded and turned away, taking the final steps into the Wayshrine. She didn’t fear much, but a Divine’s retribution was nothing to sneer at. She wiggled her fingers, hesitating, then she plucked the bow out of the air. She caressed the moonstone-crafted weapon, delighted by how light it was, about half the weight of her dragonbone bow, though it was just as tall, a true longbow. The metal was warm, almost alive, in a way the shield wasn’t. She heard the soft whisper of fabric behind her, Serana’s cloak, and Bryn murmured, “Isn’t it lovely? Truly fit for a god.”

“Or the chosen of one.” Bryn snorted at that and turned to look at her, and the vampire girl gazed at the weapon with one eyebrow lifted then said, “It’s ah…not as shiny as I was expecting. Still, it is beautiful.”

“Quite, though my armor feels a bit dull now between this, the shield and my swords. Oh well.” She slung the bow over her shoulder and asked, “What now?”

“I think we both know, my Queen: it’s time to face my father. If we don’t, he’ll keep chasing us for the rest of our lives.”

Bryn nodded slowly and murmured, “You realize he’ll have to die.”

Serana looked pained. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, my lady. It’s…it’s not easy. But I don’t think we have much of a choice.”

“None, actually.”

“This has to end here and now.”

Seeing the other woman was honestly distressed, Bryn laid her hands on her shoulders, seeing Serana’s eyes widen a bit in surprise at the touch. “Then we’ll face him together, my friend,” Bryn vowed. “All four of us.” Serana hesitated then smiled slightly, her fangs not showing, not that Bryn minded if they did. She was so used to Serana now that she hardly noticed her nature. The vampire was extremely discreet in how she fed and swore she had never infected anyone, and she didn’t seem to need to feed often, maybe because she was a pure-blooded Daughter of Coldharbour. Serana had a sadness to her that never seemed to really leave, one that made Bryn feel a bit self-absorbed at times, and Serana had been a bit of a complainer at first, but she had been a loyal, dependable follower, and even Ralof and Hadvar seemed to trust her. She had provided much-needed female company on the road, though there were certain things she could never relate to Bryn with, such as having a monthly cycle and wanting children, though she tried to be sympathetic in her awkward way and was a good listener.

“Friend,” Serana said in a wondering tone. “It’s sad, I…don’t think I’ve ever had one. Not even when I was a little girl.”

“Well you have one in me.”

“Even though I’m…you know?”

“Yes, even so, if you don’t mind what I am either.” Serana stared at her in mild dismay then laughed slightly, realizing it was a joke. Mostly. At least Serana had had a choice in becoming what she was, even if it hadn’t been much of one. “So, should we get this done so we can go on with our lives, such as they are?” The process of finding the bow had been a welcome distraction from the doom she felt hanging over her, or more accurately hanging over her husband. The trip home after reading the Scrolls had been stressful, both of them almost glad to part ways in Windhelm, awful as that was. Ulfric had tried to be supportive, in his own way, but she hadn’t made it easy for him, in fact she had worn him out; he hadn’t gotten angry with her, but he had basically given up trying to cheer her up. She hoped when she saw him again that she would be able to look at him and not think about his potentially impending death. Somehow he would know, able to read her like a book, and it would make him rather grumpy.

Serana grimaced and said gravely, “If we go to the castle now and kick the front door in, we’re going to be knee deep in Father’s friends. Let’s head back to Isran and let him see what we’ve found first. I’m betting he’ll lend us a sword or two, maybe even go with us.”

“Yes…”

“But?”

“I’m due at a wedding in a week and a half, in Riften. I’m not going to miss it, and it will take a good five or six days to get home to Windhelm, even at a brisk pace.” She could shave a day off that by taking a boat along the northern coast, but she didn’t think she could tolerate spending that amount of time in a small skiff. Going into the water in full armor was just asking to drown, and she wasn’t about to risk it, for herself or Ralof and Hadvar. She glanced at the young men and they were actually talking quietly to each other. Companionably. She looked away from them before they caught her, but it warmed her heart to see it. She and Rikke had both known that eventually the two would start getting along, maybe even become friends, and what all four of them had been through in the last couple weeks had certainly gone a long way towards that. Saving a person’s life then having them return the favor had a way of melting the most stubborn ice.

“A wedding,” Serana said thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those.”

“I’ll tell you about mine on our way home.”

Serana asked in disbelief, “You’re…taking me with you? To Windhelm?”

“Yes, I am. I won’t have you traveling across Skyrim back to Fort Dawnguard alone, with gods know how many vampire assassins running around out there. You can come to Windhelm with us and stay until we leave for the wedding, then travel with us to Riften and we’ll part ways there. I’ll be staying there for a few days for the wedding and to visit with friends, maybe do a little smithing, then the three of us will meet up with you again at the Fort. It will take Isran and his people a few days to get ready, I’m sure.”

“Knowing him, he’ll be ready to go the moment you say the word.”

“He’s going to have to wait for that word. I swore to my friends that I would be at that wedding, and by Mara I will. But once I’m done in Riften the three of us will return to Fort Dawnguard and get you and Isran so we can finish this once and for all. And after that is out of the way, you and I will be returning to the Soul Cairn to get your mother out. Maybe with your father gone you two can fix things.”

Serana stared at her for a moment, blinking, then she whispered, “You would do that. For me.”

“Yes, I will. Now that we’ve been through it once I think I’ll be able to navigate more easily the next time, and I’ll know what to expect when we come out, and I’ll be able to rest there in the castle and have Ralof and Hadvar nearby.” She smiled at Serana, who gazed at her with tearful gratitude. “I know this will be hard, but we’ll get everything taken care of, I promise.”

“I believe you, my Queen.” She took a deep breath and said, "You know, they used to call Windhelm ‘the City of Kings’. In my books anyway."

“They’ll call it that again one day, if I have my way.”

-  
"Huh. I had expected Ysgramor's city to be... bigger."

Bryn snorted a laugh and said, "Well, it can only grow so much within the walls." As they walked past Candlehearth Hall she murmured, "Watch the steps. Many of them are broken or out of whack."

"It's surprising that the city's been allowed to fall into disrepair like this. Aren't there the funds to maintain it?" Bryn didn't answer right away, and Serana hastily added, "No offense, my Queen."

Bryn sighed and put her arm through Serana's, and the vampire stiffened a bit then relaxed into the touch. It was still slow going there, but Serana was getting better. "No, it's all right," she soothed. "Yes, it is surprising that this has been allowed, and more surprising still that I haven't done anything about it yet."

"Well...you've been busy."

"Yes, but I could have set someone on the task. I'll have to look into it once the wedding is out of the way. This city is mine now, nearly as much as it is Ulfric's, more in some ways. If he isn't going to fix it, I will." She was sure that Ulfric didn't even notice the problems; they hadn't cropped up overnight, and she had never mentioned them. She patted Serana's shoulder and went on, "I'm glad you brought this up, Serana. It's easy to get used to things when they've always been that way. Sometimes it takes an objective eye to see the problems."

"Speaking of problems...your, um, husband..."

Bryn grumbled and said, "Yes. He won't be happy I'm bringing you here. He won't be happy at all."

"Is he ever happy?" Bryn looked at her in surprise, and she grimaced and muttered, "There I go again. My Queen. I'm sorry."

"I think that's enough of that," Bryn said with regret. "I went overboard when I yelled at you and told you to call me that. Not that you shouldn't, but you needn't be so afraid of offending me. I was scared to death when I yelled at you. You were a convenient target." She paused then said, "Yes, Ulfric's often happy. He's been very good to me, the short time we've been together. But he has...a complicated past. He was a prisoner of war, of the Thalmor, and they tortured him horribly. It took time to earn his trust, but I could sense that he was a good man, that there was hope for him. Much like I sensed with you." She took a deep breath then said, "Yes, he's going to be unhappy, but he won't turn you out. He'd better not, anyway." She was actually rather apprehensive about how her husband was going to react. As long as Serana kept her hood up it was difficult to tell that she was a vampire unless you got close to her. She had already promised not to do anything in the city that might cause problems. Bryn was really going to have to confront her one day about the possibility of getting cured. Her and Valerica. The power gained hardly seemed worth the isolation, and Bryn couldn't in good conscience allow her subjects to be fed upon.

It was mid-afternoon and the Palace was mostly empty, though she could hear Galmar's gravelly voice in the war room. She headed that direction, feeling Serana tensing up next to her, the vampire's body as hard as steel. Bryn really wasn't sure which of the two of them was stronger, and hoped she never had to find out. Jorleif was nowhere to be seen, and when Bryn peeked into the war room she saw Galmar and Ulfric poring over a detailed map of Eastmarch, laid over the map of Skyrim; Rikke was at the table near the back of the room, sorting out papers. Bryn cleared her throat and all three started, glancing up. Ulfric began to smile then he saw his wife's companion and his lips pursed as his eyes narrowed. "Hello darling, I brought a friend home for a little bit," she said carefully, her tone pleasant but underlaid with the warning not to fuss about this.

"I...see," Ulfric stated. He stayed where he was, unsure of what to do, feeling his temper rise that he couldn't greet his wife properly after being separated for several weeks. She let go of Serana and went to him, and he grunted as she kissed his cheek. When she pulled back to look in his eyes he quietly said, "I hope you know what you are doing." He glanced at the vampire and she was watching them with her head tilted sideways, as if she was observing something strange but only mildly interesting. She suddenly dropped her eyes, seeming to sense his annoyance with her staring.

"Yes, quite. We've been attacked a number of times by vampire assassins. I wasn't about to force her to travel cross-country alone." Ulfric relaxed slightly at that and nodded, understanding the necessity of it. Bryn glanced at Galmar and he was staring at Serana with wide eyes and a wrinkled nose, his entire body stiff, and he flinched and made a sound of dismay as Rikke touched his arm, startling him.

"Hello Serana," Rikke said in greeting.

Serana kept her eyes lowered as she replied, "Hello, Rikke. I hope you're doing well."

"Yes, I am, thank you." She patted Galmar and gave him a look of warning then went to Bryn, smiling at the two young Guards on the way. She squeezed her Queen's upper arm and said in a happy, intense voice, "You got the bow."

Ralof grinned and countered, "Did you think we wouldn't?"

"Watch it, pup," Galmar warned, making Ralof roll his eyes and Hadvar laugh quietly.

Bryn slung the bow off her back and held it out to Rikke, saying, "The bow allegedly wielded by Auriel himself in battle against Shor."

"Amazing," Rikke breathed, taking the bow from her, then she grimaced and quickly handed it back. "It's ah, warm." As if it was alive. It was extremely unsettling, but by the Nine it was beautiful.

"Yes, and look at what else we found." She motioned to Hadvar who handed over the shield. "Auriel's Shield as well."

"Shor's bones," Ulfric said in wonder. Bryn handed it to him and he took it with wide eyes, not quite able to bring himself to believe that both the shield and bow were artifacts of a god. The shield weighed about the same as his ebony Shield of Eastmarch, but it was the opposite in looks and color, seeming crafted of sun- and moonlight, gold and argent, the silver embossed with a vining pattern as the bow was. He ran his hand over the pattern as he asked, "What are their powers? The bow has something to do with the sun, I assume. The prophecy." He glanced at his wife and her expression suddenly tightened. Well, he hadn't forgotten about what she had seen in that cave, even if she had been busy enough to keep it out of mind.

"The shield stores the energy of the blows it absorbs," she stated. "I tested it on the way home. The more blows it absorbs, the more power it stores, then it can be released by bashing. It creates a shockwave much like Unrelenting Force."

"Ah. That could prove useful in the war."

"Yes, I'm going to switch back to using a shield for that. The bow though..." She held it up again, watching the light play over its surface, still finding it a marvel. She softly stated, "It was with this very bow that Auriel shot Shor's heart into the sea, and there rose Red Mountain." She saw Ulfric, Rikke and Galmar shiver at that, and the thought still sent goose bumps over her skin. "Supposedly it channels power directly from Aetherius, through the sun, adding fire damage to any arrow it shoots, but it's with blessed Elven arrows that it really shines, so to speak. I haven't tested that yet, because of Serana. It's bad enough she keeps catching the backlash from Dawnbreaker." She kissed the bow then returned it to her back, totally in love with the weapon. She was going to try tempering it before they left for Riften in a couple days. With enchanted smithing gear and a strong potion the bow would be rendered so insanely powerful that she would be able to take down most dragons with half a dozen hits or less. Not that she was eager to take down any more. She was starting to feel more than a little full these days.

Ralof said in an excited tone, "And you will never guess what we found, my lord: Snow Elves!

"You're shitting me," Galmar said in disbelief, then he narrowed his eyes at the young men and added, "You'd better not be pulling my leg, boy."

Hadvar solemnly stated, "It's no joke, sir. Only one is left, that he knows of. And we fought dragons that came up out of a frozen lake. The Queen called an undead dragon to the fight, Durnehviir. We saw frost giants. The wonders never ceased in that place."

"Well then, sounds as if you have tales to tell. You lads go clean up and rest before dinner and we'll hear it all then. Yrsarald won't want to miss it." The two young men nodded, bowed to the Queen, then headed upstairs, and as the door fell shut behind them he could hear them talking happily with each other as they went up the stairs, and when he glanced at Rikke he saw her beaming at the closed door. He knew it was something she had wanted for them, to set aside old hurts and political differences, and it seemed they had. Galmar was certainly pleased by it; it only made the two Queen's Guards more effective at their jobs if they got along. He then looked at the vampire girl, unable to help feeling a swell of disgust as he looked at her, and Ulfric was doing his best to not look at all. When he looked at Bryn she was gazing at him with her chin lifted, daring him to refuse offering the creature hospitality. Well if Ulfric hadn't denied it then it wasn't his place to do so either. He grunted, "So."

"Yes Galmar?" Bryn prompted. The older man scratched the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable, and she rolled her eyes. "Serana will stay at Candlehearth Hall tonight. I know there's no room here. She already promised on her own to...behave herself in the city, and her word is good enough for me."

Galmar nodded, though he still looked troubled, and Ulfric sighed, "All right then." His wife smiled at him in approval, and he sighed again. Serana inclined her head politely, and Ulfric nodded, trying not to make a face of distaste. He could tolerate this for a couple days. It was only a couple days. A couple of days with a vampire in his city, and a couple of days until they set out for Riften, where he had to somehow tolerate looking at Vilkas and knowing that Bryn was thinking about the man. She had never really stopped, but seeing the Harbinger standing there would make things harder. Ulfric could only hope that they managed to get through the whole experience without some kind of ugliness cropping up. It was a thin hope, to be sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I play with these lovely mods by Den987 on Skyrim Nexus: Auriels Bow Gold and Argent Retexture, and Auriels Shield Gold and Argent Retexture. Beautiful!


	46. Chapter 46

Vilkas felt Lydia squeeze his arm as they walked through Riften’s gates, and he gave his sister-in-law a brief grateful smile. The Guards greeted them enthusiastically, rare as it was for nearly every Companion to be out of Jorrvaskr at the same time, and in the same place. Vignar stayed behind as usual to keep an eye on things with Brill, though it had to be lonely there with Tilma gone. She had passed away only a few days before they left Whiterun, so the grief was still fresh for everyone. Lydia had left the Heart at Jorrvaskr, locked up and hidden in Vilkas’ quarters, Tilma having warned her to never take it any farther than Whiterun’s gates or it might lose its connection to the mead hall.

After leaving his gear in Aerin and Mjoll’s house, which was opened up to air it out, Vilkas braced himself and headed to the marketplace, going around the backside of the Bee and Barb to look at Honeyside on the way. A brown-haired Nord in steel plate was standing guard at the door and Vilkas assumed it was Hadvar. He was shorter than Ralof but more heavily built, still average height for a Nord male, and he gave off an air of competence that Ralof didn’t seem capable quite yet of pulling off. Ralof was quite a good warrior, certainly, but spending nearly ten years in the Legion gave one the kind of experience and maturity that couldn’t be replicated.

The young man noticed Vilkas, something that wasn’t hard to do, and smiled broadly and nodded his head, calling out, “Hail, Harbinger!” By Talos the man was an impressive sight, taller than most Nords by half a head and dressed in softly gleaming ebony plate, a bar of black warpaint across his eerily pale gray eyes. Vilkas nodded in greeting, and after hesitating came over, pausing briefly on the bridge to look down into the open canal, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “It’s progress, yeah?” Hadvar asked.

“Yes, markedly so.” He looked out towards the lake and saw a few rowboats out there but couldn’t make out who the occupants were. The pervading stench that had lingered over the city for years was gone, and he had seen repairs and improvements to many of the buildings and walkways, including some decorative paint on the houses that would have been unthinkable just six months ago.

When Vilkas reached him Hadvar held out his hand and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Harbinger.”

“Likewise. Hadvar, is it?” The young man nodded. He had one hell of a grip, though it didn’t seem to be deliberate. It was incredibly annoying when other men purposefully did that, and only proved how insecure they were. As he let go Vilkas asked, “How goes the war against the vampires?”

Hadvar said with a broad smile, “Making good headway. Our lady Queen has dealt them a deadly blow by taking away the weapon they sought. In a few days we’ll be heading to Castle Volkihar with a band of Dawnguard soldiers to finish this once and for all.”

“That’s…fantastic.” He was actually a bit envious. For all his talk early on of the Companions not being adventurers, the thought of trying it out just once was appealing.

Hadvar shook his head and said in a wry tone, “Fantastic…if I could only describe the things I’ve seen, fantastic wouldn’t even begin to capture it. I’ll be glad though when this business is done. It hasn’t been easy on anyone.” It wasn’t his place to say how hard it had been, and on who. It really wasn’t any of Vilkas’ business, or anyone else’s but Ulfric’s, and the people who had been there. The Queen had seemed in decent spirits since gaining the bow however, and she had rewarded Hadvar and Ralof richly before they left Windhelm with a large portion of the gold and gems she had picked up during their adventures, beyond what the two men themselves had found on their own. Both of them had been slightly appalled by it, but she had impressed on them that they were expected to keep up their own gear and would have related expenses, which had made it easier to accept. Hadvar had his own room now, since at some point while they were gone Rikke had moved in with Galmar, who had made it clear that anyone with a smart comment about it would get their head knocked in. Ralof had actually seemed a bit sad about Hadvar moving out. Well, Hadvar had been a bit too. It was kind of funny, really.

“I can only imagine.”

“If you want to say hello to our lady, she’s over at the forge. Unwinding, she says.” Vilkas laughed at his wry tone of voice, though he had a pained expression on his face as he looked across the canal to see Bryn pounding away at something on Balimund’s anvil. Ralof had filled in Hadvar about that entire business between Bryn and Vilkas, what he knew of it, but Hadvar didn’t find it threatening the way Ralof did. The Queen and the Harbinger couldn’t go through life avoiding each other, and each exposure would make the next encounter easier to bear, or so Hadvar and Rikke thought.

“I ah, suppose I should.” He was about to make a comment about her being unguarded, but she was within Hadvar’s direct line of sight, and who know where Ralof or Iona were. He gave Hadvar a brief smile and said, “It was good to meet you. I would like to hear some stories of your adventures some time.”

“I’ll make sure to do that, sir.”

Vilkas nodded and walked away, not giving himself time to reconsider. He had to talk to her now, before the wedding tomorrow, to get it out of the way. To see if he could manage it. Everything had changed since that vision, both for the good and the bad, making it alternately easier and harder to contemplate being around her. He didn’t feel so alone now that he had confided in Lydia and had her advice and back-up on the matter. The shared secret and Vilkas telling her about the Circle’s secret had brought him and his sister-in-law closer, something he cherished. At least the revelation hadn’t done any lasting harm to Farkas’ marriage; Lydia had scolded her husband something fierce once they talked about it, later that same night, but she had lost her fire by then and had had hours to think about it. Farkas had been furious with Vilkas for telling her but had admitted later that he was relieved that it was in the open. Aela didn’t know, and Lydia hadn’t treated her any differently, which Vilkas was grateful for.

He stopped at the corner of the building, scanning the area, and saw Iona nearby, leaning on the low rock wall that surrounded the central marketplace. She frowned slightly upon seeing him but nodded courteously then looked away. Vilkas could see the air about town was different, more cheerful. He could hear the children in the Orphanage happily playing, a welcome sound, and resolved to stop by and leave a donation. He had to admit that he was grateful to Jergen for taking them back to Jorrvaskr with him instead of leaving them in Grelod’s ‘care’. He shuddered to think how he and Farkas would have turned out growing up under her cruel hand.

When the sound of hammering stopped he turned his attention back to Bryn, and he felt a jolt of adrenaline run through him to see her standing stock still, staring at him with a deeply sorrowful expression. She looked decidedly unqueenly, her fair hair tightly pulled back into a bun and bound with a strip of leather, smears of soot across her forehead and nose that he ached to wipe off, always finding her grubbiness at the forge terribly cute. She was wearing leather pants and a sleeveless tunic that showed arms that were much more muscular than the last time he had seen them bare, the morning she had left him, and over it was a leather blacksmith’s apron that shimmered faintly with magic, as did her thick leather gloves and the silver amulet around her neck, and several potions were lined up nearby on the bench. He hadn’t realized she smithed with enchanted gear and wondered when that had started. Eorlund would have turned his nose up at it, disdaining the use of magic in his smithing just as the Companions did with their gear, Mjoll’s Grimsever the only enchanted weapon among the group. Lydia’s arms and armor were all enchanted but she wasn’t considered an official Companion. Vilkas thought he might have to do something about that after the baby was born.

When Vilkas bowed slightly to her but still held her gaze, Bryn asked in a tense voice, “What are you doing here?” Gods above, the man was gorgeous. Looking at him made it feel like a rusty blade was being dragged across her heart. He was looking her in the eyes. Actually looking at her. Intently. Longingly. It didn't help matters at all. Not one bit.

“I’m here for Aela’s wedding.” He saw her grip tighten on the hammer and the chunk of ebony she was working, then she turned away and shoved it back into the coals. He moved to the other side of the pole that held the bellows rope, saying, “That wasn’t funny, was it.”

“No, it wasn’t.” She folded her arms, letting the hammer dangle from its leather strap, and stared at the fire, though she was unable to block out the huge blot of black on the edge of her vision. She couldn’t imagine why on Nirn he was here, alone, talking to her. Looking her in the eye. She glanced up at him and he gazed back with a calm but sad gaze, and there was something in his eyes that perplexed and unsettled her. Something had changed. The warpaint was a new design, and more flattering than the…whatever it was he and Farkas used to wear. It was absolutely evil how beautiful he was. “Is everyone else here?” They had damn well better be.

“Yes, opening up the house and getting it cleaned up. The basement is full of skeever shit.” At that she snorted a laugh, and it made him smile. It was good to see her laugh, if only a little.

“I haven’t been very good about checking on the place,” she admitted. “Mjoll didn’t leave a key, but I could have picked the lock easily enough, I suppose.”

“Yes, as the only remaining thief in Riften you have a monopoly now on crime.” She laughed merrily at that, warming him. Mjoll had told the story of her and Bryn’s assault on the Thieves Guild many nights in Jorrvaskr. It was a good story. He nodded towards the forge and asked, “What are you making this time?”

“A dragonbone dagger.” She lowered her voice and murmured, “The Emperor is visiting soon. To see me. I thought I would give it to him. As a gift.” She hesitated then added, “Only a few people know about his visit.”

“No one will hear it from me.”

“What are you really doing here, Vilkas?”

The swift change in subject startled him, and when she looked up at him she had a hurt expression on her face, not caring who saw it, and it was a given that plenty of people were watching, even if they couldn’t hear. Screw them. He quietly stated, “I came to see you, and that’s all. I…” Missed her. Grieved what they had lost. Grieved that she might lose Ulfric some day, and he couldn’t tell her any of it. “I want peace between us, Brynhilde,” he murmured. He saw the faintest shudder go through her as he said her name.

“Peace. Hasn’t there been peace?”

“Has there been, truly?” he countered. “I haven’t handled things well, I admit that, but…I want it to be better.”

She closed her eyes for a moment then looked at the fire, glowing deep orange and red, fed with a gift of fresh fire salts. Things between her and Balimund were as comfortable as ever, the simple, plain-spoken smith understanding that his forge was a refuge to her, as was his undemanding friendship. Things with Vilkas though…they could never be simple. He wasn’t simple. Neither was Ulfric. She loved that about both of them. “That would be nice,” she murmured, “however I don’t think it’s a good idea to make a habit of doing this.” It was also completely impossible at this point. Being around him was nearly intolerable now. Half of her wanted to throw herself into his arms, and the other half wanted to smack him for not marrying her when he had the chance and leaving her at risk now of losing Ulfric, when by all rights she never should have loved Ulfric at all.

“I didn’t intend to, but…I just wanted to see you again.” She nodded slowly, a look of such deep pain crossing her face that he nearly asked her what was wrong. “Are you going to the wedding party? Ulfric is welcome there, and Hadvar and Ralof and Iona.” Bryn grimaced, suddenly looking close to tears, swallowing hard as she reached down to check the ebony then shoved it in the coals again and began pumping the bellows. “Tell me you’ll be there,” Vilkas insisted. “Aela and Mjoll would be upset if you didn’t go.”

“And I may spend the entire time upset if I do go, thereby upsetting everyone.”

He made a huffing sound of grief and whispered, “Gods, I don’t want it to be like this! Tell me what would make it better and I’ll do it. I’ll stay away from the party—“

“Don’t you dare!” she demanded hotly, lifting her eyes to glare at him. “Twenty years you’ve known Aela. She’s your sister. Whatever I am to her and Mjoll pales in comparison.” He stared at her with a sorrowful expression, and she scoffed with quiet intensity, “Make it better. You really think there’s anything you can do to make it better? No one can make things better for me. Not you, not Ulfric, no one. _Krosis los mid fahdon._ Sorrow is my most loyal of friends. It never strays far from my side.”

“So you’ll sit in Honeyside stewing? You can’t do that! You were really planning on doing that?” Her hesitation in answering told him that she actually hadn’t, and was just being gloomy. “Come to the party and I’ll stay out of your way. I’ll stay as far away as humanly possible, and be as quiet as possible, if I’m the reason you don’t want to go.” Her lack of an answer told him that he was. It both hurt and warmed him that she still cared that much. Well of course she did. “I’m sorry. All I wanted was to talk to you, to get it out of the way before the wedding and make things more comfortable between us. I never intended to cause problems. Maybe I didn’t think it through all the way, and I’m sorry. I…know how things are, for both of us, but this is our reality. What else can we do? We can’t go back and change things. All we can do is move forward.”

“Move forward!” she said with a laugh tinged with hysteria. “Do you know what I did sixteen days ago, Vilkas? I read _three_ Elder Scrolls. At once. One after the other. I went bat-shit crazy and blind from it. It showed me things that broke something inside me. It’s still broken, no matter the splints and bandages Ulfric put over it. I sold two of the Scrolls to a priest who’s taking them back to the Imperial City, but the Dragon Scroll won’t leave me. I gave it to Urag at the College and I found it in my pack the next morning, twenty miles away. It’s as if it wants me to open it up again, and re-see what I saw. Every day that moves forward could mean disaster.”

His heart pounding, Vilkas whispered, “What did you see?” Sixteen days ago. He’d had that dream sixteen nights ago. Bryn shook her head, refusing to answer, and he didn’t press, feeling almost dizzy with the revelation. So it had been an Elder Scroll that was to blame for his vision. He nearly asked her what _grohiiki_ meant, but he didn’t dare. There was no way he could do that to her. The thought though that she had possibly seen the same thing he had…it made him want to cry. It made him want to grab her and tell her he had seen it too and damn the consequences. It was no wonder she wasn’t happy to see him again. That vision had to have hurt her a hundred times more than it had him. He was going to tell Lydia though. She should have something sensible to say about it, and maybe Bryn would confide in her about what she had seen. “I should go then,” he quietly said. “Where is Ulfric? I wanted to say hello to him.”

“Bolli took him and Ralof fishing today. Ulfric’s mother grew up not far from here.” The idea had slightly horrified her, imagining him falling out of the boat and drowning, and he had assured her he wasn’t going to wear armor and he swam quite well, then she had fussed about him not wearing armor and he had assured her that the nearby fort that she herself had cleared out at one point had a small garrison of Rift guards in it, many of them former Stormcloaks. Then he had gently but firmly told her that he was on what he considered a vacation, he was going fishing and that was that, and she’d had to leave it alone before he got irritated. It wasn’t as if he was in danger, and he had Ralof with him, who was also not armored and also swam quite well, but she still had that invisible doom hanging over her, that Ulfric could die at any moment, and seeing Vilkas standing here was making it so much worse.

“Have you found out anything about your mother and her family?”

“No.”

The short answer made him frown, and he asked, “Did you even try?”

“Rikke was able to find out a little about her, but the Legion doesn’t keep very detailed personnel records at that rank, and frankly if I had any living family left don’t you think they would have come out of the woodwork by now? A year and a half I’ve been in Skryim. That’s plenty of time for them to come forward, or at least send me a letter or something.”

“Unless it got lost,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. What of your father?”

“Legate Fasendil knew him in passing, that’s all. I know plenty about my father, the good things Auntie and Grandmother told me. I just wanted to know if my parents were married when they had me.”

Vilkas rolled his eyes and said, “Don’t tell me you’re worried that you’re a bastard.” She stared at him, her mouth slightly open, then she laughed shortly and folded her arms, looking away. By Talos she had muscular arms. It made him wonder what the rest of her looked like now. She didn’t seem much heavier, and she wasn’t built to the point of being unfeminine, but it was a little shocking. “What does it matter if your parents were married? They were together. Here in Skyrim no one cares about a child being born under the legitimacy of some paper. You had a father, and your parents were together under the eyes of the Divines. They may have pledged their troth to each other at any point and who would know but them and Mara?” He suddenly wondered if part of her drive to be married was borne of not knowing if her parents had been. Her aunt had told her they weren’t, but that could have easily been a lie.

“Goodbye, Vilkas.”

Abruptly dismissed as she lowered her eyes and took out the ebony to begin pounding it again, Vilkas nodded and bowed slightly then walked away towards the Orphanage, trying not to bunch up his shoulders in anger. Well she was the damn Queen and could dismiss him if she liked. People greeted him as he passed and he nodded politely, trying not to let his aggravation show. He crossed over the bridge and stopped in front of Honorhall Orphanage to collect himself, knowing he had no right to be angry with Bryn. She hadn’t dismissed him as Queen; she had let him know she was done talking because she was upset, and she had every reason to be; no doubt it wounded her to hear him talking of betrothals considering their past. At least she had talked to him, though to be fair she was the one who had chided him last time they saw each other when he wouldn’t look at her.

He entered the Orphanage, which was mostly empty at the moment with all the children playing outside. The headmistress Constance Michel was busy cooking lunch, humming to herself, and she looked up as he entered, gasping slightly. He supposed he did look a bit intimidating, but then he also thought that everyone knew who he was. He smiled gently at her and said, “I am Vilkas, Harbinger of the Companions.” The young woman instantly relaxed and smiled shyly in return. She was a pretty little thing, Breton, delicately built. Some Nord men found Breton women enticing, with their fine, Elven-touched features and dainty bodies, but he wasn’t one of them. He didn’t particularly want to have to worry about breaking a woman in half when he slept with her. The thought made a spike of guilt go through him, and he had to wonder if he would be able to bring himself to sleep with another woman ever again. He was usually too busy to think much about it, and it was easier to take care of his needs himself than go to the trouble of seeking out female company. And now, after that vision, he worried that if he even tried to sleep with another woman that it would feel like he was being unfaithful to Bryn. After what he’d had with her no other woman could compare. He dug in his belt pouch, saying, “I wanted to leave something for the children, if I may.”

“Oh, of course, of course!” Constance said gratefully.

“I hope things are going well here?”

“Oh yes, much better, since… Well, it’s been better. The Queen, uh…she…she makes sure the children want for nothing. And the Jarls have gotten better about funding the children’s care since…well.” She accepted the generous handful of gold and murmured, “Thank you, Harbinger. This is much appreciated.”

“You’re welcome.” He looked toward the back door and asked, “I was wondering…could I talk to them?”

“Really? You want to talk to them?”

“My brother Farkas and I…we were orphaned, when we were three. We were raised by the Companions.”

Constance’s hand went over her mouth as she whispered, “I had no idea!” She pinched her lip then said, “Maybe that would be a good thing. Talking to them, that is. Since Aventus came back…you know about Aventus?”

“I’ve heard rumors.” Bryn had been on her way back to Windhelm after returning the boy to the Orphanage when she had been kidnapped by Astrid of the Dark Brotherhood. Right before everything went sour between them. Yes, he knew plenty about the clever young Aventus Aretino.

“He’s told the children things,” she said in a lowered voice, wringing her hands nervously. “I’ve heard them talking at night. Not so much now, but when he first came back, he told the other children… he told them…”

“Yes?”

“He told them that Brynhilde, the Queen, well she’s the High Queen now…”

Seeing she was having trouble, Vilkas assured her, “If something is troubling you, you can say it without fear. I will keep it to myself, on my honor.”

“Even from the Queen?”

He frowned and answered, “Yes, of course, though why you should fear the Queen is beyond me. She is the greatest supporter the Orphanage has. She was orphaned herself as a child, raised by her father’s sister.”

“Well…it’s just that…the night Grelod, um, died…did you hear how she died?”

“Some say a Dark Brotherhood assassin killed her, due to a contract Aventus put out on her.”

“The Queen did it!”

Vilkas stared at the young woman, seeing she was truly afraid, her tremulous whisper barely audible. “That is impossible,” he stated flatly. “She would never do such a thing.”

“I saw her in the room that night!” she insisted, moving closer to him. “She was wearing Dark Brotherhood armor. She had a mask over her face, but her eyes…I would know those eyes anywhere! And they widened when I turned around, as if she knew she had been caught! The next day she came in with a big bag of gold, like she was trying to buy my silence!”

He folded his arms as he shook his head, saying, “I refuse to believe that Bryn murdered anyone. Was there a mark anywhere on Grelod?”

“Well…no…but I’m sure she has ways of not leaving a mark!”

“Not that I know of.” He shook his head again. “No. Bryn did not murder Grelod, and she was never a member of the Dark Brotherhood, in fact she was targeted by them repeatedly and destroyed them first chance she got. If it was Bryn, which I still doubt, she probably took the gear from one of the assassins who came after her, and she probably came in here that night to scare Grelod straight. The woman was ancient. Her heart probably gave out and she died of fright.” The only way Bryn could kill anyone without leaving a mark was with the _thu’um,_ and all those ways made noise when she Shouted. “What does Aventus say about it?” At that Constance looked uncertain, and he pressed, “So?”

“He says she claims it was an accident,” she murmured. Maybe it really had been, after all.

“There you have it. I assure you, she is a good person, a caring person. She has run herself ragged the last year and a half helping everyone she comes across. I hope you haven’t spent all this time flinching from her and treating her like a murderer.” Constance grimaced, making him sigh heavily. He was sure that kind of behavior would not go over well with Bryn, and she had never had much patience for wilting flowers like this one. Even as emotionally fragile as she had been at first, Bryn had always been brave, had always had a fire in her that was never entirely snuffed out.

“I’m not a brave person, Harbinger,” she admitted, twining her fingers together. “I grew up here, under Grelod’s hand, and never learned to stand up for myself. Anyone who does—did—that here got beaten for it. The children here…after Grelod died, they admitted that they were afraid that one day Grelod would end up beating one of them to death. I’m…well, I’m not sorry she’s gone. I’m not even sorry that she died in terror, bad as that makes me feel. It was the thought that Brynhilde, the Queen, was an assassin. She’s frightening enough as it is.”

Vilkas patted her on the shoulder, making her wince; her bones were like a bird’s, and he quickly drew his gauntleted hand away. No, pretty as she was, he would never try to bed a Breton woman. Her head didn’t reach any farther than the middle of his chest, making him feel like a lumbering giant and her look like a child. It made him miss having Bryn’s tall, strong body against his all the more. That woman had been able to take anything he could dish out and beg for more. “Let me go talk to the children. But think over what we have talked about. I swear to you on my honor as a Companion and as Harbinger that Bryn did not murder Grelod. She has never murdered anyone.”

“Yes, Harbinger. I’m…I’m glad we had this talk.”

“As am I.”

Constance led him outside, and he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing when the children all gasped in surprise then screamed and swarmed around him. They were all boys but one, and even the girl wanted to touch his armor and try lifting his sword, which none of them could. He let them get the excitement out of their system for a few minutes then quieted them down and talked to them about their futures, about honor, about his own childhood, making sure Aventus especially understood. A child who could escape this place, make it all the way to Windhelm on his own, and get the components together to perform the Black Sacrament was someone to keep a close eye on, and the boy’s dark eyes gleamed with an intense intelligence that could very easily go awry. Bryn had told Vilkas that she had given the boy a strong talking to and impressed on him how evil assassins were, but having another strong adult tell him the same thing might help keep him off a dark path. The talk seemed to take, and Vilkas was glad that he had done this, so much so that for a few minutes he was strongly tempted to take in the boy. He finally decided against it; Bryn had told him how much Aventus missed his friends here, and Vilkas was going to war within…well, it wouldn’t be long if the Emperor was coming here to see Bryn. He wasn’t about to do to a child what Jergen had done to him and Farkas, or saddle someone else with the child while he was gone.

Feeling pleased with himself, Vilkas left the Orphanage and headed around the canal toward Aerin and Mjoll’s house. He glanced over at The Scorched Hammer and felt a twinge of grief and longing to see Bryn watching him. The forge was close to the Orphanage and she had no doubt heard the children screaming his name and title. He saw her smile slightly at him, her eyes shining with approval, and he let out a calming breath and returned the smile then continued on his way, resisting the urge to look at her again or go back and talk to her. She was a married woman and he wasn’t about to have all of Riften watching them make eyes at each other, or be the cause of any strife in her marriage. At least he felt good right now, at this very moment, felt a kind of peace he hadn’t felt since she had left him. He would cherish that for the brief time it lasted.


	47. Chapter 47

Lydia laughed as Farkas returned from the meadery and plunked down a crate with a dozen bottles of Black-Briar on the table in front of Ulfric, who nodded with a grin and reached for one at the same time as Ralof and Hadvar. As the men popped the corks Lydia took Bryn’s arm and led her to the back door, saying, “Time to get out before the bullshit gets too deep to wade through.” As they went out they saw Iona standing watch at the top of the stairs, and she smiled in greeting at Lydia then went down the stairs to the dock, giving them the privacy to talk. They clearly needed it, Bryn having been sad and tense for the last hour as they all ate dinner in Honeyside, trying desperately to be a good hostess. Ulfric had watched his wife with a wary expression while discreetly trying to draw her out and cheer her up, only partially succeeding.

She steered Bryn to the small table on the deck, seeing that Iona had thoughtfully set out a bottle of Honningbrew, Bryn’s favorite. She gently pushed her mistress into a chair then shoved the bottle towards her. Bryn stared at it apathetically then pulled out the cork and took a drink directly from the bottle, which the men were no doubt doing as well. It was a given they would soon be having a much better time than the women were. Ulfric was pleasant company when he wasn’t preoccupied with politics and war, and he had already stated that he considered himself on vacation for the next several days, and Farkas got along with everyone, and Ralof and Hadvar both seemed likable men. They all had plenty of stories to tell and were probably already going at it as only men could.

Lydia lowered herself into the other chair, and Bryn glanced at her gently rounded belly with envy. “Is the little one moving yet?” she asked.

“Not yet, but the healers say I’ll feel it any day now.” She was about five months along, or thereabouts. “Farkas is so excited. He wants to get things ready for the baby and I keep telling him it’s too early yet.”

“He’ll be a wonderful father.”

The waver to Bryn’s voice made Lydia lean across the table and say intently, “All right, spill it. Tell me what’s wrong. You’ve been off all night.” As if she didn’t know. Vilkas had headed straight for her after leaving the Orphanage. Talking to Bryn again had Vilkas in a state but he was managing well. Surprisingly well. He wasn’t driving anyone nuts anyway. Yet.

“Do you promise not to tell anyone?” Lydia hesitated, and she added, “Especially Vilkas. He can’t ever know.”

“I’m sorry my lady, but that’s a hard promise to make. You have a tendency to sit on things that people _should_ know.”

“Ulfric knows. So does Serana. They were there.”

Lydia made a face and said, “Yes, that vampire. Do you trust her?”

“Yes, implicitly. Even Hadvar and Ralof do. She’s stuck with us through the whole nasty business, and she’s been loyal to me. Protective even. Especially after…” She made a sound of frustration and demanded, “Promise me you won’t tell Vilkas!”

“Why?”

“Because it would hurt him.” Lydia still hesitated, and Bryn reached over and grabbed her hand, making her wince, and Bryn quickly loosened her grip. She leaned across the table, tears stinging her eyes, and whispered, “Please, Lydia!”

“All right,” Lydia quickly promised, putting her other hand over Bryn’s. “I swear it on my life.” And to be fair, she already had an idea of what Bryn was going to say. 

“This whole thing with the vampires hinged on a prophecy, and that bow I showed you, and to get to the root of it we had to read some Elder Scrolls, and the moth priest we found went blind after the first one. To find the bow I had to read three of them. At the same time.” Lydia looked horrified at that, knowing what the first one had done to her. “There was no one else who could do it, and everyone thought I would be fine because of what I am, and I suppose the next day I was, fine enough anyway, but…you can’t imagine what I heard and saw. The Scroll, it told me I might…become Empress,” she finished in a low voice.

“What?” Lydia whispered in dismay. “Tell me you won’t have to do that!”

“The Emperor is coming to Skyrim soon. To see me. That’s a long and fairly dangerous journey just for a visit. The Scroll said that dragon blood will rule over White-Gold Tower again, the Thalmor will get pushed back to Alinor and never rise again, and the ‘gift of Akatosh’, a Dragonborn bloodline, I’m assuming mine, will keep existing as long as dragons live in Skyrim.”

Lydia squeezed Bryn’s hand and murmured, “Oh Bryn. I’m so sorry. But…maybe this is a good thing. Not for you so much, I realize that, but…you could fix things.” Bryn sighed heavily and tried to pull away but Lydia tightened her grip on her hand and stopped her. “I know this isn’t what you wanted. What you have now isn’t what you wanted. But you’re Dragonborn. What else can you do? If the Emperor wants to come here and meet you, instead of calling you to the Imperial City, that’s a sign of favor. It’s showing everyone that he has faith in you, and he hasn’t even met you yet. Once he does… Well, what does Ulfric say?”

“He hates the Emperor, because of the White-Gold Concordat and what happened to him when he was a prisoner of war, and because of the Markarth Incident and not being released for his father’s funeral. He absolutely detests the man. But he respects him in certain ways. I don’t know how men are able to do that.”

“Me neither.”

“He said the same thing you did,” Bryn stated in a tone of defeat. “That maybe this was necessary to fix the Empire and get rid of the Dominion for good. I don’t have a problem going to war and getting rid of the Dominion, I really don’t, but I don’t want to live in Cyrodiil! I don’t want to leave Skyrim!”

“Don’t worry about that now, all right? That’s probably so far off in the future it isn’t worth worrying about. Titus Mede is only in his early sixties. Even if he names you his heir it might be twenty years or more before you have to worry.”

“That isn’t my biggest worry. Not right now.” 

“So what is it?”

She hesitated and insisted, “You won’t tell Vilkas?”

Lydia huffed and stated in annoyance, “I already said I wouldn’t!”

“I told him about the Emperor. Not the part about becoming Empress. I…don’t know if he should know that. Because of…because of what I saw.” Lydia waited, with as much patience as she had, which was never much. If Vilkas knew she might end up ruling an Empire, he might not want to be with her some day. Being the consort of an Empress was entirely different from being the consort of the Queen of a mostly rural province. She couldn’t risk losing Vilkas again. If something happened to Ulfric and Vilkas wasn’t there to turn to… “The Scroll told me about that. In a voice. This weird voice that wasn’t male or female. It told me things about the Champion of Cyrodiil, Divines only know why, maybe as a warning, maybe because it had to do with Martin, the last Dragonborn Emperor. I saw him, too, as an avatar of Akatosh, a dragon made of fire. It was all quite sad but not relevant to anything. I don't know, maybe it was because I met Sheogorath, and he is the Champion—“

“Good gods, tell me it isn’t true,” Lydia breathed in disgust. The Hero of Kvatch, the Champion of Cyrodiil, had dropped off the face of Nirn a few months after Martin’s death and was never heard from again.

“The Scroll told me he was Martin Septim’s lover, and that after Martin died he was so crazy with grief and the terrible things he saw in Oblivion that when that island popped up in Niben Bay and he realized it led to the Shivering Isles he went in and never came back out, and he ended up taking Sheogorath’s place. He chose to go completely mad.” 

“Ugh. The poor man.”

“The Dragon Scroll told me that about the Champion, and about becoming Empress. The Scrolls are records of what has passed, and prophecies of what will come to pass. They aren’t…they don’t tell you what might have been. They only tell you what’s already happened, and what is likely to happen in the future. But I saw something. I was actually there, in the future. The way the Dragon Scroll let me go through the Time Wound and watch the heroes defeat Alduin in the past.” Lydia nodded, encouraging her to go on. “That isn’t supposed to happen. I talked to Dexion about it. The moth priest. I had to get rid of those other two scrolls, and I needed to talk to him about how the Scrolls worked, to be sure. The Scrolls aren’t supposed to let people see things, only hear the Scroll’s voice and read its text, but because I’m Dragonborn and made by Akatosh, Dexion thinks the Scrolls let me step outside Time, let me briefly be somewhere, some _when_ else, silly as that sounds.”

“Not at all.” It was pretty esoteric, but Lydia wasn’t stupid.

Bryn pulled away from Lydia and her friend let her go, and she took a deep drink of mead, wishing she could get drunk. She didn’t dare. She held so much inside at this point that she couldn’t risk it. She’d never be able to risk it again. Never be able to completely relax ever again.

“You’re starting to worry me,” Lydia stated with complete honesty. There was something different about Bryn now that she couldn’t put her finger on. An edge that wasn’t there before. Maybe it was just the fear. Lydia had never known Bryn to actually be afraid of anything. Not for herself.

“I don’t like what I’m becoming.”

“You haven’t every step of the way, and every step of the way you’ve gotten used to it and moved on.”

She stared at the housecarl for a moment, her eyes wide, then she nodded. “Yes, I suppose I have. But this…this is too hard. I can’t handle knowing this. Fearing this constantly. I feel a doom hanging over me, worse than before. Because of what I saw. Ulfric knows and he’s so damn calm about it I want to scream. I did scream, when I saw it. Ulfric had to Shout at me to snap me out of it.” She took a deep breath and lowered her eyes as she went on, “You want to know what I saw? I was lying in bed, right after giving birth, and I had a baby girl in my hands. A dark-haired baby girl. And Vilkas was on the other side of the bed, with our older son, a blond little boy that looked about two. I couldn’t see the little one’s face, he was hiding it in Vilkas’ neck, like he was upset or afraid. Probably afraid from hearing me in labor, because everyone probably did.” She swallowed hard, unable to look Lydia in the eye. “I was so happy right then, holding her, having Vilkas and the little boy there with me. I told Vilkas, ‘Look _grohiiki,_ she has your hair and mouth.’ I never called him that when we were together. I didn’t even know the dragon tongue then. I told our son ‘Come see your sister, little cub.’” A tear welled up and ran down her cheek, and she continued, “The Scrolls show what is likely to pass, and in order for that to happen Ulfric will die. And I can’t help wondering lately if that child is actually Ulfric’s. The blond one. And that’s why I called him little cub, _mal kodaav,_ a little bear cub.”

“Oh Bryn,” Lydia whispered, near tears herself. This was so excruciating to listen to, even worse than it had been hearing Vilkas describe it. So it really had been Bryn’s reading of the Elder Scroll that had caused Vilkas’ vision, because he had been there too, in that future, for just a little bit. There was no way Lydia could hint at all that he had seen it; it would only deepen the sense of doom that Bryn was living under. If Vilkas had seen it too it seemed there was no escaping it. But the blond toddler…Lydia never would have imagined the child might be Ulfric’s. That Vilkas was going to raise another man’s child as his own. She said to Bryn, “The boy might not be Ulfric’s. Wolves have cubs too.” Bryn’s eyes snapped up to hers. “Vilkas told me. About the Circle. Aela. About everything.”

Bryn sighed heavily, not about to worry about it, and wiped the tears from her eyes, glad to have something else to talk about. At this point it was ridiculous to worry, and clearly it hadn’t made Lydia take off screaming or leave Farkas. “Why? It was supposed to end with them.”

“Them? You had it too. You had it and I never guessed.”

She shrugged one shoulder, taking the bottle of mead between her hands. “For maybe three weeks at most. I changed once, when I was first turned, and refused to eat anything, and never changed again. I could barely even tell I had it. The dragon kept the wolf at bay. I only took the Blood to try to empathize with Vilkas and understand what he was going through. You can’t imagine how it tormented him, constantly. He tried so hard to resist it and it was an endless struggle. It never really bothered Farkas, and Kodlak was so ill that the beastblood was nothing compared to that, but…poor Vilkas. I saw him change once, the night I took that arrow, and he was absolutely sick with self-loathing afterwards. He hated what he was, and it kept getting worse and worse the longer he put off changing. I told him I loved him either way and to change if he had to, and he was horrified. I told him I could never be afraid of him or any of the others, being what I am, but he didn’t care. He wanted it gone, and so did Farkas, so he could marry you.” She glanced at Lydia and added, “I never told you because it wasn’t my secret to tell. I hope it didn’t cause problems between you and Farkas, when you found out.”

She sighed and admitted, “We had a pretty big fight about it that night. Our only real fight. And he was mad, really mad. I’ve never seen him get mad like that. He actually yelled at me.” Bryn’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Well, it didn’t last long, and it was Vilkas he was actually mad at, for telling me. But he had to, because eventually I would have found out either way.”

“How?”

“Well, I told you Tilma passed away, a few days before we left.” Bryn nodded sadly. “She always knew what was going on in Jorrvaskr. She had an artifact, a pendant with the dried up heart of Jeek of the River in it.” Bryn’s nose wrinkled then she shuddered and took a drink of mead. “Yes, it’s rather gross, and I’m not all that happy about having it. I had to leave it behind, since it’s tied to Jorrvaskr. Jeek’s spirit is bound up with the mead hall and his body is buried beneath it, and it whispers secrets to the mistress of the hall that it thinks she should know. Sooner or later it would have told me that Aela was a werewolf, and then I would have gotten to thinking about the wolf armor the Circle wore, and how they stopped wearing it, and how Vilkas’ behavior changed, and how the howling around Whiterun has tapered off over the last couple years…well, I’m not dumb.”

“You are definitely not, my friend.” Lydia smiled slightly at her. Bryn leaned back in her chair and said with a grin, “It’s about time you get some weird shit of your own going on. I’m tired of it always being me.” Lydia laughed heartily at that and Bryn’s language. “So, has it told you anything interesting yet?”

“No, I think it’s still…I don’t know, trying to figure out who I am. Tilma has been the mistress of the hall for so long, sixty some years, that it might be a little confused at this point.” She shivered and went on, “I guess I’ll…I don’t know, talk to it or something when I get back. I’m really not looking forward to it, but I’ll deal with it. I’m in too deep with the Companions now to ever get out.” She had to admit, she loved being part of them, and Vilkas was a good Harbinger and had cracked down on Torvar’s drunkenness and Njada’s attitude towards Athis. It was like being part of a big, boisterous family. It was no wonder Bryn missed it so much.

“So… Mjoll knows about Aela, then.” Mjoll had never even hinted at it.

“Yes, not long before Skjorta was born. Mjoll nearly left her for it, Vilkas said. She made her swear that it stops with her.”

Bryn shook her head. “I understand why Aela doesn’t want the cure, barely. Both of her parents were werewolves, and she wants to see Skjor again, but…hasn’t she considered that that means she won’t be with Mjoll?”

Lydia frowned and said, “You know, I’ve thought about that, with Vilkas talking about wanting to go to Sovngarde. Farkas and I talked a lot about the beastblood, after the night we hashed it out. He thinks… well, he told me he used to like watching the wild wolves around Whiterun. Vilkas never wanted to go, but Farkas said he would change and go out through the Underforge and hunt then he would lie in the grass and watch the wolves. Just sit there.”

“I can see him doing that,” Bryn said quietly, her heart aching to hear this. Vilkas would never talk to her about it, any of it, and she hadn’t really talked to Farkas much about it after the walk back from Dustman’s Cairn.

“He said a lot of times wolves mate for life. Especially dominant wolves. Alpha wolves. The Circle had no true Alpha according to Farkas, but Aela, well maybe Skjor was her…mate, for want of a better term. She loves Mjoll, I can tell she does, but there isn’t any passion behind it.” There wasn’t a whole lot on Mjoll’s part either, the two women seeming to be close partners more than spouses, but there was a visible bond between them that more than made up for everything else, and they were both excellent mothers to Skjorta.

Bryn sadly murmured, “Skjor…the night they offered me the Blood, the night he died, he said he only had eyes for Aela. Aela said he’d loved her since she was a young girl.”

Lydia clucked her tongue in grief. “How terribly sad. Farkas told me all about that, about how he had to help Aela with the body, and what the Silver Hand had done to him. Absolutely evil. I understand hunting a thing, but not what they did.” She leaned back in her chair as well, rubbing her belly. “I think Farkas is right, about the mating thing. He said that once he decided on me every other woman ceased to exist for him, and he isn’t prone to flowery talk at all, so he meant it literally.” She saw Bryn look away, over the lake, a deep frown on her face, running her thumb over the label on the mead bottle.

“Has Vilkas been with anyone?”

“Oh Bryn,” Lydia sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. He hardly leaves Jorrvaskr. When he does it’s to have lunch with the Jarl. He takes his job so seriously that it doesn’t leave room for much else. He spends all his time training the younger ones and arranging jobs—“ They suddenly heard rowdy laughter from the men inside, and she snorted and said, “That didn’t take long.” Bryn wasn’t amused, still staring over the lake with a sullen expression, nursing her bottle of mead. By the Divines, she and Vilkas were two of a kind. Everyone else around them could be having a party and they would be the ones brooding over something. Well, she supposed this was worth brooding over. Lydia had the very strong feeling that Vilkas very likely was mated to Bryn for life. She remembered quite clearly the day he had told her about the beastblood and her telling him it was over, and his cry _Then why doesn’t it ever feel like it is!_

“When he talked to me today, I could tell he still loves me,” Bryn muttered. “He even tried to say it, that he knew how things were between us and there was nothing we could do about it. He said he came to the forge just because he wanted to see me. There was something different in his eyes, like…it was like he was trying to tell me something, or wanted to, and couldn’t bring himself to do it. As if I don’t know.” She made a sound of pain and whispered, “I love Ulfric, so much. He’s been so good to me, so supportive. Even with the terrible things that have happened to him, he’s tried so hard to be a good husband, a good lover, and he has been. When we talked about that vision I saw, he was so damn calm about it, saying if it happened it was going to happen no matter what anyone did, that seeing it wasn’t going to be the reason it happened, then he gave me some…utter _crap_ about how he was basically living on borrowed time anyway, that by all rights I should have taken sides in the civil war and that he knew I would have chosen the Empire and put a quick end to it all by killing him and Galmar, but that giving him the dossier changed how things might have been. He acted like it was all no big deal. As if I shouldn’t fuss and fret over his impending death. It…it made me want to scream, how calm he was!”

Lydia reached over the little table and put her hand on Bryn’s arm. “Hey, you can’t let yourself obsess over this. I know it’s hard, but you’re going to drive yourself batty if you keep this up.”

“I don’t know how to stop,” she said in anguish. “I’m worried sick about Ulfric, but…Mara help me, I still love Vilkas so much. I don’t understand how things went so wrong. I get this feeling sometimes, since reading the Scrolls a couple weeks ago, this feeling that I shouldn’t even be with Ulfric at all, that it’s some sort of cosmic mistake, that he’s right and I somehow made Time go awry by giving him the dossier, that he was never meant to see it and maybe he really was supposed to get killed in the civil war. When I had dinner with him that night, when I gave him the dossier, he was standing there in front of me and I knew, I just _knew_ I should kill him right then and there. The urge was so strong it was all I could do not to do it, and he sensed it too. What if fate was telling me right then to put an end to it and I screwed up by resisting it?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s bullshit,” Lydia said firmly. “Okay, maybe you did push events a certain way, and maybe Ulfric was meant to die and you stopped it from happening, then. But have you considered that maybe by doing so you’ve redeemed him? You told me after the wedding that he called you his redemption. Think of what you’ve done for him by giving him that dossier. Instead of going to his grave being reviled as a traitor and king-slayer, someday he will go to Sovngarde as a hero, as the consort of the High Queen of Skyrim and husband of the Dragonborn. You’re giving him a chance to fight against the Aldmeri Dominion, the ones who tortured him, when he otherwise wouldn’t have been able to. You’ve made him happy and taught him how to love when all he knew before was bitterness and hate. From what he told you he knows all that.”

“But…I don’t want him to die!” she whimpered. Of course everything Lydia was saying made perfect sense, but it didn’t help much.

Lydia squeezed her arm and murmured, “I know, but…he will eventually anyway. We all do. Anyone could die at any time. Farkas still goes on jobs around Whiterun every so often and could get killed. Mjoll’s been taking Aela’s jobs while she’s nursing. Any of the hold guards with spouses and families could get killed by bandits any given day. Everyone takes that risk when they fall in love and get married.”

“But they don’t see it coming! That’s what’s so horrible about it!” Lydia didn’t have a response to that, because there wasn’t one. There was another round of male laughter from inside, and the sound of Ulfric’s delighted guffaws made a lump rise in her throat, a sound she had heard only rarely. Yes, he had been bitter and resentful when she first met him. He had agonized over their relationship constantly until they had married, but after that he had been truly happy. He still got angry at times, still seethed when certain topics came up, but for the most part he was very content with their life together, other than wanting the vampires gone so they could live like a semi-normal married couple. Rikke and Galmar had each other now, when they might have faced each other on the battlefield instead. The same with Ralof and Hadvar’s slowly mending friendship.

When Bryn let out a long breath then took a deep drink of mead, seeming resigned, Lydia quietly said, “Vilkas loves you, my lady. I won’t betray his trust any more than I would yours, because he’s my brother, but…he _loves_ you. He’s never stopped loving you.”

“I know. I’ve never stopped loving him either.” She sighed. “Grohiiki…it means my wolf. I never called him that when we were together.”

_That_ at least she would be telling Vilkas. “That wolves mating for life thing…maybe it happened to him too.” Vilkas had a widely roving eye before Bryn came along, in that formerly creepy predatory way of his, and Lydia hadn’t seen him even glance at another woman with interest since then, and he had never stopped brooding over what went wrong with Bryn. Almost as if he still couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it was over, because for him it never had been.

“Maybe so.” It would explain a great deal. He shouldn’t have come to her today with that look still in his eyes, saying he just wanted to see her. He shouldn’t have smiled at her like that after coming out of the Orphanage. He had actually gone to the Orphanage to see the children. Bryn had heard them screaming in excitement over the Harbinger really being there, screaming to hold his sword and touch his ebony armor. Being an orphan himself Vilkas no doubt had a soft spot for the children, but it had still been unexpected, and the way he had left the forge it hadn’t been on impulse, so he had planned to visit them. She wondered if that timid mouse Constance Michel had trembled and cringed from him the way she still did from Bryn.

“Are you going to the wedding party tomorrow?”

“Yes, I swore to Ulfric I would.”

“Does he know you spoke with Vilkas?”

“Yes, I tell him everything.” There was little she had told him that had thrown him for long. He took everything she said with an unnerving calm, and almost always had an observant thing to say about it. She still wasn’t sure how much of his demeanor was the Greybeards’ training or his own natural personality. Not that it mattered.

“Did you tell him about the werewolves?”

Bryn snorted and said, “That is the one thing he does not need to know.”

“Can’t really argue that.” A whoop went up from inside, and she laughed, “What on earth are they doing in there?”

“Man things,” Bryn said with disinterest. She took another drink then said, “I wonder if Hadvar and Aerin will take a shine to each other.”

“I thought he was seeing Onmund?”

“It’s fairly casual still. They’ve only met up twice, the two times I’ve gone up to the College. I get the feeling Onmund isn’t quite as experienced as what Hadvar is used to.” Lydia made a sound of interest, putting her chin in her hand. “All those years in the Legion, I don’t see how the poor guy could measure up, but Hadvar has a kind heart, and Onmund is sweet. Hadvar isn’t looking to settle down with anyone or take a serious partner yet, though. Ralof either. At least Ralof is being more discreet now. The second time we came here he had Iona screaming downstairs and the headboard banging against the wall.” Lydia laughed in delight at that. “I was so embarrassed, and poor Ralof was embarrassed that I was embarrassed…it was really awkward. Hadvar at least, well, maybe it isn’t fair, but he doesn’t have the same options as Ralof, and frankly…ah, hm. You know, I’m not even really sure what men do with each other. Other than, the, ah…um, oral…thing.” She nearly smacked her forehead at how clumsily it came out. She couldn’t believe how uptight she could still get about these things.

Lydia wiggled her eyebrows and asked, “Want me to tell you?”

“No!” Bryn exclaimed, putting her hands over her ears. She immediately took her hands away and leaned forward saying, “I lied, tell me!”

“Well, there really isn’t much a man and woman do together that two men can’t. They can lie together the same way, pretty much.”

“But how…no!” she breathed. She then wrinkled her nose and grimaced. “Really? Back there?”

“Oh yes.”

“But isn’t it…ugh. That’s disgusting.” Lydia burst into peals of laughter. “Really, it’s revolting, Lydia.”

“I take it you haven’t tried it then.”

“Why would I!” It had never even occurred to her, and she’d be damned if she ever did. The thought was so filthy she couldn’t tolerate it. Especially now that she realized with horror that it was how Ulfric had been abused by the males who had taken him. She couldn’t imagine how helpless that had made him feel. Violated in the worst possible way.

“It feels better than you would expect.” Bryn looked uncertain at that, and Lydia raised an eyebrow and asked, “You haven’t even dabbled in it?”

“Well…” She bit her lip, her cheeks growing warm. “Ulfric’s…fiddled, um, around, a few times. It was… I suppose it was nice.” It had been more than nice, actually, but it was something she had to be in a certain mood for, but to his credit Ulfric was very good at reading her mood, in bed and out. He studied her sometimes as if sizing up an adversary, especially lately, well-intentioned as it was.

“You know, you can do the same to a man, and it’s even better for them. It drives Farkas wild. Reduces him to a moaning, quivering pile of jelly.” Bryn’s mouth fell open, her face visibly red even in the low light. Lydia smiled slyly and motioned with her fingers, saying, “It’s like that magic spot in a woman, but for them it’s back there. You should try it on Ulfric some time.”

“N-no. I…can’t. I would never even try.” Her poor husband would come out of his skin if she tried to do that to him. He still hadn’t even let her pleasure him from start to finish. It was as if he couldn’t bear the thought of completely giving up control. She wished now that she had consulted the priestesses of Dibella on that matter instead of the other. It was certainly the more important of the two, and she kicked herself now for not doing it. Well, she was bound to pass through Markarth again at some point.

The odd tone to Bryn’s voice kept Lydia from pressing. Bryn could be so incredibly uptight still it was amazing. It was bizarre that a married woman who was clearly not reserved in bed could be so reserved out of it. It was a poorly-kept secret in the Palace of Kings how loud Bryn was when she was with Ulfric, who was obviously good in bed if that was the case. A sudden sick feeling of disquiet went through Lydia as she heard Bryn’s earlier words come back to her: _Even with the terrible things that have happened to him, he’s tried so hard to be a good husband, a good lover._ And Bryn refused to even contemplate doing something to him that might be uncomfortable or leave him vulnerable. It made Lydia wonder if during the year he had spent in Thalmor custody they hadn’t used just physical and psychological torture on him. Lydia left the matter alone, though it made her seethe with hatred for the monsters. At least Ulfric had gotten the satisfaction of taking off that witch’s head. The poor man.

Lydia finally said in a kind voice, “All right, I’m done embarrassing you. I’m sorry. I just wish I could go with you on your adventures. At least you had Rikke with you for a while, but now you just have the two guys, and something tells me that even with his proclivities Hadvar is very much a guy.”

“He definitely is.” She had met plenty of men who loved men and some of them were rather effeminate; others you couldn’t tell their preferences unless it somehow came up. Hadvar was very masculine indeed, but his nature did make her feel safe around him in a way Ralof didn’t, much as she liked them both. She hadn’t imagined though that men would have sex with each other like that. She had never even contemplated that herself. It was so…gross that it made a shudder of disgust go through her. She was trying to picture Hadvar doing it and just couldn’t, and the thought of poor Ulfric…well, now she knew exactly what they had done to him, by force, and it made her want to cry.

“Good grief, stop thinking about it!” Lydia chided. “I’m sorry I ever brought it up, but you said you wanted to know.”

“I know, ignore me.”

“Are you at least able to talk to Serana?”

Bryn sputtered and said, “Good lord, no. She’s…odd. She really dislikes talking about her past, and when I try to talk to her about anything personal she listens but acts all puzzled, like she doesn’t quite get what I’m saying. She’s been a good follower, and I think having her around is finally starting to get Ralof used to magic. At least this last time he went up to the College with me and didn’t react too badly to seeing people casting spells, or all the Elves up there. I’ve been thinking about studying magic a bit more myself when I have the time. I know dozens of spells from all the spell tomes I’ve found but I can only cast a handful of them other than Restoration spells.” Lydia made a sound of acknowledgment, no fan of magic herself, but then she was a Nord. “I wonder sometimes what Serana is going to do once this is all over. I brought up getting cured once and she shut me down pretty fast. I get the feeling that whatever ritual she went through to become a vampire was pretty horrible. Humiliating, she said. She told me that she went through so much to become one that she didn’t think she could ever think about getting cured, so I left it alone. She’s been careful about feeding from what I can tell, and said she’s never infected anyone. I don’t see how she can feed with consent, but maybe she doesn’t need to feed that often since she’s a pure-blood. I try not to think about it too hard. If Sybille Stentor can live like a civilized being then I’m sure Serana and her mother can as well.”

“Let’s hope so.” She didn’t want Bryn to be forced to put down someone she had begun to like and trust. Bryn had already had to deal with too many unpleasantries as it was, and Lydia didn’t even know most of what had gone on since the last time she had talked to her in Whiterun. Well, they had several more days to spend together and plenty of time to talk, so she would try to give Bryn as much companionship and support as possible during that time. Maybe she could even talk Farkas into going to Windhelm for a visit, once Bryn was permanently in residence there and the vampire problem was solved, which sounded as if it wouldn’t be long at all. Bryn made friends everywhere she went, but Lydia was one of the few close friends she had, and the only woman Bryn completely confided in, though she deeply trusted Aela and Mjoll. It made Lydia wish she could move to Windhelm permanently, but unfortunately that just wasn’t possible. She and Farkas had too many responsibilities at Jorrvaskr to ever leave for long.

It made Lydia wonder how Vilkas would manage living in Windhelm, at that possible point in the future. She strongly doubted he would ever give up being Harbinger, a position he had coveted for most of his life. Well, it was no use worrying about something that hadn’t happened yet, and may never happen. If only she could get Bryn to do the same.


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra-long chapter here, after a couple shorter ones, and another after this. I hope no one minds the big group of updates but I felt these all flowed together so they could be read in one long sitting (if anyone has the time!).

Vilkas paused inside the Temple of Mara, feeling twinges of grief and guilt. If only he had done the smart, sensible thing and married Bryn when he’d first thought about it, sparing them both a great deal of pain. Bryn mostly. His brother and Lydia went to her, where she was cuddling Dinya and Maramal’s five month old baby girl. Ulfric was standing behind his wife with what looked to be a deliberately blank expression, looking anywhere but at the infant or its mother, or Athis. Vilkas wasn’t enamored of Elves either, but he always reserved judgment until they showed their character, for the good or the bad. The baby seemed entirely Dunmer except for her black hair being a bit curly. Vilkas wryly wondered if Ulfric was going to expect Bryn to wash her hands when she was done holding the child. Vilkas had seen very few Elven children in his life, and he had to admit the baby looked a bit odd, with her enormous slanted dark red eyes and tiny pointed ears. Cute, he supposed, but odd.

He moved to the side of the door to let in more people, citizens of Riften, and he leaned against the wall and folded his arms and sighed unhappily at how beautiful Bryn looked, with her pale blond hair loose, wearing a dress of white and pale blue silk. He couldn’t believe how long her hair had gotten, down to the middle of her back, shimmering in the light. Her wedding ring of ebony stood out starkly on her fair hand. Bryn lifted the baby to kiss her gray cheek and Ulfric wandered away with a tense expression, as if unable to tolerate it any longer, and when his eyes landed on Vilkas he looked so relieved that Vilkas nearly laughed at the expression and the sense of déjà vu it gave him. The Jarl came over to him, smiling slightly in greeting, and when he held out his hand Vilkas took it and murmured, “Jarl Ulfric.”

“Harbinger,” he replied. He looked the taller man over, finding him much less intimidating out of his ebony armor. He was wearing an off-white tunic with red embroidery along the neck and cuffs, and brown wool pants, with the ever-present cuff of gold around his right wrist. He looked rather normal, except for being unfairly handsome, along with his twin.

“It’s good of you to come to the wedding.”

“I didn’t want Brynhilde to come alone. I’m also trying to take a vacation, something she told me I needed. I have to admit she was right. I’ve enjoyed it here.” The weather was much milder than Windhelm’s, and the scenery was lovely. He had gotten so relaxed floating on the lake yesterday that he had nearly fallen asleep in the sun. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like that. Maybe he never had, since leaving High Hrothgar at eighteen.

“Riften is easier to enjoy these days.” Ulfric nodded in agreement. “Hadvar told me the vampire issue is nearly resolved.”

Ulfric folded his arms and stated, “Yes, and damn time. Brynhilde and the lads have been run ragged dealing with the problem. Every time something new crops up you can tell she’s about ready to throw up her hands and say to hell with it all. That Isran fellow should have put his base of operations on the other side of Skyrim and saved a lot of running around. Still, once we leave here, Brynhilde will head out from Windhelm and finish this once and for all. The Dawnguard is mounting a full assault on Castle Volkihar. I would like to go with them and share in the battle, but I have duties at home, and my wife has become a bit of a mother hen lately. She saw things during her reading of the Elder Scrolls that led her to believe that I have one foot in the grave. I refuse to live my life that way.”

Vilkas frowned sadly at him then nodded. “As well you should, my lord.” By the Divines the man was frank. Vilkas wondered if he was like that with everyone or just select people, and if he should be flattered. At least Ulfric wasn’t as bad as Mjoll, whose talkative nature and forthrightness could be absolutely shocking at times.

The troubled look on the other man’s face made Ulfric study him for a moment, and when Vilkas licked his lips and looked away he softly murmured, “Please tell me Lydia didn’t pass on what Brynhilde saw.” Bryn had filled him in this morning on the girls’ conversation, though he wasn’t sure how much he had actually heard being mildly hungover. He had drunk much more last night than he had intended, but the young men’s company had been enjoyable, the mead cold and delicious, and the stories entertaining, some of them his own. He’d had…fun. Yes, that was what it had been. For the last two days he hadn’t felt like a Jarl, and he’d liked it. It made him guiltily glad that he’d left Galmar behind to look after things; his friend would have fussed worse than Bryn over the fishing trip.

“Lydia would never betray a confidence,” he said with mild offense. Ulfric gazed at him with a wary expression, and Vilkas returned it uncomfortably, not sure if he should say anything. The Jarl seemed fine with the knowledge, but knowing that Vilkas had seen it as well might change everything.

“Hm.” Maybe the housecarl hadn’t said anything, but Vilkas knew…something. He had one of those faces that didn’t hide his feelings well. He seemed sad, in a resigned kind of way that made Ulfric uneasy, because he seemed sad for Ulfric. He nearly asked if Vilkas somehow knew what Bryn had seen, but the Redguard priest was moving towards the altar and asking everyone to take their seats. “Later, then,” he murmured, not waiting for Vilkas to reply, and he turned and went back to his wife, who thankfully had returned the Dunmer infant to its mother, and the mother was thankfully sitting nursing it off to the side.

Vilkas sat down next to Torvar and Athis in the back left pew, behind Farkas, Lydia and Aerin, and he sighed silently to himself as Bryn happily took Skjorta from Aela for the duration of the ceremony. She sat down in the front pew and Ulfric moved close to her, putting his arm around her shoulders and leaning his head against hers, perfectly content to pay attention to a purely Nord child, Erik on his other wide. Ulfric petted Skjorta’s sparse hair as Bryn tenderly kissed his scarred cheek, and Vilkas had to tear his gaze away before he started bawling. _Oh love,_ he thought painfully, trying to focus on Maramal’s words as Aela and Mjoll joined hands, beaming at each other. He would rather be alone forever than have Bryn lose her husband. Maybe Ulfric was at peace with it, but no one else was. Lydia had been sad but pragmatic about it, though it still upset her to think of Bryn’s potential loss. Lydia had admitted to him that Bryn had told her even more, things she couldn’t pass on, but he could live with that.

At least now he knew what _grohiiki_ meant. It was good that Lydia had been able to spend some time talking to Bryn last night, just the two of them. From what Farkas had said the four men had gotten fairly drunk and had a very good time, and Farkas had thought it unfortunate that Vilkas hadn’t been invited, but he wouldn’t have gone even if he had been. Drinking mead with Bryn’s husband wasn’t his idea of a good time, even if he respected the man, and he did not hold his alcohol well. He also had a way of bringing down a party and would have ruined the whole evening. He hoped he didn’t end up doing that at the wedding celebration. He would have to simply leave if he started brooding and making everyone uncomfortable. Well, it wouldn’t make his Shield-Brothers and –Sisters uncomfortable, used to it as they were, but it would bother Bryn, and a wedding celebration shouldn’t be marred by someone being moody. He wasn’t sure how Bryn was going to manage not being moody herself, but if she did it would no doubt be because of Vilkas or Ulfric. Or Vilkas _and_ Ulfric.

“Hey, calm down,” Torvar whispered, giving him a nudge. Vilkas’ hands were clenching and unclenching as he stared intently at Bryn, his left knee bouncing slightly. The Harbinger glanced at him in aggravation then deflated and nodded, giving him a brief twitch of a smile in thanks before folding his arms tightly, but it was only a few seconds before his eyes traveled back to Bryn again. Torvar glanced at Athis next to him, who had also noticed, and the Dunmer rolled his eyes and shook his head before turning his attention back to the ceremony. Everyone knew this would be hard on Vilkas, but he was making it harder on himself. It was like the guy was a glutton for punishment.

Vilkas sighed silently as Aela and Mjoll made their pledges to each other and exchanged rings, and when his eyes moved back to Bryn he saw Ulfric pulling her long hair back out of the baby’s grasp. He hadn’t realized her hair was that long now; even when they were together she had usually kept it braided up and out of the way. She had told him once that it had been down to her waist before her cousin had hacked it off. He could just imagine how beautiful it would look hanging down her bare back, pale ash blond against creamy white skin. Ulfric glanced back and Vilkas quickly looked away, not about to get caught staring at another man’s wife, even if it was a woman that used to be his. But by Mara it felt like she still was!  
-  
“So.”

Vilkas’ breath caught as he came out of the privy, one that was shared with Bolli and his wife next door. He closed the door and eyed Ulfric warily, and as he moved away from the somewhat smelly little shack he glanced around, seeing Hadvar some distance away along the stone wall, looking the other direction. Vilkas ran his tongue over his teeth, irritated at being basically ambushed after taking a leak. Ulfric had been watching him for the last hour since the wedding party started and Bryn had been very pointedly ignoring his existence, both of which he had found so annoying and anxiety-provoking that it had been a relief to have an excuse to leave the house, and he was tempted to just not go back in and take a walk instead. “Yes, my lord?” he muttered.

“You can dispense with the formalities, Vilkas,” Ulfric stated, his arms folded.

“Perhaps it’s best if I don’t.”

“Something has changed, and I wish to know what it is.” Vilkas stared at him, shaking his head slightly, his tongue in his cheek. “Ralof tells me that you stared at my wife through the entire ceremony. You made a point of visiting her yesterday and telling her things that have not helped her mood—“

“I only wished to make peace between us,” he said firmly, trying not to get angry. “I haven’t truly spoken to her since she rode off on that dragon for Sovngarde.”

“Because you weren’t able to. One must wonder why you are able to now.”

“We’ve been apart for six months.”

“That is not an answer.”

His upper lip twitching against his will, Vilkas said angrily, “I don’t believe I owe you one.”

Ulfric snorted and said, “Amazing. The fire is always close to the surface, isn’t it? Just as it is with her. It’s a wonder you two weren’t always at each other’s throats. Wolf and dragon, always struggling for dominance.” 

Vilkas’ eyes narrowed. “We got along very well, when we were together.”

“Yes, and that wasn’t often, I’m sure.”

“Why the hell are you doing this?” Vilkas asked in a hiss. “What do you want from me!”

“The truth.”

“I have not lied to you.”

“All right, I want the whole truth then.”

“And again, I ask you why? What is the point!”

“Because something has changed and I would know what it is!” Ulfric stated, getting aggravated himself. All the other man’s protestations were doing was making him more certain Vilkas was hiding something. “You two still love each other, fine, yes, everyone knows that. I can live with that. I told myself I would live with that when I wed her, and I have done so. But she talks in her sleep, much too often, and it is not me she’s dreaming about. I come into a room and see her staring at nothing, her mind in another place entirely, probably Whiterun.”

Vilkas made a sound of pain and whispered, “What am I supposed to do about that? I’m sorry, if that matters to you. I would never look at her or talk to her ever again if I thought that would change anything, but—“ He stopped himself, seeing Ulfric’s sea-colored eyes suddenly grow intent, as if latching onto his words.

“Yes, it won’t change anything, will it? Won’t change how either of you feel, won’t change the final outcome of it all.” Vilkas swallowed and leaned back slightly, looking uncomfortable. “You know, don’t you?” Ulfric murmured. “Perhaps the housecarl didn’t tell you, and I know Brynhilde didn’t. So how do you know?” Vilkas looked away, and his lack of denial confirmed it. Somehow Vilkas knew what Bryn had seen in the Dragon Scroll, and somehow he had known before ever talking to Bryn yesterday. Ulfric had no idea how that was possible. The only other person who had known before Bryn had told Lydia last night had been Serana, and she wouldn’t have told anyone, let alone Vilkas; the vampire didn’t even know Vilkas. It all made no sense, yet he was sure Vilkas knew. “Well then. So somehow you know, and that drove you to speak to my wife yesterday. I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume your intentions were pure—“

Vilkas growled, “What did you think my intentions were? I would not touch another man’s wife!”

“Not even when you know that she’ll be yours someday?” Vilkas looked completely appalled, but not as much as he should have been, and he certainly wasn’t surprised. “I want this in the open between us. I detest secrets and playing games. You and I both know that I am going to die. Brynhilde knows that I’m going to die. Even that vampire girl knows it, because she was there when Brynhilde saw it in the Elder Scroll. The Dragon Scroll. She saw the two of you together, with children. She refuses to tell me any more about what she saw, but you will tell me what you know and how you know it. I will hound you mercilessly until you tell me, Harbinger. I will make your life miserable, I vow it.”

“You…son of a bitch!” Vilkas whispered in furious disbelief. Ulfric stared unflinchingly at him, his arms still folded, obstinate, and Vilkas couldn’t help admiring the other man’s persistence and his fearlessness in the face of almost certain death. But then this was the man who had faced the block at Helgen with his head held high. Vilkas finally shook his head and said, “How the hell can you be so calm!”

“Because by all rights I should be dead already.” Vilkas’ mouth fell open, and he went on, his voice touched with regret, “I was getting ready to attack Whiterun when Brynhilde first came to my city. Galmar and I were ready to start the war in earnest, though I’ll admit Galmar was more ready than I was. No more skirmishes or feints, but large-scale battles to unseat the Jarls who would not claim fealty to me, starting with Balgruuf. Whiterun is crucial to controlling Skyrim, centrally located as it is. It’s difficult to move troops through the country without passing through that hold. Brynhilde loves Whiterun, and she loves Balgruuf. She told me flat out, and she was right, that she would destroy any army I sent against the place she considered her home. She told me that Whiterun was the home of her heart and she would vigorously defend it.” Vilkas nodded slowly, a slight frown on his face. “She would have declared for the Empire. We all know that. She would have had no stomach for wasting Nord lives, human lives, any lives when it came down to it. Brother fighting brother, all ending up in Sovngarde just as dead. You cannot imagine how the things she saw and heard there haunted me. Still haunt me. The…waste of it all. Brynhilde would have chosen the Empire, to avoid any further waste. She would have seen to the heart of the issue, that I was the driving force behind the rebellion and that removing me and Galmar would put a swift end to it. Perhaps removing my commanders as well, but in the end she would have made quick surgical strikes to end the Stormcloak rebellion instead of allowing a protracted war to rage.”

“Surgical strikes? You mean assassination. You’re saying she would have assassinated you all.” Vilkas sounded bewildered when he said it, but the moment it was said he knew it was true. Bryn would have avoided a long, drawn-out war by simply going in and killing those driving it. She had sneaked into the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary and slit the throats of sleeping assassins, so sneaking into a Stormcloak camp or the Palace of the Kings would have been an easy task for her, and yes, she would have saved potentially thousands of lives by doing so. Whether you called it assassination or not, it would have been the right thing to do.

“I had dinner with her, or meant to, when she next came to Windhelm. I think it was not long after she wiped out the Dark Brotherhood, but it was before she first faced Alduin at the peak of the mountain. I took her cloak for her, to be gentlemanly, because she looked like a lady, and she suddenly stared at me like prey. I could tell she was thinking about killing me, right then and there. I think she nearly did, and yet something stopped her. Her pity for me stopped her. I assume she told you about the dossier she found.”

“Yes.” He left it at that, and Ulfric sighed heavily and nodded. Ulfric didn’t need to know that he had read it too.

“I suppose at the time there was no reason she wouldn’t have. It was the dossier that changed everything. I often think I was never meant to see it. A man would not have let a soft heart stop him from killing me. A male Dragonborn would have been more cold-blooded, I think. Alduin’s wall showed a male Dragonborn, but some quirk of fate made the Dragonborn a woman, and that quirk of fate made her more capable of pity, of empathy, and changed everything.” He huffed and unfolded one arm to scratch under his chin, saying sadly, “I’ve tried to comfort her, in my clueless male way, by telling her that this time I have with her is a gift, and that she has saved my soul instead of letting me go to Sovngarde as a detested murderer, or so half Skyrim thinks. Still thinks, I’m sure. I do not fear death. I haven’t feared death since my time in Elenwen’s clutches when I used to pray for it to claim me. However nothing I say or do comforts Brynhilde for long, and since reading the Scrolls there has been an edge to her that wasn’t there before. As if she’s holding panic at arm’s length only by force of will, and the effort drains her, I can tell.”

Vilkas murmured, “She told me that reading the Dragon Scroll broke something in her, and that you’ve only put splints and bandages over it.”

Ulfric sighed, “Ah, precious. So I have. What a terrible thing for her to have to say.” He nodded with his chin towards Vilkas and prompted, “So?” A look of pain crossed the other man’s face. “I meant what I said. I won’t let you be until you tell me what you know. I was there when Brynhilde read that Scroll. I heard the words she said, in that other time and place. The moth priest she sold the other two Scrolls to told us that due to her nature the Scrolls work differently for her. The priests only see text and hear a voice, and she did hear a voice, but it also showed her things. Let her be somewhere else, if only for few moments. It showed her the future.”

“A possible future.”

He snorted sadly. “Come now. We both know it’s going to happen. The only question is when and where, and that is what distresses her. She feels it could come at any moment. I don’t believe it will. I think we still have a few years ahead of us.” He smiled wryly at Vilkas. “Sorry to make you wait.”

“And _that_ is what I was trying to avoid,” Vilkas replied in a heated tone. “I am not some vulture, circling the two of you waiting to swoop in and take advantage. I would rather be alone the rest of my life than see Bryn grieving. When I approached her today it was only to make peace, to let her know I wasn’t going to make things difficult today, and to…to let her know that I wasn’t angry, that I still cared.”

“It didn’t help matters any. You meant well, but all it did was remind her of that vision.”

“If I had known she had seen it too I never would have done so!” He cursed his lack of control when Ulfric blinked owlishly, stunned.

“You saw it.” Vilkas swallowed and shivered slightly, even though the spring evening was warm. “You saw it?” Ulfric pressed, moving closer. “What did you see? Tell me, damn it!”

Vilkas whispered, “’Isn’t she beautiful, Vilkas? She has your hair, _grohiiki,_ your mouth. Little cub, come see your baby sister.’” The other man stared at him with a blank expression, his blue-green eyes huge in his weathered face. “Sixteen nights ago, I had a dream. No, not a dream, it was as if I was there, living it. I was in a room I had never seen before in my life, a bedroom I’ve never even heard described to me. A large carved bed on a tiered wooden dais at the center of the room, and behind the bed was a lit fireplace, and at each corner of the room were stone columns, with the heads of ravens at the top.” Ulfric’s breath caught as his eyes got even bigger, if that were possible. “I had a blond little boy in my arms, a toddler of only two at the most, and he was hiding his face in my neck. Maybe he was afraid. Bryn was in the bed, lying on her side with a newborn girl in her hands, and a healer in priest’s robes was leaving the room.” He left out the part about the Dunmer priest leaving the room. He went on, “I thought it was the Divines tormenting me. Punishing me by showing me something I could never have, but I told Lydia about the dream, and she knew the room.”

“Our room,” Ulfric whispered. He licked his lips, shaking his head. “Brynhilde didn’t tell me anything about the room. I can tell when she’s hiding things from me, and she told me everything she saw.” He laughed humorlessly. “So Lydia already knew when she talked to Brynhilde.”

“Yes, but she didn’t know Bryn had seen it too until I talked to her right before that. She told me nothing that the two of them talked about last night, other than to tell me what _grohiiki_ meant. Bryn…she never called me that, when we were together. That was how I knew it was more than a dream, that and Lydia recognizing my description of the room.” He continued intently, “I don’t want Bryn to know that I know. I don’t want to make it any worse, and this will. We both know it will.”

“Yes, unfortunately you’re right.” He sighed heavily. So the Elder Scroll had caught up Vilkas in the vision as well, his mind probably open to it since he was asleep. It did make that future seem truly inevitable, and it made him reluctant to even consider having children with Bryn. He could only imagine how much worse it would be for her-- He blinked as a twinge of dread finally hit him. A blond little boy. _Little cub…_ That changed things. Thinking the boy might be his…by the Nine, that hurt. It would be one thing to leave Bryn behind, knowing she would have Vilkas to turn to and could build a family and a future with the other man, but to think about leaving behind a child of his own for another man to raise, a child he would never get to see grow up, was hard to contemplate without sorrow. It was always possible the boy wasn’t his, but he couldn’t help thinking it was, and it saddened him in a way that hadn’t affected him before. He quietly asked Vilkas, “So you’re determined then? To be there for her, if and when it happens?”

“Yes, of course.”

“No matter what?”

Frowning, Vilkas stated, “There is nothing that would stop me from doing so.”

“Not even if she becomes Empress?”

“Empress,” he whispered, his frown deepening.

“The Dragon Scroll told her that dragon blood will rule over White-Gold Tower once more. What does that sound like to you? She is the only living Dragonborn, the last that will ever be gifted directly by Akatosh. The Emperor is coming here specifically to meet her. He didn’t do that for Torygg, or his father Istlod. It is not simply a courtesy call.” He had to tell Vilkas this now, give him as much time as possible to come to terms with the idea. 

_Empress,_ Vilkas thought numbly. Empress Brynhilde. And what would he be then? A consort? He supposed that was what Ulfric was, technically: Prince Consort of Skyrim. Vilkas had accustomed himself to that idea over the last two weeks, becoming the consort to the High Queen, wondering how he would manage running the Companions from Windhelm and deciding that he would simply find a way and make the occasional trip to Whiterun to see to things personally. But leaving Skyrim to move to the Imperial City? In that vision he was in Windhelm, but that was no guarantee they would stay there. Titus Mede II was in his early sixties and still hale, for a Colovian, so it might not happen until much later.

“And that blond child,” Ulfric pressed mercilessly. “What if it is mine?” Vilkas made a scoffing sound of disbelief, his eyes wide, then he rubbed his forehead, bewildered. “I will not have my wife live on false hope. It’s cruel. You will take the entire package, no matter what it entails, or you will take none of it.” Vilkas glared at him, looking deeply troubled as his hands fell to his sides. Well, he should be troubled. “If that dark-haired daughter of yours is a newborn when the boy is barely two, do the math. The boy will be only a little over a year old when Brynhilde conceives your daughter. Perhaps he will be your son and my worries are for nothing, but if the boy is mine, would you care for him? Be a father to him?”

Affronted, Vilkas stated in a shaking voice, “Why would I not? What kind of question is that? Do you think me that shallow, that I would walk away from her and a baby, because I’m not the blood father? I nearly adopted a child from the Orphanage today, that Aretino boy, because I felt sorry for him and thought he could use my guidance, so why wouldn’t I still marry Bryn and help raise her child? If losing you would nearly destroy her, what do you think it would do to her to be left with a fatherless baby to raise alone? You truly think I would walk away from her because all the conditions aren’t just so? That… that offends me.” The little boy had felt like he was Vilkas’ though, and had clung to him with all the love and trust that a child should have for their father. He wasn’t at all convinced that the boy wasn’t his. Dark-haired folk had blond children all the time, and Bryn was blond.

“Good.” Vilkas sputtered and shook his head at Ulfric, his upper lip twitching and his eyes narrowed. He smirked at him and said, “Feel however you will about me, as long as I know my treasure will be taken care of. We have all three of us become tangled up in this…comedy of errors, and we must get through it as best we can.”

“This is no comedy. There is nothing even vaguely amusing about any of this.” 

Ulfric shrugged and turned away towards the privy, and Vilkas growled and quickly walked away, so riled that he didn’t dare return to the party right now. He instead walked along the back wall of the city, taking the long way, passing a guard on the way who looked at him warily then nodded in recognition, greeting him by his title then moving on. Yes, he was the Harbinger, no matter what else happened, and by Ysgramor he always would be, until he died or stepped down, and he didn’t plan on either happening for a very long time. He glanced at the shrine of Talos as he passed it, feeling a fresh chill at the thought of Bryn becoming Empress. He was sure she wanted that to happen even less than he did. Well, if it happened then by the Divines he would simply have to deal with it. He refused to walk away to spare himself. He might have refused her offer of marriage but he had never walked away from her, and once he had realized he was losing her he had quickly changed his tune. He had tried again before she left for Skuldafn and Sovngarde. He would have tried again if given the chance when she returned. It made him want to tell her that he had never gotten the letter, if only to reassure her.

Wondering if maybe he should find some way of telling her, he stopped for a moment to look at the boarded-up gate. He hadn’t heard either way as to whether Maven was planning to reopen it, and hoped she didn’t. Two ways in and out of a city was enough, and with the two canal gates as well as Honeyside’s back entrance and the doorway out to the docks, Riften was highly vulnerable. Only the healthy number of guards patrolling the area made it halfway safe. He walked towards the marketplace, seeing it was still bustling in the waning late afternoon light, the merchants who had attended the wedding back at their stalls. He leaned on the railing near the Bee and Barb, looking down at the canal, watching a small school of Cyrodiilic Spadetails swimming below, the males flashing red as the fish turned as a group to head a different direction. Watching them dart back and forth started letting some of the irritation finally seep out of him.

“Tired of the party, hm?” Vilkas looked up, and a pretty blond woman leaned against the railing next to him and murmured with a warm smile, “I could show you a better one, Companion.”

He laughed quietly, feeling an unwilling blush climb up his cheeks at the offer, the first he had gotten since…well, it had been a long time. A very long time. Since he had started seeing Bryn a year and a half ago. The woman was lovely, close to his age, with an Amulet of Dibella. He knew exactly who she was; Torvar had fallen to Haelga’s snares a few years ago and had come back out of the Bunkhouse with a baffled look on his face muttering something about shackles and a horker tusk, refusing to say anything further about it. “I eh, appreciate the offer,” he said. “Maybe some other time.” As in never. It would certainly be easy, with no strings attached, but this wasn’t the time or place, and he had to wonder if it ever would be. He definitely wasn’t in the mood for it right now, and not with Bryn here in the same town. He wasn’t sure how he could ever do it with what he knew now. 

Haelga turned to lean sideways on the railing and said, “Come now, Harbinger. You’re a free man, and I’m a very free woman. I have nothing to do for the next hour. Surely you won’t be missed.”

“For an hour?” He laughed shortly, annoyed. “You must not think much of me or my shield-siblings to think I can disappear for an hour and no one will think anything of it.”

“Half an hour then.” He sighed and shook his head. She trailed her fingers up his arm to his shoulder and gently grabbed it as she leaned in closer, whispering, “In even fifteen minutes I could show you such wonders of the Dibellan arts, Vilkas. Even a man as…well-traveled as you can still learn a thing or two.”

“Thank you, no. I have to get back to the party.”

His clipped tones made her eyebrows rise, and she put her arm through his, feeling him tense as his eyes narrowed. “Well then, Harbinger, could you walk a lady home? It’s on your way.”

“Yes, of course,” he muttered. He knew damn well she didn’t need the escort, safe as the town now was and guards everywhere, and he was sure she knew how to use the sword on her hip. Well at least now he was irritated with her instead of Ulfric, though he was certain that the moment he saw Ulfric it would all come back to him quite easily. He stood away from the railing and offered Haelga his arm, and when they started walking he felt his heart go into his throat to see Bryn turn and hurry away quickly across his field of vision, Ralof on her heels. The young man shot Vilkas a dirty look as he went after his Queen, and Vilkas practically ground his teeth, his mood now irrevocably foul. Of course this probably looked exactly like what Bryn feared it was. The timing was just fantastic.

He delivered Haelga to her door then shook off her persistent grip and headed towards Honeyside a short distance away, seeing Ralof standing guard at the door, his arms crossed and bright blue eyes narrowed. “I want to talk to her,” Vilkas demanded. He could hear the faintest rumble inside the house and could only imagine that Bryn was in there crying her eyes out, thinking he was whoring around. She had probably gone outside after Ulfric, wondering where he was, and then had seen Vilkas in Haelga’s clutches and assumed the worst. Well, he was flattered that it upset her, though he regretted it, but surely she realized that it wasn’t exactly fair of her to be married to another man and expect him to sleep alone. She didn’t really have the right to weep over it, though he supposed it had to be hard to see him with another woman right in front of her. Even if nothing had been going on. How could she think he would do that here and now!

“No Harbinger, I don’t think so,” Ralof replied.

“It wasn’t what it looked like!”

“What does it matter if it was? You’re free to dally with whomever you like.”

“I wasn’t dallying, you… Ugh, you tell her then. I was only walking that woman home, because she insisted on it, when I turned her down.” And he was rather annoyed that she had tried to hang onto him like that. As if she was going to drag him into her lair and have her way with him.

Ralof scowled at him and said in a lowered voice, “What you choose to do, or not, in your personal time is not the concern of my Jarl’s wife.” He realized his error when Vilkas snorted and shook his head.

“So that is how it is, then. You still answer to Ulfric, is that it? Telling him I spent the entire ceremony watching her. Have you been reporting back to him after every outing? You can’t serve two masters, boy. You’re either the Queen’s man or you’re still a Stormcloak. Which are you?”

“I serve Queen Brynhilde,” Ralof stated, keeping his voice even with an effort. “Everyone knows that, especially my lady.” He hoped she knew that.

“Sure they do. Well, it’s good that she trusts you. You had better be worthy of it, whelp.” Ralof glared at him, and he demanded in a growl, “You will tell her. Promise me you will tell her right damn now, or I swear by the Nine Divines I will go tell Ulfric myself, and he will come here and see her crying and want to know why you wouldn’t tell her. You go in there and tell her and make her stop crying, and you make her go back to the party. I’m going upstairs with a book and staying there the rest of the night, so I won’t be around to make things difficult.”

Ralof’s jaw twitched as he stared at the older man, who was dead serious. Vilkas really would do it. He would drag Ulfric into this, and of course it could only make Ralof look bad. Vilkas waited, and he finally muttered, “All right then, fine.” Vilkas stared at him with narrowed eyes a few seconds longer then turned away and returned to Aerin’s house, where he turned back and waited at the door, watching Ralof, and the young man finally huffed and went inside, resenting the Harbinger for this. The man was so damn pushy, and he was also the root of any tension between Ulfric and the Queen. Something had been wrong with the Queen ever since the reading of the Elder Scrolls, and Vilkas wasn’t helping matters.

He locked the door behind him, not fully trusting that Vilkas wouldn’t come back, and he sighed sadly to see the Queen face down on the bed, her face buried in a pillow, only the occasional choked sob escaping with a rumble of thunder. Grimacing, he went to her and cleared his throat, and when she didn’t respond he awkwardly said, “Eh, my lady…it ah, it wasn’t what it looked like.” Her only response was a muted wail into the pillow, and he bit his lip in dread then reached down and patted her shoulder, hoping his gauntlets wouldn’t leave any marks on the fine silk. He had agreed to stay armored so that Hadvar could have the night off after the party, though the other Guard was still armed and on duty right now. He knelt down at the side of the bed and said, “My lady, he came straight here. Vilkas. He said… he wasn’t at all doing what it looked like. I eh, I told him what he did was his own business, but he swears he was only walking her home because she made him, after he told her no.”

“As if I’m supposed to believe that!”

“I’m sure…er, well, surely he wouldn’t do that here and now. I…” He sighed heavily. He had to admit that he didn’t believe Vilkas had been heading to Haelga’s Bunkhouse for a tryst. Well, the Queen had stated numerous times that she valued honesty, and by the gods he was going to have to be honest. He steeled himself and went on, “I don’t like seeing you hurt, my lady, but…this business between you and Vilkas, it isn’t good.” He heard her weeping falter at that, and he decided to take it as a promising sign. “I swore to myself that I would place you before all others, including Jarl Ulfric, but I don’t want him getting hurt either. He loves you more than anything.” The Dragonborn was a priceless gift that had fallen into Ulfric’s lap, and Ulfric knew it. The Jarl didn't call her precious and his treasure for nothing.

“I know that.”

The choked statement made him grimace, and he muttered, “I’m sorry, my Queen. It isn’t my place to say anything. I…overstepped.”

“Well it isn’t like you’re my f-friend or…any…thing…”

“My lady!” he whispered, horrified by her statement and fresh miserable sobbing. She pulled the other pillow over her head, and he asked, “Should I get Jarl Ulfric?” She didn’t answer, and he nervously climbed to his feet, at a loss. He couldn’t leave her alone, hated the thought of just leaving her here weeping, but he didn’t know what to do. She was right; he wasn’t her friend. Under different circumstances he could have been, but she was Dragonborn and the High Queen of Skyrim, and it wasn’t his place to be her friend. Obviously she needed one though. He had to admit that he had seen her trying to form some kind of friendship with Serana and it hadn’t gone all that well; the vampire had tried to respond but didn’t really know how. Well, she had friends here, right now, in Riften, and they could deal with this.

He exited Honeyside and saw Hadvar guarding the door to Aerin’s house across the way, and he motioned to him to come over. It wasn’t as if Ulfric was in any danger with a houseful of Companions around him. Hadvar arrived with a frown, asking, “What’s going on? Vilkas came in gloomy and said he had a headache and went upstairs.” He lowered his voice and added, “Jarl Ulfric had a long discussion with him a few minutes ago, back by the privy. It didn’t look to be a comfortable one.”

“The Queen is crying her eyes out over him,” Ralof murmured. “She thought she saw Vilkas hooking up with Haelga and completely fell apart.”

Hadvar wrinkled his nose. “The Harbinger doesn’t strike me as the kind of man to fall prey to such crude charms.”

“Sometimes a man just wants a quick, easy lay. You know that as well as I do.” Hadvar rolled his eyes. “I know, I know, that wasn’t what he was doing. He made a point of coming over here to explain. He wanted to talk to the Queen, and there’s no damn way I’m allowing that. The man is going to end up causing problems.” And it was wrong of the Queen to be weeping over another man. Very wrong.

“Whatever problems there are, they aren’t entirely of his doing. The Jarl is…” He shook his head. “I don’t know what he’s doing, but he is the one who pursued Vilkas. You must not have noticed, but he’s been watching Vilkas for the last hour. He saw the Harbinger heading for the privy and followed him out there. Ambushed him, frankly.”

“Why?”

“Because there is much more going on between the three of them than you and I are aware of, that’s why.”

“Vilkas spent the entire ceremony staring at our lady. At another man’s wife.”

“And you told Ulfric so, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question, and Ralof didn’t deny it. “Ulfric wasn’t angry when he confronted… No, confronted isn’t the right word. They were…hashing something out. I couldn’t hear a word of it, only the tone of voice occasionally, but it was as if the two of them were haggling over something. Jarl Ulfric wanted something from the Harbinger. Whatever it was he seemed to get it, because he calmly went into the privy and Vilkas stormed off.”

Ralof sighed and said, “Okay, so what now? I tried to talk to the Queen and tell her how it really was with Vilkas and when I thought I overstepped my bounds she said I wasn’t her friend.”

“Ouch.”

“Not like that. It was as if she was admitting that she knew I couldn’t be. She’s lonely, I think.”

Hadvar sighed, “I’ve noticed. The poor thing misses female company, and I don’t consider Serana female beyond the superficial. I’ve gotten used to her, but she’s an undead creature, not a girl. I’ve seen the Queen try to confide in her and end up nothing but frustrated.” He looked warily at the door as he added, “Let me go in and try. I don’t want to disturb the wedding party with this.”

Ralof said with regret, “She does seem to relate better to you.”

Hadvar nearly said _Because I’m not a straight, pretty blonde_ but knew it wouldn’t go over well. They weren’t quite to that point in their mending friendship yet, and it was something that probably shouldn’t be said regardless. He kept his mouth shut and headed into the small house, and he sighed heavily in pity to see Bryn weeping softly, a pillow over her head. He went to her and knelt at the side of the bed, laying his hand on her shoulder. “My Queen,” he said softly, and when she didn’t respond he went on, “Brynhilde, please.” Her crying stopped for a moment, and when another little sob escaped he said, “Come now, my lady. Sit up and let me get you a drink. You’re going to worry everyone.”

“Good, they should worry, because I wish I was dead.”

He shook his head, glad that he was the one that had come back in here. Ralof would have panicked over that melodramatic statement and gone running to Ulfric. The Jarl didn’t need to see his wife crying over another man, even if he was the indirect cause of it; whatever he had said to Vilkas had caused the Harbinger to go off in a huff instead of returning to the wedding party, leaving him vulnerable to Haelga’s advances, which Hadvar knew damn well Vilkas had rejected. He patted Bryn’s back and said, “I’m sorry things have turned out like this. I can’t guess at how horrible it must be, getting torn in two.”

“I wish I had never gone to Ulfric. I should have gone back to Whiterun after Sovngarde, like Dinya told me to. Maybe if I had Vilkas would have been willing to work things out.”

Hadvar said with misgiving, “He seems unusually willing to do so now, my lady, and it’s causing problems.” He paused and added, “And unfortunately Jarl Ulfric is adding to it.” Bryn peeked out from under the pillow, and he clucked his tongue at how red her eyes were. He pulled on the pillow and she let him take it, and after tossing it aside he pulled gently on her arm. She allowed it, letting him pull her into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He held his hands out for her to stay there and went to get her a bottle of mead. He popped off the cork and handed it to her, and she sniffed and took a drink. He steeled himself then quietly said, “My first loyalty is to you, my lady. My _only_ loyalty. Ralof loves you, and he’s loyal to you, but I think a good chunk of his heart still belongs to Ulfric.”

“I know,” Bryn replied sullenly. She trusted Ralof with her life, and had begun to love him like a younger brother, but she knew that he still put thoughts of Ulfric before her at times. She loved Hadvar too, and unfortunately he was the one she trusted most. He had an air of maturity to him Ralof hadn’t had the chance to acquire yet, and that wasn’t entirely a product of age.

“He told Ulfric that Vilkas was watching you through the entire ceremony. It caused Ulfric to go outside and confront the Harbinger. The two of them were having a discussion, one I couldn’t hear. They didn’t yell or seem like they were truly arguing, but Vilkas wasn’t pleased at the end and walked away.”

She rubbed her eyes and said, “Probably another of their secret discussions, deciding what’s best for me.” Hadvar looked puzzled, and she laughed bitterly and said, “I forget you didn’t know that. At the Moot, before I was declared High Queen, Ulfric approached Vilkas to clear the air between them. Ulfric tells me that Vilkas gave us his blessing, that he told Ulfric to marry me. But more was said than that, I know it. There’s something going on between them, involving me, and I’m going to get it out of one of them before this trip is over.”

He hesitated, shocked that they would go behind her back, then he said, “I think you’d have the right, my lady. In fact it might be best to get it out of them both at the same time.”

Bryn stared at him for a moment then sniffed and asked, “You really think so?”

“Yes, I do.” When he paused Bryn patted the bed next to her, and the needy, vulnerable look made the thought of denying her impossible. So she had no female friend to confide in when they were away from home; well, he was far from female, even if his being a lover of men was a large part of the reason she was comfortable with him, but he would do his best to be some kind of comfort to her, even if he couldn't be a true friend to her as she needed. He shifted his sword out of the way and sat down about a foot away from her. “If you confront them both at once, they won’t have the chance to collude. Not that I’m saying they were, mind you.”

“So what really happened?”

“Well, Ralof said that Vilkas was watching you through the entire ceremony. After about an hour into the party I saw the Harbinger go outside, and Ulfric nudged me and said he needed to use the privy, so I followed the Jarl outside as well. He…well, there’s no easy way of putting this: he ambushed Vilkas. I was thirty, forty feet away along the wall, behind the houses, so I could hear the tone of voice and see their faces. Ulfric was the one being confrontational, but he didn’t seem angry. Vilkas was the one who seemed to be, but towards the end he…” Hadvar shook his head, looking puzzled. “He got the strangest look on his face…sorrow, regret, I can’t say, but he whispered something to the Jarl, and Ulfric seemed… stunned, for lack of a better word. Then he moved close to Vilkas and seemed to press him for something, demand something from him, and he must have been satisfied with it. Vilkas walked away in a huff and the Jarl went into the privy. When we came back to the party you were already gone. I stayed outside, so I don’t know if the Jarl has noticed yet that you aren’t there.”

Bryn took in a deep breath then slowly let it out, and as she took a deep drink of mead and let the cold seep through her she felt her grief and loss start turning to hurt and aggravation. So her two beloveds were conspiring together, again. She was sure they had nothing but the best of intentions in doing so, but she wasn’t a child. If Ulfric had thought her fit to be High Queen then he should believe her strong enough to deal with whatever secret he was keeping from her. That they were both keeping from her. Lydia had been right last night that no matter how Bryn agonized over things, in the end she always moved on and did what she had to. Well, this was another of those times.

When Hadvar scratched the back of his neck Bryn’s eyes moved to him, and when he gazed back steadily she stated, “I value you, Hadvar. A great deal.” 

He smiled at her and replied, “I’m flattered and honored, my Queen.”

“I should have stayed with the Companions,” she said with wistful regret. “I miss that life.” Missed the sense of family and belonging. They still considered her one of them, but she wasn’t, really. She couldn’t be ever again.

“But would it have been enough?” She snorted a sad laugh and took a drink from the bottle. Of course it wouldn’t have been, not for long. The Dragonborn were always ambitious, restless. “Vilkas is a good Harbinger, my lady. So was Kodlak, but Vilkas is doing more with them than Kodlak ever attempted. I don’t think being Harbinger would have been challenge enough for you for very long.”

“I will have challenges enough to suit me once we get rid of Harkon and his coven. My future will be all the challenge I can handle.” She left it at that; Hadvar didn’t need to know she might become Empress one day. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around that herself. She debated telling Hadvar about her vision but quickly decided against it. The fewer people who knew the better. She certainly wasn’t telling Ralof.

Bryn stuck the cork back in the bottle and handed it to him, and as he rose to put it back on the table he asked, “Do you think you can go back, my lady?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“If it helps, Vilkas said he had a headache and was going upstairs to read a book.”

She snorted and rose from the bed. “Yes, I’m sure.” Probably thinking he was sparing her. Well, maybe he was. She cast a brief spell of healing to deal with her reddened eyes and nose and burgeoning headache. Her dress was a bit wrinkled, but not so much that it would draw attention. “I wish I had never married Ulfric, Hadvar. Does that make me a terrible person?”

“I suppose it would depend on your reasons, my lady.”

Bryn’s eyebrows rose in surprise then she laughed. Her smile faded as she stood, saying, “I love Ulfric dearly. I would never be unfaithful to him. Ever.”

“Everyone knows that, I assure you.”

“I rushed into marrying him. I rushed into his bed. I should have done the smart thing and given myself time, and instead I went to him wanting him to comfort me and make me forget about Vilkas. It makes me feel like I’ve used him.”

“Now that is…I’m sorry, but that’s foolishness, my lady,” Hadvar said with a shake of his head. “Forgive me for being frank—“

“That’s something I wish you would be much more often.”

He gazed at her and she stared back earnestly. Intently. Well then, he would be frank with her, out of the public eye. He would be as much of a friend to her as their stations allowed and try to keep a balance there. She couldn’t have that with Ralof, and most likely didn’t want it, but if she wanted it from Hadvar then he would give it. It wasn’t as if he was reluctant to. The two of them got along easily, just as they had through Helgen and on the way to Riverwood, even as reticent as she had been about talking about herself. He nodded and went on, “Then in the interest of being frank, Ulfric is getting the much better end of the deal.”

“Yes, you aren’t the first person who’s told me that.” She huffed and folded her arms. “I just want to know what he and Vilkas are up to. What point is there in the two of them talking behind my back, and why is Ulfric the one instigating it? Both times?”

“It’s easy for him to be generous considering everything he has garnered from you going to him, my lady. His life, a pardon for him and his men, marriage to you, a chance to repair his reputation, a possible heir. Still, there’s something more there. I’m sorry to say this, but…I don’t know why it should matter so much to the Harbinger that you, ah, saw him with another woman, innocent as it was. I understand why it upset you, my lady, but…from what I’ve heard, he was the one who refused to marry you. Twice. If so, why is he still so troubled? I saw the look in his eyes when he saw you at the forge. As if he’s still grieving, half a year later. That isn’t the behavior of a man who refused a woman’s love.”

Bryn nodded slowly, a lump in her throat. “The first time I asked him to marry me, after facing Alduin at the Throat of the World…when he realized I was leaving because of it he panicked and said that he would marry me, begged me not to leave him, and I was so full of hurt and pride that I wouldn’t listen,” she explained. “All I could think about was how if I accepted he would end up resenting me one day for forcing his hand. Then I prayed to Mara for her compassion, to give me some peace, just long enough to get rid of Alduin, and when it was done, the moment it all came back to me I nearly threw myself off the mountain thinking about how cold I was to him, and after that I was too afraid to face him again. I came here to Riften and couldn’t stop thinking about him, missing him. I wrote him a letter, asking him to forgive me and take me back, to come here and marry me, and I got no response at all.”

Frowning, he stated, “That doesn’t seem Vilkas’ way. I don’t know him well, but he seems too direct for that, my lady. To just leave you hanging, with no explanation?”

“No, it doesn’t, but still, that’s what happened. I sent his letter with one to Lydia and Farkas, by the same courier. Lydia knows I sent him a letter, and she said that he never said a word about it.” She had often considered tracking down that courier, but they all looked the same to her and frequently switched around assignments, so she couldn’t be sure which one had delivered the letter, and in the end it was pointless: couriers always delivered their letters. Always. The only time they didn’t was when they got killed, and then of course all the letters they carried were lost, not just a single one. Well, maybe she would get that out of Vilkas too, just simply ask him why he didn’t do her the courtesy responding with a simple no instead of ignoring her. The three of them were going to air out their stinky laundry once and for all.

Bryn went downstairs to get Auriel’s Bow to show Aela as promised, figuring that would be as good an excuse for her absence as any. As she exited Honeyside with Hadvar in tow she patted Ralof on the shoulder, murmuring, “Thank you, Ralof.”

“Yes my lady,” he said with a nod, following after the other two. Clearly whatever Hadvar had said had snapped her out of it, something Ralof hadn’t been able to do, but then he supposed he hadn’t tried very hard. Hadvar was just better with words in general, probably from spending a decade around silver-tongued Imperials who could talk a snake out of its skin.

Bryn smiled as several Companions greeted her as she went back inside the house, the front door now left hanging open to let some of the heat out. She clapped Erik on the back as she passed and the young redhead beamed at her. Ulfric was nowhere to be seen but might have been downstairs getting something else to drink; the basement hadn’t actually been full of skeever droppings, though some small rats had been seen in there, easy enough to clean up. She headed straight for Aela, who was sitting at the top of the upper stairs nursing Skjorta, Mjoll sitting on the next step up with her legs on either side of her, playing with her new wife’s auburn hair. Both women smiled at her, but Aela’s eyes lit up at the sight of the gold and silver bow. Bryn held it out to her on both palms and Aela greedily plucked it from her grasp.

The Huntress weighed in one hand then marveled, “It’s so light!”

“Yes, about half the weight of that clunky dragonbone bow I’ve been carting around for months.”

“Well it’s spectacular. Not too shiny outdoors, I hope?”

“Oh no. No glare comes off it.” Unless she shot the sun with one of the arrows Gelebor had blessed for her. She didn’t usually use Elven arrows but had found a large number of them during that adventure, so she had about a hundred Sunhallowed arrows, some of which she would take with her to fight Harkon and his vampires.

Mjoll said in approval, “Magnificent. Better hope you don’t piss off the god and have it disappear inconveniently, eh?” Bryn laughed and nodded at that. Aela handed up the bow and Mjoll held it up close to look at the vining pattern on it. “To think this is the direct handiwork of a Divine. I would like to see the shield tomorrow if you have time.”

“Yes, definitely. We aren’t leaving until the day after.” Her eyes went past Mjoll to a closed door, Aerin’s room. 

“Yes, he’s in there,” Mjoll stated quietly, “probably sulking. As if any of us believe he has a headache.”

“Let him be,” Aela demanded just as softly. She was rather surprised her usually-loud partner was being so discreet. The packed house was full of enough noise to keep their conversation fairly drowned out, though it was a bit much for Aela’s sensitive ears. The house was much too small for this many people, but they were all here to celebrate her wedding, and she couldn’t begrudge that. Still, she would be glad to be out in the wilds again. Skjorta fit handily in a sling now that she could hold her head up and with a couple shield-siblings along Aela should finally be able to start hunting with a bow again.

“I have, but Mara’s sake, give it a rest already. The man has this ridiculous capacity for self-torment that borders on the pathological. It’s been months; he needs to let it go.” She handed the bow back to Bryn, and the young woman took it back and slung it over her shoulder, staring at Mjoll with that intent, measuring expression that unsettled so many. Well, Mjoll didn’t get unsettled, and Bryn was a good friend.

Bryn murmured, “I’ve never asked you this, Mjoll, and I promise I won’t ask ever again…”

“Ask away, my friend.”

“Did Vilkas ever say anything when you first went to Whiterun?” Mjoll’s expression grew a bit wary at that. “I love my husband and won’t let anything interfere in our marriage, but I’m going to have a good long talk with him and Vilkas tomorrow, together.”

“Together!”Aela said in dismay. “Good lord girl, you’re a glutton for punishment!”

“Yes I am. I have just as endless a capacity for that as Vilkas does, it seems.” She looked at Mjoll and prompted, “So? I don’t need details, I just want to know why he didn’t answer me. My letter.”

“Letter,” Mjoll whispered with a frown. “What letter? He never said a word about any letter. He said…” Bryn’s eyes grew more intent, and she went on with a slow shake of her head, “This isn’t the time or the place, my friend.”

“I won’t make a scene. I won’t ruin your wedding party. All I want to know is why he didn’t answer the letter I sent him when I was here. I sent it to him a few days after you went to Whiterun to see Aela. Dinya told me to go see him, and like an idiot I didn’t, so I sent a letter instead, along with one to Farkas and Lydia.”

Mjoll hesitated, weighing her words and Bryn’s demeanor. She didn’t seem too upset. Not upset enough to ruin the party anyway. “All right. I never heard anything about any letter. I didn’t know you had sent one until just now. But not long after Skjorta was born, when the Moot was announced, I heard him arguing with Farkas about something. When I came out Farkas was gone. I think that was the day Vilkas finally decided to start wearing the ebony, and Farkas was taking it to Eorlund to fix up. I… well, I wasn’t very tactful—“ Aela barked out a laugh, startling the baby. “Yes, yes, well all know I’m awful. Sometimes I even realize it. I got annoyed with his pouting and told him you two had your shot and it was over, that all your praying and crying here in Riften was just as bad, and…oh boy…”

Worried, Bryn asked warily, “What? What did he say?” Mjoll never acted like this. Nervous.

“He said he couldn’t read minds, or something like that. He said that you were praying for him to magically appear and that he had no way to know you still wanted him after Sovngarde. He said that all it would have taken was seeing you again, or…a letter, some hint that you still wanted him, and he would have gone to you, but that you gave him nothing.” 

Bryn trembled slightly, her body stiff, and when she kept staring at Mjoll, Aela stated, “I’m sorry, but Vilkas never said a word about a letter. No one did. Not even Farkas or Lydia, though I knew they had gotten one.”

Mjoll shook her head at Bryn and said, “I wish you had let me talk to him when I went back there. I never should have agreed to stay out of it. Everything he has said since then, how he’s acted… it’s like he didn’t know there was a letter. I don’t see how that’s possible, but…well, stranger things have happened, we both know that.” She braced herself for Bryn to react, for her to storm up the stairs, in which case Mjoll would have to tackle her, Queen or not, or for her to burst into tears, something, but instead after a moment Bryn simply closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if willing herself not to make a scene. Mjoll reached out and took her hand, and when she gave it a tug Bryn sighed heavily and let Mjoll pull her down next to Aela. Bryn sighed and leaned against Mjoll, who put her arm around the girl and hugged her close. “I’m sorry, my friend,” Mjoll said with regret. “Life is messy sometimes, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bryn mumbled.

Aela clucked her tongue and turned slightly, putting the baby on her shoulder to burp. She pulled her tunic closed and asked Bryn with worry, “What are you going to do, sister?”

“What can I do? I’m married to Ulfric, and I love him. I’ll just…keep doing what I’m doing.” Until her vision came true, if it did. Marriage was forever, nearly impossible to dissolve except under the most extreme circumstances, and it wasn’t easy to prove to a priest of Mara that a marriage couldn’t be saved. She wasn’t even going to ask for their advice; she was sure Dinya would give her a big, giant _I told you so!_ if she even brought it up. She should have gone to Whiterun and faced Vilkas in person as the priestess insisted she do, and maybe it would have hurt and been awkward at first, but knowing what she knew now… How she wished she had trusted Vilkas more. She should have trusted that he wouldn’t resent her later for forcing him into a panicked agreement to marry her, and barring that she should have trusted that he would take her back after Sovngarde, should have trusted that he wouldn’t recoil in horror from the changes she had endured. She had the feeling that her entire problem hadn’t really been not trusting Vilkas, but instead her own pathetic self-esteem. After all, what man wouldn’t resent her, or not be revolted by what she was? Only Ulfric, who was lonely and damaged, and understood the Dragonborn because of his youthful training. Well, for better or worse she did love Ulfric, and he had been good for her. He had helped make her what she was now, even if she was still a work in progress.

Aela sighed sadly as Bryn laid her head on Mjoll’s breast and the Lioness hugged her again. Aela leaned against Mjoll’s other side and petted Bryn’s fair hair, Mjoll holding them both close. It was warm and comforting, though it was hard to say how much comfort Bryn could ever really take from anything or anyone. She told her, “You always have safe harbor in Jorrvaskr, Shield-Sister. Always. Vilkas wouldn’t deny you that.”

“I know,” Bryn whispered. “I wish I had never left. It’s the only place that’s ever felt like home.” At least after the last couple days she knew that if she wanted to visit Jorrvaskr she could. Vilkas would make himself scarce just as he was doing now. She heard men’s voices coming from the stairs below, Farkas and Ulfric, along with the clanking of bottles, and it made her smile sadly. Ulfric had certainly taken a shine to Farkas, but then it was hard not to. She heard Torvar’s happy exclamation as he snagged a couple bottles, and when he caught sight of the women on the stairs and backed up she couldn’t help laughing at the lascivious look on his face.

Torvar stood at the foot of the stairs and said with lewd delight, “Well well well, if this isn’t a sight to give a man sweet dreams.”

“Dreams are all you’ll get out of it, sot,” Aela stated in annoyance.

“Now now, sister, I’m not even half drunk yet. I’ve been good lately.”

“So you have, and tonight isn’t the time to start back up.”

“I promised the twins I wouldn’t.” He winked at Bryn and added, “I also promised Farkas I would get you dancing before the night was over.”

She smiled at him and said, “Well then, I would hate for you to break your promise.” She kissed Mjoll on the cheek then Aela on the forehead, hearing a very male chuckle from Torvar, then she stood and took his offered hand. She didn’t really feel like dancing, but if anyone could make her forget her cares for a bit it was Torvar, and no doubt Farkas would dance with her too. She saw him setting out the bottles of mead on the feast table along with Ulfric, the two chatting amiably. As she glanced around the packed house she saw Lydia talking to Athis, the Dunmer’s red hair down and loose as it rarely was. She was satisfied to see Hadvar leaning against the wall talking to Aerin, who was smiling at him with a slight blush. Ralof was just outside the open door, standing guard, though it didn’t stop him from being the focus of both Ria’s and Njada’s attentions. Erik was flirting with Iona, not entirely successfully from the skeptical look on the housecarl’s face.

Torvar called to Athis, “Hey there, time to break out the flute. Our Shield-Sister here is just dying to have a dance.”

“Is she,” Athis said, not at all convinced of that. He shrugged and pulled his wooden flute out from where it was tucked in his belt and began to play a light tune.

Bryn handed the bow to Iona then Torvar suddenly spun her around, making her let out a squeal of surprise. She tried to lose herself in dancing, not at all successfully, but it was enjoyable, and when Farkas stole her away from Torvar after a few minutes she went along, feeling her mood lighten a bit. She could see Ulfric watching and smiling, seeming oblivious to her still-stewing thoughts and her brief absence. Ulfric wasn’t a dancer and hadn’t danced at their wedding, though he had clapped along and enjoyed watching her dance with others. Mjoll soon joined in with her drum and Hadvar bowed to Lydia for a dance, and she laughed and accepted with a curtsy. Bryn saw Ria take pity on Erik and grab his arm and pull him along, and seeing so many of her loved ones having a good time made her determined to do the same, if only for a couple hours. Her problems would still be there tomorrow.  
-  
“Ah, I think in another life I would have liked to be a Companion,” Ulfric sighed as he sat down on the edge of the bed to pull his boots off. The warrior band certainly knew how to enjoy themselves, all of them easy with one another in a way only a close family could be. He was a bit envious of that, though he considered most of the folk who resided in the Palace of the Kings family in one way or another. He was Jarl there however, and it could only be a certain way. He wasn’t in any particular hurry to get back to his responsibilities in Windhelm, that was for certain.

“Yes, so would I,” Bryn replied, leaning up to hang Auriel’s Bow on the weapons plaque over the bed. 

Ulfric looked at her sideways and murmured, “You’re forgetting something, precious.”

“Hm, yes, I suppose I am.”

“They still consider you one of them, even if you don’t.”

“I’m glad of that.” She pulled off her silk gown and threw it onto the chair, and when she moved away Ulfric caught her around the waist and pulled her into his lap. She sighed and placed her hand on his scarred cheek, murmuring, “I think I just want to go to sleep, darling, all right?”

“No, that is not all right,” he replied warmly, pulling aside the collar of her cotton undershift to nuzzle where her neck joined her shoulder. She hadn’t wanted to make love last night either, and he understood why, but he wanted her now and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He had watched her all evening trying to have a good time, or pretending to. Maybe she even had enjoyed herself a bit, but in spite of the short time they had been together he _knew_ her, and she was still obsessing over things. She was becoming quite a good actress, he had to admit, but she wasn’t fooling him at all. Her attention hadn’t completely focused on him since reading the Elder Scrolls, and he’d had enough of it, and there was one surefire way to get her full and complete attention.

Bryn admitted, “I’m…just not really in the mood.”

“I can get you in the mood easily enough.” She sighed and shook her head, letting her hand fall, and he softly said in her ear, “Not even if I let you have your way with me?”

Her eyes widened slightly and she pulled back to look him in the eye. He was serious about it, no wariness in his expression. He hadn’t let her be on top since the night he had asked her to marry him, and she never tried very hard to get him to do it, afraid to push him in that regard. He wouldn’t even let her finish when she was pleasuring him orally, when it was her time of the month. She sighed again and sadly said, “I appreciate that, beloved. I really do. But I…well, I don’t want to unless I can finish what I start.”

“Yes, I was planning to let you.”

Bryn frowned at him and he looked back with slightly dilated eyes, his cheeks flushed. “You’re drunk, Ulfric,” she softly stated. According to Galmar and Jorleif, Ulfric wasn’t a drinker, but she had seen him mildly drunk three times now. And it had been Farkas to blame each and every time. Well, she wasn’t about to take advantage of his inebriation, silly as that sounded.

“Only a little, and maybe I did it with a purpose.” Her breath caught, bewildered, and he petted her loose hair back and said, “You have been my healer. Since we’ve been together I’ve felt many of the scars inside fading, but this one…this one has been hard for me, but I want to try. Don’t deny me when I’m ready to try.”

“Oh Ulfric,” she whispered. “Of course I wouldn’t.” Not when he put it that way. He had controlled the end result of each and every time they were together, and the idea of finally being able to take him through from start to finish was irresistible.

“You are an Agent of Dibella, Brynhilde. You seem to do your best to forget that.” She blinked in surprise, confirming his statement. She spoke much of Mara, the goddess of compassion and marriage, but little of Dibella, the goddess of love. Too many saw only the carnal aspects of Dibella, like the brash woman who ran the bunkhouse, when the goddess actually ruled over all forms of love, including the sacred love between spouses. She was not a truly Nord goddess, but she had her place.

“But…I don’t think it works that way. When Hamal, the Mother Priestess, told me to receive the Blessing of Dibella, she only said it would help me _against_ men. Not _with_ men.”

“The two are the same, if you let them be.”

Bryn nodded and gave up arguing, afraid to lose the opportunity. She really wasn’t in the mood at all, and the thought that her poor husband had felt compelled to drink to deal with this was upsetting, but he was trying, and frankly as a woman she didn’t need to be in the mood to do this. She reached up to run one of his braids through her fingers and gently asked, “How would you like me to do this, darling?” He looked uncertain at that, hesitating before shaking his head. She thought about it a moment, cursing her selfishness again for not discussing this with the head priestess in Markarth when she had the chance instead of the other problem, which really hadn’t been much of one at all. She would have to try to figure this out on her own, and when she was done with Harkon she would head down to Markarth for a visit and talk to Hamal, knowing the priestess would keep whatever she said in complete confidence. 

She kissed his cheek and leaned her head against his as she said in a soft voice, “Then we’ll do the opposite, as much as we can, of whatever it was.” 

“Opposite,” Ulfric murmured in confusion.

“Of how it was done. To you.”

He said in reluctant understanding, “Yes, maybe that would be best.”

Bryn leaned close and kissed along his neck, and he sighed and put his arms around her waist, his hands traveling over her. She slid her hand inside the neck of his tunic to caress his chest hair, something he had much more of than Vilkas. As he had known she would, she could feel herself warming as they continued, his demeanor so vulnerable that it was almost virginal. It was touching and saddening and exciting all at once. They ended up with Ulfric sitting up at the head of the bed instead of lying prone, and she kept on her cotton shift while he completely undressed. She moved slowly and gently, kissing him often, looking him in the eye, stroking his hair, and when he grabbed her hips to move her more quickly she gladly went along with it, and she felt a giddy thrill when she felt him hardening further inside her, but when he began to climax she saw a look of panic cross his face as sweat beaded instantly on his forehead. 

He grabbed for her hand and held it tightly and shuddered beneath her, and Bryn squeezed his hand and leaned close to kiss his forehead. He shivered and buried his face in her chest, taking deep breaths. “It’s all right, beloved,” she whispered. “Everything’s all right.” He didn’t respond, and she moved to get off him but he held her there. “Oh Ulfric. I love you so much.” He only nodded, wrapping his arms around her, still trembling. She petted his hair and laid her head on top of his, saddened but glad that he had tried, and had been able to finish. She was certainly never going to even attempt being on top ever again unless he was the one to instigate it. Not if it did this to him. For a split second he had looked absolutely terrified. It made her want to go to the Imperial City and pick Elenwen’s frozen head out of that crate and stomp it into the dirt. She would kill Elenwen a thousand different ways if she could.

When he sniffed and turned his head sideways, the air hit her skin and she felt wetness on her chest, and she stifled the urge to cry for him, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate it. She shifted and he finally let her go, and she slid off him and pulled the covers back to let him get under. She wiped him off with the hem of her shift, not about to wear it again any time soon, then she blew out the candles in the bedroom and slid into bed next to him, where he pulled her close and slid down to lay his head on her chest again. Bryn rubbed his back as she held him, feeling him shiver and sniff occasionally, but she said nothing. There was really nothing she could say. She had never heard or seen him cry before. She suddenly remembered something Galmar had told her early on, during that first month she had spent in Windhelm, when she was still getting to know Ulfric and wondering if his ambitions had been tempered suitably: _Some say Ulfric desires to be King and nothing more. Have they not seen that his anger floats on a sea of tears?_

She distantly heard Ralof and Iona quietly come in some time later; Hadvar had no doubt found Aerin a willing companion for the night. She moved and Ulfric rolled over, never waking. She glanced up enough to see Iona’s red head going down the stairs as Ralof unrolled his bedroll in front of the fire then locked the door. She caught his eye as he straightened up to remove his armor, and she smiled sleepily at him as he nodded in greeting.

Ralof came over, asking in a whisper, “Do you need anything before I…” His eyes fell on Ulfric’s back, and he took in a sharp breath, his expression tightening. He pulled his eyes away but they traveled back again, horrified. So many scars. He had never seen so many on one body. There was barely one square inch of skin on his back that hadn’t been lashed.

“ _That_ is half the reason we go to war,” she murmured.

“Hell yes!” he whispered fiercely. He’d had no idea it was that bad. Ulfric was extremely protective of his modesty, and everyone knew why, but Ralof had never guessed it was that bad. The Jarl and the Queen must have made love earlier if Ulfric had fallen asleep without a shirt on, but Ralof had been standing guard right outside the door the entire time and hadn’t heard a thing.

“Don’t let on you ever saw it. Not a hint, not even to Galmar. But remember it.”

Ralof nodded curtly, his jaw clenched, then he muttered, “On my life, my lady.”

“Good night, Ralof.”

“Good night, my Queen.” She pulled the covers up over Ulfric then put her arm over him protectively, and Ralof had to turn away before he exploded in anger or tears, or grabbed his lady’s hand and kissed it a thousand times for taking care of his liege lord. It was no wonder why she was so deeply protective of Ulfric. It was one thing to know something had been done to a person, but to constantly see the visual evidence of it was terrible. After seeing this, sleep was a long time coming, and when it did it was an uneasy one.


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chickens come home to roost...

A feeling of deep dread filled the pit of Vilkas’ stomach as he approached the birch copse to the east of town where Lydia had told him to meet Bryn. He had expected that she wanted to hash things out further, maybe say goodbye in private, but Ulfric was standing there, watching her warily as she stood on a low stone outcropping with her back to them, looking down the slope through the woods. Hadvar was on guard further to the east while Ralof watched the road to the north, eyeing the khajit caravan camped nearby with suspicion while the cat folk stared back unflinchingly. They knew Bryn was fond of them and wouldn’t tolerate any harassment, especially when she was so close by.

He stopped about ten feet away from Ulfric, seeing the older man was no happier about this than Vilkas was. They were all armed and armored, their respective groups getting ready to leave this morning. Ulfric was wearing ebony armor in the latest style, chased with silver, while Vilkas’ was more Cyrodiilic in fashion, practically an antique, with gold chasing instead, but he thought it more beautiful than the Nordic-style ebony. It certainly garnered more than its share of attention. Ulfric looked at him in warning as Bryn took a deep breath and turned around, her hair braided up and back, bound by the dragonbone circlet, looking queenly and not at all happy. He had seen her leave town with Ulfric yesterday, their eyes only for each other as they held hands and walked out the south gate, probably to take a stroll along the lake, maybe even to have a picnic as she and Vilkas had done so long ago, after Farkas and Lydia’s wedding. They had smiled sweetly at each other and Ulfric had kissed her cheek with such obvious tenderness and adoration that it had made something twist in Vilkas’ gut to contemplate Bryn losing him. Well, there was no tenderness or adoration in his gaze now; Ulfric eyed his wife like an opponent. Like something dangerous. It made Vilkas wonder if maybe he should do the same.

“So,” Bryn said quietly as she stepped off the outcropping, knowing that if she stayed up there it would look like she was lording it over them. Literally looking down her nose at them. She looked between the two men then snorted and added, “Aren’t you two a sight.” The two of them were stunning in their differing ebony plate. It didn’t matter that Vilkas was the prettier of the two.

“What are you up to, Brynhilde?” Ulfric asked in a tone of misgiving. He didn’t like this one bit. His wife had been nothing but sweetness and sunshine since the other night, treating him like something priceless to her, but now that they were leaving the edge was back, though it was different. The fear seemed to be gone, for now, but instead she seemed irritated. Or perhaps it was the anticipation that she was going to get irritated. When she had told him that she wanted to speak privately to him and Vilkas before they left he had felt a surprising amount of anxiety, and now he just wanted to get it over with. Somehow she had gotten wind of something going on between him and Vilkas. He had expected Hadvar to mention it to her, the former Legionnaire completely her man, and rightly so, but he hadn’t expected it to trigger any kind of confrontation.

“I have questions, for both of you.” She looked at Vilkas and willed her pounding heart to slow down. He gazed back painfully, with those bright silver-gray eyes that practically sparked within the black warpaint. That look was still there, the need to tell her something, some knowledge that hadn’t been there before. Well, she would get it out of him, here and now.

“Don’t do this, precious,” Ulfric warned quietly. “You may not like the answers.”

“Oh my,” she retorted in mock dismay, putting her hand over her mouth. “Well I’d better not then!” Ulfric slowly shook his head, looking at her with something like disgust. As if she was going to be cowed by that. She looked between the two of them, putting her hands on her hips, and flatly said to Vilkas, “You didn’t get the letter, did you.” Vilkas flinched in shock then he made a choking sound and shook his head. Aching with grief, Bryn turned her gaze on Ulfric, who looked slightly ill and more than a little angry. “Did you know he didn’t get it? Did you know before we married? Is that what you two were talking about before the Moot?” Ulfric licked his lips, debating his answer, which was answer enough. The two men looked at each other, and Bryn was suddenly so enraged by their complicity that it felt like her blood was literally boiling in her veins.

Seeing Bryn’s nostrils flare, Ulfric began in a dread-filled voice, “Brynhilde—“

 _“TAHROVIN!”_ she roared, making both men cringe back as the sounds within the city went silent. _“Munax bein nok, tahrodiis ahmulle!”_ Ulfric’s eyes widened at the term and he made a sound of hurt, but she was too furious to care. “Explain yourselves, _grohiiki ahrk kodaavi!_ Explain yourselves before I call _zeymahi Odahviing ahrk zu’u bo!”_

“I explain nothing while you’re raging at us like a _fel rekdovah!”_

“You think this is rage? I am controlling myself, _ahmuli._ I am controlling myself quite stringently at the moment. I have the right to be angry!” While Ulfric seethed she turned on Vilkas and said, “You then, since my husband chooses defensiveness over honesty. I would know under what false pretenses I was wed!”

“I wanted to tell you!” Ulfric protested. He pointed at Vilkas and went on, “I asked him why he was angry, and he went on about how you didn’t give him a chance, and I told him that you sent him a letter. He said he never got it, and I told him to tell you. I begged him to!” Bryn’s fury calmed at that, replaced with pain as her gaze returned to Vilkas, who stared back sullenly with glistening eyes. “I am sorry I agreed to a lie. I told him you would resent me if you ever found out, and clearly I was right. He didn’t want to tell you to spare you any further hurt. He didn’t want you to be forced to choose between us.”

“It was my choice to make!” she said with wounded anger. “You took that choice from me, both of you. I’m strong enough to be High Queen, but I can’t be trusted to make up my own mind about who I want to be with? You two had no right. None!” Ulfric looked away, his jaw clenched, while Vilkas kept staring at her with a sorrowful expression. “Well? You haven’t said a word. You always have _something_ to say.”

Vilkas mumbled, “I have nothing to say in my defense.” Seeing Bryn in a draconic rage had been more than a little frightening, even if he hadn’t understood but a few words of the dragon tongue. He could hardly ask Ulfric what it all meant, but he supposed he didn’t need to when she was obviously furious. No, the two men had had no right to take the choice from her, and it would have been her decision to live with after that, and instead she had married a man not knowing that she had ever had a choice. She had been forced to live with decisions others had made for her.

“I still want to hear it.”

“I thought he would make you happier than I could,” he stated in a miserable voice. “I thought…that maybe if you had the choice you would choose him anyway. Because you would never entirely trust me. Trust that I was marrying you freely, without resentment.” He looked away and went on, “I thought a Jarl would be a better match for a Queen than me. I thought someone who was nearly a Greybeard would be better for the Dragonborn than me. He would understand you better than I could, and speak the dragon language with you, Shout like you.” His eyes returned to her as he said in a pained tone, “You didn’t come back. I thought that if you had still truly wanted me you would have come back to Whiterun. Even once I knew there was a letter, I had no idea what it said. He told me you sent a letter, but…” Bryn closed her eyes for a moment, looking anguished. “You were already with Ulfric. I thought him a more fitting match than me, and everything I saw at the Moot reinforced that. He could have been High King. If you were going to be Queen, why wouldn’t you want a King? Someone whose bloodline has ruled for a thousand years, not some…parentless, unpedigreed mercenary.” He heard a sound of sorrow from Ulfric but kept his eyes on Bryn.

She opened her eyes and said, “Because I’m the High Queen and I need no one to rule with me. All I wanted was a husband to go home to.”

“And you have one.”

 _But it wasn’t the one I really wanted!_ she nearly cried. She would never hurt Ulfric by saying that. She still couldn’t say who she would have chosen; given her state of mind at the time, she might have still chosen Ulfric. Or she might have chosen neither, giving herself time to think it out. She knew damn well though that in that case, if she had gotten anywhere near Vilkas again, the two of them would have been irresistibly drawn to each other. Maybe Ulfric had been good for her, but it was Vilkas that her mind and heart kept turning to, over and over again, even back home in Windhelm. She deeply loved her husband, but she hadn’t loved him like this back when she would have been able to make a choice. If she had chosen Vilkas she would have thought of Ulfric occasionally with regret, and not too much more than that, but thoughts of Vilkas had haunted her all along.

“Do you have one?” Ulfric asked unhappily. He couldn’t tolerate watching the two of them stare at each other like that. As if he wasn’t even there.

Bryn retorted, “What the hell kind of question is that!” Ulfric’s expression was heartbreaking. And ridiculous. “Our marriage vows meant something to me. This changes nothing. All I wanted was the truth.” She looked between them and prompted, “Do I have the entire truth?” Neither answered, but they didn’t look at each other either. “What were you talking about outside the night of the wedding party? What more could the two of you possibly have to say to each other?” Vilkas nervously glanced at Ulfric, who refused to return the attention, staring at Bryn with a hurt expression. Bryn folded her arms, waiting. When neither man answered she said with fresh irritation, “Unless you two are having an affair with each other you had better come clean.”

Vilkas made a scoffing sound, his eyes wide, and Ulfric glared at Bryn for a long moment, his tongue in his cheek. Well, if she wanted the full truth then she would have to live with it. “The night you read the Elder Scrolls, the vision you saw—“ Bryn stiffened slightly, appalled that he was mentioning it, then her nostrils flared. Ulfric shook his head at her, saying, “No, I didn’t tell him about it. He already knew. He saw it in his sleep. At the same time you did. He was there.” She went ghostly white as she blinked rapidly. “I could tell something had changed. He went up and talked to you at the forge. He stared at you during the wedding, during the party afterward, and he kept looking at me with sadness in his eyes. I confronted him, wanting to know what it was. I badgered him into telling me. He told me exactly what you said, word for word. He described the room you were in.”

“The room?” she whispered faintly. “What room?”

“Our room. In the Palace of Kings.” Her eyelids fluttered as her eyes unfocused then she shook her head as if to clear it, looking one second away from passing out. He regretted the cruelty of telling her all this, but she had asked for it. Demanded it. “I wanted to make sure he would be there for you, when the time came. Care for you and the boy, if it’s mine.” She made a sound of grief and rubbed her eyes. “I warned him that you might become Empress some day. Nothing I said deterred him, and I was satisfied with that.”

“Satisfied?” she exclaimed in a shaking voice. “How nice that you’re satisfied!” Unable to tolerate any more of this, Bryn turned away, hissing, “I wish I had never met either of you!”

Ulfric watched her go with narrowed eyes, his lips pursed. He watched her head for the stables where the other Companions were getting ready to leave, but she bypassed them and went to the khajit camp, where the cat folk greeted her happily. His nose wrinkled as she clasped hands with each in turn, accepting cheek rubs from them that made him grimace in distaste. He wondered if she were doing it just to aggravate him.

Vilkas mumbled, “I’m sure she doesn’t mean it.”

“At this very moment she does,” Ulfric said in annoyance. “She-dragon that she is, she damn well does mean it.” He folded his arms and watched his wife sit down cross-legged on a rug that was rolled out for her by a male khajit in steel plate. The entire group joined her in a circle and began passing around a common cup of hot tea to drink from, and when Bryn took a sip from it right after several cats had drunk from it he had to turn away, nearly gagging. He’d be damned if he kissed her again before the day was out. Vilkas frowned at him, and he said, “Consider yourself lucky in a way, Harbinger. You’ve been spared her nature, for the most part. As time goes on she only becomes more dragon-like, more strong-willed and domineering. It is simply what she is, and if she does end up ruling an Empire she will need it, but it makes marriage to her a challenge at times.” Vilkas grunted. “I suppose my own disposition doesn’t help matters, but damned if I will let her yell at me with that Voice of hers or I’d be deaf within the year.” Vilkas didn’t answer, staring past Ulfric to watch Bryn. “I think this is the angriest I have ever seen her, and I hope that is the angriest I ever will see her.”

“What did she say?”

“She cursed our plotting against her and called us treacherous husbands.” Vilkas finally met his eyes at that, stunned. Ulfric smirked and said, “Yes, rather naughty of her, wasn’t it. _Ahmul,_ and the plural is _ahmulle._ She then called us her wolf and her bear, and threatened to call Odahviing and fly off.”

“Does she do that often? Talk in the dragon tongue?” She had only started doing it the day she flew off to Skuldafn, as far as he knew.

“Only when she’s feeling overly emotional. Angry, or…well.” Vilkas grunted, looking unhappy. “If it makes any difference, I appreciate what you said. Your reasons for thinking I was better for her. Maybe for the short-term I am, but forever? No.” He sighed with regret. “I’m too old for her. I’ve always known that I was, but in my selfishness I had to have her.” Vilkas nodded in a distracted manner, still watching her no doubt. Ulfric wasn’t about to look over there and see her doing gods knew what with the cat folk. Maybe licking each other or whatever the beasts did. “If she should happen to go to Whiterun, if you two wish to talk things out, know that I have no problem with it. I trust her fidelity and your sense of honor. I have the feeling that there is still a great deal that you two have left unsaid.”

Vilkas frowned at him, and seeing that he was serious. “Why would you do that? Allow that?”

“Because I’m not going to be around forever. If I was, I would guard my treasure much more zealously, I assure you.” The taller man shook his head, dismayed by his statement. “But I know she will be yours again someday, and there’s the chance that the son you’re holding is mine, and I would have good will between the three of us.” He snorted a laugh. “Even if my darling is extremely angry with us both right now.”

“I am angry with us both right now.” He bowed slightly to Ulfric. “Until next time, my lord. Maybe we can stay out of trouble until then.”

Ulfric laughed shortly. “Unlikely. Farewell, Harbinger.”

Vilkas nodded and walked away, finding the conversation as odd and uncomfortable as every other he’d had with the Jarl of Eastmarch. The man certainly liked to talk, though maybe it was as Lydia had said and he was enamored of the sound of his own voice. Vilkas had to admit it was a beautiful one. No doubt it melted Bryn like hot butter to hear that voice whispering to her in the dragon tongue.

He grumbled to himself and walked to the front gates, where the other Companions were gearing up for the road. His brother and Lydia were watching him with concern, while the others all cast occasional wary glances at him; all of them had no doubt heard Bryn’s angry shouting. Probably everyone for a mile around had. At least no one had understood it but Ulfric.

Farkas asked with worry, “How did it go?” As if he needed to ask.

“She didn’t Shout us into a wall.” Farkas only knew that Bryn was mad at both Vilkas and Ulfric about talking about her behind her back, but not the details. He hadn’t thought to ask, and Vilkas wasn’t about to volunteer. His twin didn’t even know that there had been a letter, or the lack of one. Vilkas hated keeping anything from his brother, but things were complicated enough as it was without Farkas’ disapproval added to it.

“That bad, huh?”

He sighed and accepted his pack from Farkas. “Things were…aired out. It could have been worse, I suppose. She didn’t fly off on her dragon and leave us eating her dust as she threatened to.” He glanced her way as he slung his pack over his shoulder, and she was watching a game of bone dice, her chin in her hand and elbow braced on her knee. As if she felt his attention her golden eyes slowly slid over to him, and it was all he could do not to walk over to her. He didn’t completely trust the khajit but didn’t have the visceral reaction to them Ulfric did. He’d sworn the man was about to vomit when Bryn had shared a drink with them. Vilkas didn’t know how she could tolerate her husband’s overt racism. When it seemed she wasn’t about to look away Vilkas did so, sighing heavily. She was definitely angry. Ulfric and the two young men were going to have an uncomfortable ride home.

“Little bird will get over it,” Farkas said confidently. “She always does.”

“Sure.” Vilkas looked over his people to make sure everyone was accounted for, and they were. Aela approached him, Skjorta sleeping in her sling, and he quietly asked, “Is everyone ready to go?”

“Looks that way,” the Huntress replied. Farkas and Lydia moved away to get their gear, Lydia casting a knowing look at Aela, who nodded curtly. Vilkas eyed her with suspicion. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. Couldn’t find the right time.”

Vilkas grumbled and said, “I think I can l die a happy man if I don’t have any more secret discussions with anyone for a while.”

“This isn’t a secret. It’s…hm. Well, it has to do with the Blood.”

He saw her green eyes go past him, probably to Bryn, and when she nibbled at her lip he stated in confusion, “But I no longer have it.”

“That is true, however you did for nearly fifteen years, and I still consider you and Farkas my brothers in the Blood. Pack.” He nodded sadly, and it made her feel the loss all over again. The loneliness. “I… still can’t consider you two anything else. When a pack is formed, bonds are formed. Even if the Blood is gone, the bonds are still there. They’re a part of the soul, and that is not something that can simply be cleansed from you.”

“I understand,” he murmured.

“So you still feel it then.”

“Aye,” he said with faint regret. “That is the only part of it I miss, the feel of pack. But yes, I still feel it. You are my sister, still, Blood or not.” She smiled briefly at him, seeming relieved.

“I’m glad of that, brother. I knew it was so, but it’s good to hear.” She looked down at her sleeping daughter and went on in a sad murmur, “I wish I had given Skjor more, while he was alive. All those years he waited…”

Vilkas made a sound of pain at the unexpected confession and whispered, “He knew you loved him, Aela. Surely he knew it.” It was rather shocking that Aela was even bringing this up, but it wasn't a bad thing. Maybe being a mother and married was finally starting to soften her up a bit.

“Yes, but I should have said it. I should have told him I felt what he did, something I tried so hard not to. I only wanted a daughter, not a…a mating.” Vilkas sighed and put his hands on her shoulders, and it was comforting. Yes, he was still her brother, even if he no longer smelled like it. “My parents…they were werewolves from the time they were young. They each came from a long bloodline, Ma’s from the Circle. Well, you already knew that. They knew more about our lore and our biology than anyone I’ve ever met. Ma didn’t get the chance to pass on everything she could have, but Da knew it and made sure I did as well.” Vilkas nodded for her to go on, sensing she was trying to say something. Yes she was, and she wasn’t sure how he was going to take it. “Even after Skjor and I had been together a while, I kept telling myself it was only until I got a daughter out of it. I don’t like men. I have never liked men.”

“Everyone knows that,” he assured her.

“I love Mjoll,” Aela stated uncomfortably. “But…with Skjor…it was a mating. It was…true. Like my parents, what they had. After Ma died, Da never took another woman. They were husband and wife in the old Nord way, but more than that they were mates. For life. Once they set their hearts on each other there was no one else for them, just as it was when I opened my heart to Skjor. With the Blood, when a werewolf picks a mate, and that mate reciprocates…that’s it. Their nature simply doesn’t allow them to want any other.” Vilkas’ hands slowly dropped away, a stricken look on his face. So he was getting it. “Lydia told me that Farkas said that once he set his heart on her all other women ceased to exist for him. Just as it was for me and Skjor.” Aela hadn’t been entirely pleased to find out yesterday that Lydia knew the Circle’s secret, but the explanation for that knowledge had sufficed, and this was something Vilkas needed to know.

“I…see.”

Aela looked at him with sympathy, seeing his adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed several times. “I’m sorry. This probably isn’t what you wanted to hear, especially after she blasted you like that. To be honest this was something I just didn’t think to discuss with you, or Farkas. I didn’t have to with him. He chose his mate and intended to marry her from the start. And you…I really believed you would marry Bryn, if she asked, at least in the old way. And when she did and you said no, I was so angry I figured that maybe it really didn’t…take, for you. The bond. When you were all broken up afterwards I figured it would pass. And by time I realized it wasn’t going to, it was too late, and she was engaged to Ulfric.” She shook her head and added with sorrow, “I really thought she would come back, eventually, after Sovngarde. So did Lydia. We didn’t talk about it until yesterday, but…we always thought you two would get back together. We were just as shocked to hear she was marrying Ulfric as anyone.”

“She married him because I’m an idiot,” Vilkas hissed.

“No, she married him because you didn’t get a letter.”

“Lydia wasn’t supposed to tell anyone!”

“She didn’t. Bryn asked Mjoll the night we got married if you ever talked about her, after Mjoll came to Whiterun. Mjoll told her about a conversation you had, and Bryn asked if you ever mentioned a letter, and, well, you know how Mjoll is. Brutally honest. Bryn suspected you didn’t get the letter. Divines know how that’s possible.”

“Whatever,” Vilkas said through gritted teeth. “Bryn married Ulfric because I was too stupid to marry her when she asked, and too stupid to marry her when I first wanted to, after Kodlak died, and too stupid to tell her the truth at the Moot.” He resisted the urge to rub his face; this warpaint wasn’t as forgiving of that as the old one had been. He nodded and said, “All right, fine. I…know you meant well, telling me. It changes nothing, but…I suppose things make more sense now.” He had to wonder if subconsciously he had been fighting against a permanent mating along with the rest of his nature, and just as fruitlessly. Once he had been cleansed he had wanted to marry Bryn, and then like an idiot had talked himself out of it.

“I’m glad. I didn’t want to upset you, but I thought it only fair that you knew. I wish I had told you when I first realized you were serious about her, but frankly we both know it might have pushed you the wrong direction.”

“No, I did that to myself quite handily.”

“All right then. I just wanted to get this out of the way now, before we left. Lydia said she mentioned the thing with Farkas to Bryn and, well, she’s a bright girl.” And Lydia had no doubt talked to Bryn at some point last night about it all.

Vilkas nodded curtly, his tongue in his cheek. Aela sighed and turned away, leaving it at that. He folded his arms, trying to keep his expression calm and probably failing miserably, as he always did. The others gave him space and he was glad of it. So he felt like this because of the beastblood. In hindsight he could see it quite clearly…how after the first time sleeping with Bryn and having her respond to him the way she did all he wanted to do was smell her, touch her, as if she was imprinting herself on him, and then that morning before getting home, how he had felt that deep, aching warmth upon waking next to her. He’d loved her so intensely afterwards that he couldn’t bear being parted from her for any length of time, and when she had nearly died that one night he had been absolutely terrified of losing her. He wanted to believe that if he had known what it meant at the time that he would have given in and married her, at least in the old way, but stubborn jackass that he was, he might have dug in even further, refusing to let the beastblood get the better of him in any way. Well, it seemed it had, permanently, and he tried to tell himself that it didn’t change anything; he wanted Bryn again either way. At least now he knew why he couldn’t even begin to take an interest in any other woman. Unfortunately it hadn’t worked quite that way for Bryn. Her dragon blood had kept the wolf from reaching any part of her soul.

He turned slightly to glance at her and she was watching him again, her expression no longer coldly angry, though it was being so stringently controlled that it was impossible to tell what she was feeling. She undoubtedly knew what Aela had just told him. He again fought the urge to go to her, to talk to her. He had to trust that Ulfric had meant what he said and wouldn’t fuss over them talking to each other when she visited Whiterun, which she no doubt would at some point to see Balgruuf again, or Farkas and Lydia. He wasn’t even sure at this point what there was to say to each other, or how to say it without Bryn getting angry, or the two of them being tempted to intimacy. Anything they had to say to each other couldn’t be said in front of others, and saying it to each other alone would create the kind of situation that couldn’t possibly end well. Not as long as she was another man’s wife.

Her eyes dropped away first as a khajit woman handed her the cup of tea again, and when she drank from it he turned away, trying desperately to leave the situation alone. He watched Mjoll shoulder both her gear and Aela’s, and the two women smiled warmly at each other, newlywed and in love, and it made him sigh unhappily, feeling lonely. He told himself that at least he wasn’t missing a dead mate the way Aela was. The way Bryn one day would, though it wasn’t the same for her. It wasn’t as if a non-werewolf couldn’t have the same depth of feeling, though.

Vilkas looked for Ulfric and distantly saw him standing in the same spot, Hadvar now with him, and the Jarl was watching his wife with a look of such open distaste that it made Vilkas guiltily hope that Bryn stayed there until the sun went down to force Ulfric to go to her. Vilkas preferred the company of other humans, other Nords in particular, but it wasn’t as if he hated the other races by any means, and he trusted his Shield-Brother Athis with his life. He didn’t know how Bryn tolerated Ulfric’s demeanor, or how the two of them managed not to fight constantly. Ulfric had made that jab the other day about the wolf and dragon fighting for dominance, but wolves knew when to cut their losses and turn tail. Vilkas had never seen a bear back down from anything. Bryn had told him once that she and Lydia had come across bears in the wild fighting dragons, even with the odds completely against them. The bears had gotten their damage in, but in the end the result was always the same: the dragon always won.  
-  
As Bryn retreated upstairs with Rikke, the two women arm in arm, Ulfric sighed heavily, and Galmar closed to door to the main hall and asked, “Have a little spat on your vacation?” As if he couldn’t tell. The tension between the Queen and the Jarl was blatantly obvious. Ralof and Hadvar had taken off for their rooms as soon as humanly possible, as if wanting to escape the couple’s presence. Bryn had curtly greeted Galmar then had grabbed Rikke and left without a single backward glance at her husband.

“Yes. She’s hardly said a word to me in days. Or looked at me.” Ulfric threw himself into a chair in the war room, which had been converted into a sitting room slash office at some point in the last week, probably Rikke’s doing, at Bryn’s direction. Ulfric had to admit it was a nice touch. It was good to have somewhere to sit and talk quietly, away from the throne room which magnified every word no matter how quietly spoken. The strategy map of Skyrim was now mounted on the end wall, above a desk stacked with letters and papers, and a low table and a number of comfortable chairs were arranged centrally on a large Eastmarch blue rug, for easy conversation. Not that this was going to be an easy conversation.

“So what did you do this time?”

Ulfric snorted and rubbed his forehead, muttering, “I may have made a serious miscalculation, Galmar.”

“That isn’t like you.”

“With her it seems to happen much too often.”

Galmar sat down in the chair across from him, saying in a reassuring tone, “Come on now, these things happen to everyone. You haven’t been married long, and most of that time she’s been off traveling.” And it went without saying that Ulfric’s experience with women and relationships was seriously lacking. He leaned back in the chair and asked, “Did you get along in Riften?”

“Yes, yes, fine. It was good, for most of the time. It was relaxing, and occasionally…fun.”

“Fun,” Galmar grunted. That was a word that he didn’t think existed in his Jarl’s vocabulary. In fact he had never once in their long acquaintance heard Ulfric use that word.

“A local fisherman, a prominent business owner, took me fishing on the lake, with Ralof.” He sighed at the memory, feeling a bit of his stress easing. “Floating in the sun, hearing the water lap against the side of the boat…it nearly rocked me to sleep like a baby. I’ve never been so relaxed. I know now what my mother loved so much about it. I think I’d like to try it again one day.” Galmar nodded. “Farkas and his wife came to dinner that night, and afterward the girls went outside to talk while we four men stayed inside and drank and joked and told stories. It reminded me of the early days in the Legion. Bryn’s friend Farkas is good company. I enjoyed spending time with him a great deal. With all the Companions.”

“Did having Vilkas around cause any problems?”

“Yes, it did. Very serious ones.” Galmar grunted, his eyes narrowing. Ulfric knew quite well what Galmar thought of Bryn’s lingering feelings for Vilkas, the extent of which Galmar wasn’t entirely aware. Galmar had sown his wild oats far and wide in his youth, but like most Nords when he had married he had fully committed to his marriage and never looked outside it, rarely thought outside it. “It wasn’t entirely Vilkas’ fault. It wasn’t even mostly his fault. When it comes down to it…it’s mine. My fault for being greedy, and a liar.”

Galmar exclaimed, “Liar! That’s bullshit. You’ve never told a lie in your life!”

“I lied by omission. To Brynhilde. I wanted to keep her so badly that I committed an unforgivable error in judgment. I don’t know if she ever will forgive me for it, or Vilkas.” Who was he kidding; she would forgive Vilkas. She probably already had. His friend waited, looking worried and bewildered. No, Ulfric wasn’t a liar. Imperials were masters of bending the truth, but Nords took oaths and honor seriously, as did the Redguards. Being called a liar was one of the worst insults you could heap upon a member of either race. “At the Moot…I told you that I had a talk with Vilkas. To clear the air.”

“Yes?”

“I agreed to something. Something I never should have agreed to.” He stood, restless. “I found out that he had never received the letter Brynhilde sent him from Riften. He’d had no idea she still wanted to marry him, or still loved him. He didn’t want to hurt her. He insisted that I keep the knowledge to myself and not tell her. I hated the idea of it. I wanted to tell her.” He leaned against the stone wall near the windows, seeing only vague shapes through the thick frosted glass. “He talked me out of it, told me to go ahead and marry her, but I could tell the idea was killing him. I could tell and I did it anyway. I knew she still loved him and did it anyway. I wanted her for myself. I wanted her as my wife, and I wanted her because she would become High Queen. He said I would be better for her, and perhaps I have been in many ways, but she still loves him. Even when she’s here I see her lost in thought at times, looking sad, but she always turns to me with a smile.” He huffed unhappily and added in a mutter, “And now she won’t even look at me. Somehow she figured things out on her own enough to confront us, the day we were leaving, and when she got the truth she nearly roared down Riften’s walls. She was so completely enraged that she called us traitors and threatened to summon her dragon and fly away.” And then had gone and consorted with cat folk, right in front of him. His fears of having to kiss her after that were certainly unfounded, as angry as she had been. Her anger had turned cold after that. He could handle her rage, but not that. When her anger was hot it stoked his own, but this coldness of hers sucked the life right out of him and left him defenseless. He glanced at Galmar and his friend was looking at him as if he didn’t know him, clearly disapproving. As well he should.

Galmar opened his mouth to say something then shut it, shaking his head in disbelief. If he had known any of this he would have talked Ulfric out of it from the start. He would have seen that it was a disaster in the making and put a stop to it, or tried to. A man in love wasn’t a reasonable creature, any more than a woman in love was. And Bryn did love Ulfric. Anyone could see that. She was fiercely protective of him as well. That she was so furious with Ulfric that she hadn’t talked to or looked at him in days was frightening. The marriage couldn’t be dissolved, but it could be damaged to the point that it might as well not exist. Like Balgruuf’s. The Jarl of Whiterun and his lawful wife had been separated for so long that most folk forgot he was still technically a married man.

“What do I do, Galmar?” Ulfric asked in a pained voice. “I brought this on myself, and by default Brynhilde. You can’t imagine the look she gave us. Me. The utter betrayal.”

“You started your marriage with a lie,” Galmar growled. “No shit she feels betrayed. I’d want to wring your god damned neck. In fact I do.” Ulfric nodded, accepting Galmar’s stern disapproval freely. “Leave her alone for a few hours. Let her talk to Rikke and have some woman time, then you make up with her. Don’t you dare go to bed with things like this.”

“No, I do know better than that.” His friend shook his head, disappointed in him, and Ulfric folded his arms and leaned his temple against the cold glass. “I’ve made terrible mistakes in my life, Galmar. Mistakes that have cost countless lives, that have caused suffering. But this…this feels the worst. If you had only seen how the two of them looked at each other. No matter how she loves me, she’s never looked at me like that.”

“So what? She looks at you in ways she would never look at him. I’m sure he saw that just as much as you saw them looking at each other.” He got up and went to Ulfric. He put his hand on his Jarl’s shoulder and sighed, “Look, you fucked up. So did Vilkas. And maybe so did she, by leaving to a letter something best done in person. None of this would have happened if she had gone back to Whiterun. None of this would have happened if he had married her in the first place. But she’s married to you now. I don’t care if she still loves another man, you are her husband. You will be for the rest of your lives.”

“Or mine.” That was one thing he wouldn’t tell Galmar about. He would never tell his best friend about that. Galmar would live under a black cloud of dread worse than Bryn would. Too many people already knew as it was.

“We all know how old you are. I’m older. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

Ulfric snorted a laugh. “Yes, but your woman is the same age as you.” He lifted an eyebrow and asked, “How is that going, by the way? Is she all settled in?”

“Yes.”

The short answer and faint blush on Galmar’s cheeks made Ulfric laugh more loudly. Galmar had kept his relationship with Rikke unusually private. It had been fairly obvious when Ulfric had returned with Bryn from reading the Elder Scrolls that the couple had consummated their relationship, and it had been pleasant to watch his old friends fall in love, a mature, quiet love that made his own marriage feel somewhat teenagerish, and he had been happy for them both when Rikke had moved her belongings into Galmar’s room, a move that signified some sort of commitment. Ulfric hadn’t given Galmar a hard time, knowing the process had been hard for him no matter how he wanted Rikke. “So. Do you think you two will make it official in some way?” he asked.

“Neither of us sees any reason to at our age.”

“Someone should make an honest woman out of her.”

Galmar barked out a laugh. “I’m not sure marrying her would accomplish that.” The two men laughed again. He slapped Ulfric on the shoulder and said, “Don’t fuss about Brynhilde. She’ll get over it. Give her space and let her bitch to Rikke about you for a few hours, then go tell her you’re sorry and make up with her. She can’t stay mad at you much longer.”

“It worries me that she has stayed mad this long.” This kind of anger was new for her, and no, she shouldn’t have been able to stay this angry for days on end. No one should be capable of that, but then she wasn’t entirely human.

“You were on the road with the lads.”

Ulfric nodded. “That is true.” There had been no privacy to talk about it or work things out, and so the tension had kept building. Poor Hadvar and Ralof had obviously felt caught in the middle, watching the two of them as if any moment they would start bickering, or Bryn start roaring again. The two young men had the rest of the day off to recuperate from it, and would spend tomorrow in Windhelm before they accompanied the Queen to Icewater Jetty to meet up with Isran and the Dawnguard to assault Castle Volkihar. He couldn’t allow his wife to leave here still angry with him. It wasn’t good for their marriage, and it wasn’t good for her to be in a poor state of mind on a dangerous mission, one he hoped would be the last for some time.  
-  
Rikke opened the door at the quiet knock, and when she saw it was Ulfric she shook her head and came out into the hall, closing the door behind her. “By the Nine, Ulfric,” she whispered in angry dismay. “What were you thinking? You lied to her!”

“I already had this discussion with Galmar two hours ago,” he muttered.

“Well I hope he gave you hell for it.”

“Yes, he was quite disgusted with me.”

“Good.” She motioned with her head toward the door. “She’s getting in the bath. She’s not as angry as she was when she first got home, but I’ve never seen her like this before.” Probably because she had never felt so completely betrayed by anyone before, except maybe Vilkas when he had rejected her proposal. Rikke now knew much more than she ever wanted to about the entire business. It was a very good thing for Ulfric that the Queen took her marriage vows seriously. Bryn was in a mood right now that Rikke found deeply unsettling, and she had tread very carefully, watched her words very carefully, never more aware of the dragon blood in her Queen’s veins. Ulfric looked worried, but not worried enough. She moved closer to him and quietly said, “Look…I don’t want problems between you two. Just be _careful._ I can’t stress that enough. Galmar probably slapped you on the back and said it would all work out, but he didn’t see what kind of mood she was in. You can’t imagine the kind of angry she is right now. She said things to me that…I really would rather she didn’t say to you.”

“Why, am I so fragile that I can’t bear to hear it?” he said in offense. “What did she say, that she would leave me if she could? That is the worst possible thing I can imagine, and I could see her thinking it the entire way home. She told me and Vilkas that she wished she had never met either of us then she stalked off and cozied up to the khajit, then sat there drinking tea with cat spit in it while she watched Vilkas. She’s no doubt already forgiven him while I’m still paying!”

Rikke shook her head at him, warning, “You’re getting angry, Ulfric. I’m begging you, don’t get angry with her. Please.” He took in a deep breath, trying, but Rikke felt nearly nauseous with dread over the situation, and not just for personal reasons of not wanting two people she cared for to end up estranged. Bryn was High Queen and hadn’t established a true court yet, hadn’t had the chance to really do her job yet. If her marriage to Ulfric faltered this early on the people of Skyrim would lose faith in her and her ability to make decisions. She had made the choice to marry Ulfric based on faulty information, but it had been a choice nonetheless. “She didn’t go sit with the khajit to spite you. She just wanted to sit with a neutral party that had nothing to do with you or Vilkas. The khajit like her, and she likes them.”

“She knows how I feel about them!”

“And you know how she feels about them. And the Argonians. And the Dunmer, and the Orsimer, and so on and so on. You can feel however you like, but I hope to hell you don’t expect her to treat the other races differently when you’re around. She’s everyone’s Queen. Everyone loves her, and she loves them back. It’s how she’s earned such loyalty.”

“I know that,” he muttered. Of course he didn’t expect his intolerance to rub off on Bryn, and of course her myriad connections across Skryim with all the races was only for the good. Any of the folk she had helped over the last year and a half would rush to her aid if she called. Even that hag Maven.

“She’s already compromised her values by keeping the situation here in the Palace as it is, for your sake.”

“I know that also.” He took in another deep breath and let it out slowly. Bryn’s feelings on the subject were well-known to him and had been since that ill-fated dinner when he received the dossier. As his wife she was not just the High Queen but the Lady of Eastmarch, and by rights she should be able to bring in her own staff and servants, and the only locally available ones were Dunmer, which Bryn would have absolutely no problem with. Well, when he was dead she could do that, and not a day before. He knew his prejudices were wrong, but at this point in his life and knowing what his fate would be he felt he shouldn’t have to change. Maybe that made him an ass, but he honestly didn’t care.

Rikke squeezed his upper arm then left, a look of anxiety on her face, and Ulfric squared his shoulders and went into his quarters, more than a little anxious himself. He closed and locked the door then put his back to it, seeing his wife stepping into the small wooden tub that the servants brought upstairs and filled every few days for bathing. He felt a pang of mixed grief and longing as he watched the muscles ripple beneath her fair skin. He knew she was aware of him but she ignored him, slipping under the surface of the water to wet her hair. When she came up her golden eyes slowly opened and stared coldly at him, and for a split second he swore he saw the faintest outline of a golden dragon’s head around hers. It sent a shiver of fear through him that he couldn’t suppress. Thongvor Silver-Blood had told him in a hushed whisper at the Moot that he had seen the same thing, gone so quickly he would have questioned his sanity if he hadn’t heard stories of the same about Tiber Septim. Except Tiber Septim hadn’t carried around dozens of dragon souls inside him in addition to his own. Ulfric silently begged the forgiveness of Talos, knowing with a sudden certainty that his wife was a much more terrifying and deadly thing than the god had ever been as a living man.

_“Zofaas, ahmuli?”_

“Yes.” He wasn’t about to lie about it. She grumbled and began to wash her hair, her eyes closing. “I’m sorry, Brynhilde. I never wanted to start our marriage under false pretenses. I hate myself for it. I don’t know what to do to fix it, or if I can, but know that I am sorry.” She dipped under the water to rinse out the soap, not answering, and when she came back up and sat there, waiting, he asked in a barely steady voice, “What do you want me to do?”

“I’ve spent the last three days pondering that very question.”

The cold, detached sound of her voice sent a thrill of fear through him that made his breath catch. He forced himself away from the door and took halting steps towards her. He stopped at the end of the tub, and when she raised her eyes to his he slowly lowered himself to his knees and whispered, “Don’t leave me, Brynhilde.” He had to cling to her statement that her marriage vows meant something to her, and so didn’t want to end it. 

“I have no intention of doing that. I never did. I made the mistake of leaving someone once and I’ve regretted it ever since.” The look of naked anguish and hurt that crossed her husband’s face was almost enough to make her regret her words. As she stood to wash she saw his eyes travel over her then he squeezed them shut tightly for a moment then looked away.

“Do you…” He swallowed and went on in a trembling voice, “If you wanted…to see him at times…I would look the other way.” Bryn made a scoffing, disbelieving sound that sent a shudder of relief through him.

“So I should compound everyone’s mistakes with infidelity? Are you out of your god damned mind?” Ulfric closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, seeming to go limp with relief. She nearly snarled at him that it offended her that he thought there was any chance whatsoever of her taking him upon that offer, and only the knowledge that he had made it in an attempt to please her kept her temper in check. As she washed in brusque motions she said in a tight voice, “I may not have been raised Nord, with Nord values, but I spent enough time talking to the priests of Mara to understand what a Nord marriage means. What any marriage should mean. I can’t believe…ugh.” She sat down hard in the water, back at his eye level, and when his gaze met hers she shook her head and said in a near hiss, “You think I would do that.”

“You called him _ahmul.”_ Bryn frowned slightly, as if she didn’t remember doing so. “You called us _ahmulle. Tahrodiis ahmulle.”_

 _“Tahrodiis, geh. Ahmulle, nid.”_ She stood up in the tub and began pushing the water off her skin, and as he climbed to his feet she heard his knees creak and snap. He picked up a drying cloth of tundra cotton and handed it to her, avoiding her eyes, then he turned away to pull off his gauntlets and begin unfastening his armor. She stepped out and finished drying, watching Ulfric remove his ebony armor piece by piece. His movements were slow and precise, as if he were taking his time in order to avoid having to look at her as long as possible. The first twinges of regret started nagging at her, knowing how deeply she had wounded him. Well, he had asked for it by lying to her then daring to get defensive about it when she found out and became angry. She moved in front of the small fire and continued watching him as she combed out her hair, and when he briefly glanced back at her she insisted, “You really think I would have an affair, with your permission or not.”

“Would it be an affair?” he countered quietly. She made a growling sound of frustration that told him he was making her angry again. “He will be your husband some day—“

“But he isn’t now!”

“I watched him watching you. It’s as if it never ended for him.”

“Because it didn’t. It can’t.” He turned to look at her again, down to the black doublet and pants that went under his armor. She knelt down in front of the fire to dry her hair and went on, “I’m going to tell you something I never wanted to tell you, that I probably don’t have any right to tell you, but I’m in a pissy mood so I’m going to do it anyway. What I’m going to tell you can’t leave this room, and you’re going to swear to me that we will never talk about it again, and you will never breathe a word of it to anyone, anyone, I don’t care who they are.”

“Yes. I swear it.”

“I mean it, Ulfric. This is something that could get people I love killed.”

He resisted the urge to get irritated, knowing he had to take whatever she dished out without complaint. “I swear it upon all that is holy to me. I swear it upon Talos’ name.”

“Vilkas can’t stop feeling as if I belong to him. To him, it still feels like I’m his. His woman. His…mate.”

“Mate,” he said in distaste.

“I call you _kodaavi,_ because the Bear of Eastmarch is your symbol, the totem of the Jarls of Windhelm. I called him _grohiiki_ because he literally was a wolf. A werewolf.” Ulfric’s eyes widened in shock, a look of horrified disgust on his face. “Well he isn’t any longer. He hasn’t been for nearly a year. But he was when he took my virginity, and he was when he fell in love with me. I didn’t know this until this trip to Riften, but… Werewolves don’t always take permanent partners, but when they do, it is _permanent._ They mate for life the way wild wolves sometimes do. Even though he’s been cured, Vilkas is mated to me, permanently. He will never want any other woman than me, for as long as I live. So in a way, I am Vilkas’ wife, even if he is not my husband.” Saying it out loud made a pang of intense loss go through her that made her pull her eyes away from Ulfric’s stunned expression to look at the fire. She had talked about all this with Lydia, after Lydia had talked to Aela, the night before leaving Riften. Bryn had known quite well what Aela was telling Vilkas before they left, and he had seemed to accept it with a minimum of fussing. Maybe it had been a relief to him to hear, who knew.

Ulfric said in sudden dismayed realization, “It was the entire Circle, wasn’t it. The armor they wore…”

“Yes.”

“So the Silver Hand attack—“

“Was completely unwarranted,” she stated, cutting him off. “They were monsters, worse than any werewolf could be. They were kidnapping and torturing people just on the suspicion that they might be werewolves, or were related to one.” To his credit Ulfric looked slightly chastened at that; he obviously had extremely strong feelings about the use of torture in any situation. And the similar behavior from the Thalmor in regard to Talos worshipers went without saying. 

“Were you? One of them?”

“I was—am—a member of the Circle. Yes, I was.” His look of revulsion was completely expected, and she went on, “For all of three and a half weeks. I changed _once,_ the night I took the Blood, and I refused to feed, on anything, and I never changed again. I only accepted it to understand why it tormented Vilkas so, and in the end it was pointless. The wolf never took hold. The dragon didn’t allow it. I didn’t feel any different other than to feel the wolf cowering away from me.” Ulfric tried to stifle his shudder, unsuccessfully, then stripped off his clothes and got into the quickly cooling water to wash. Bryn tossed the drying cloth next to the tub then went to the wardrobe to get clean clothing, and as she pulled on her undergarments she went on, “I never told you because I couldn’t do so without outing the others. It wasn’t my secret to tell, and frankly, I didn’t think there would ever be a point in telling you, because I really don’t consider that I was ever a werewolf. I never changed again. I had no wolfish instincts or abilities. I was exactly the same as before, and after Kodlak died we all went and got cured, all but Aela. So yes, she is still a werewolf, and I love her dearly just as she is. As I did all of them, just as they were.” He grunted, not looking at her as he washed, a little too vigorously. As if trying to get the taint off his skin. She pressed her lips together to keep from saying anything further. If she did she would end up snapping at him and they would never be able to fix things. It was tempting to not fix things at all, but she was self-aware enough to know that once her anger subsided her love for him would return. As it was, right now she wasn’t feeling it at all.

Bryn continued dressing, putting on something pretty and queenly even if she wasn’t in the mood to be either. Her hair was so fine that it was half dry at this point, and she combed it back with her fingers then fastened it with a silver clip. She pulled on a pair of soft boots she wore only inside. When she was done she looked at Ulfric and saw him washing his hair, and when he came back up after rinsing he sat there and avoided her eyes, as if waiting for her to leave before he got out. Irritated, still, and all over again, Bryn said, “I will be downstairs with Rikke, taking care of some business. I’ll see you at dinner, if you can stomach eating with me.”

“Brynhilde,” he said in a strangled whisper. She paused, waiting, her expression cold, and he opened his mouth to say something but the words wouldn’t come to him. He didn’t know what to say, but he knew if she left without him saying something that it would make this entire mess harder to move past. Bryn folded her arms and lifted her chin, still waiting, giving him the chance to speak, and he shivered in the cold water and stood to dry off. “Wait,” he pleaded.

“Why, so you can look at me again as if I’m contaminated?” She made a scoffing sound and said, “It isn’t even that I was a werewolf for that tiny bit, is it. It’s that I was sleeping with one. Deflowered by one.” He didn’t insult her by denying it, dropping his eyes as he wrapped the cloth around his waist. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Again, it didn’t occur to me that it would ever be an issue. I don’t see how it’s relevant to anything except explaining to you why Vilkas hasn’t moved on. He’s still the man you’ve always thought he was. So is Farkas. Their honor is unstained.”

“And mine is not,” he muttered.

“No, it isn’t, but their honor isn’t even the issue. My purity is. You didn’t really start showing signs of attraction to me until you found out that I came to Skyrim ‘pure’ and the only man who had ever touched me was a Nord Companion. If my first lover had been a Bosmer or god forbid an Orsimer you never would have let yourself want me.”

“That is not true,” he said in offense. “You are half mer yourself, and you dare to accuse me of that?”

“What if it had been a khajit?” He swallowed, unable to protest that. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t noticed him watching her with utter disgust as she shared tea with the cat folk in their traditional way. She nearly asked him if she should consider him tainted considering he’d had sex with everything under the sun, but that would be outrageously cruel and would most likely spell the end of their marriage. “I don’t find other races sexually attractive at all,” Bryn stated. “Not even mer, and I was raised by them. It isn’t because there’s anything wrong with them. I find the khajit beautiful. Even the argonians have a certain beauty to them. I will sit and share drink and food with them, with anyone, because they are still people.” She paused then added, “I knew what Vilkas was. I found out what the Circle was when the Silver Hand attacked Farkas while we were on a job, and he had to change to save us both. I saw Vilkas change once, after we were together, and it changed nothing between us. I didn’t care one bit that he was a werewolf. I cared less than he did. Much less. I’m sorry that it disgusts you that I was sleeping with a beast. It isn’t as if we were doing it while he was changed.”

“I know that,” Ulfric said helplessly.

“You told me the first time we slept together that Vilkas didn’t realize he had a dragon in his bed. I think perhaps you haven’t fully realized that either, _kodaav ahmul. Zu’u los dovah._ I am much less human than a werewolf.”

“I am well aware of it. Now.” Seeing her come up out of the water and open those golden eyes with the golden aura of a dragon around her had impressed that on him quite clearly. He wasn’t really sure at this point where to go from here. What to do with her, or about her. He only knew that he couldn’t bear losing her, no matter what she was.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I’ve been hard to be around the last few days. Talking to you and Vilkas triggered something in me, and I have no idea how to turn it off.” She turned to walk to the door, adding, “Maybe it will be worn off by time I get done with Harkon and my other errands. I need to talk to Tullius afterward, maybe stop by Helg—“ She gasped as Ulfric grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around then shoved her against the door, nearly knocking the wind out of her. She blinked in shock as he held her there by her upper arms, the grip painful.

 _“Drem,”_ he whispered, half pleading, half demanding. _“Zu’u bolog drem. Zu’u los gahvon grah.”_ He felt her relax slightly in his grip, and he loosened it when he realized how tightly he was holding her. _“Zu’u…zu’u los hin zaam, zok brit rekdovahi. Hin aar.”_ She blinked slowly as her eyes dilated, her lips parting slightly, and he felt a rush of giddy relief, knowing he had her. Some part of him cringed at having to seduce her, almost feeling as if he was prostituting himself, but he knew of no other way to calm her and regain her favor. If her nature was to blame for her temper, then by Akatosh he would use that nature against her. He turned his head to the side, baring his neck to her, and when he heard a warm murmuring sound of desire and felt her move forward he let go of her arms. She placed a soft, nibbling kiss on his neck at the same time that he felt her fingertips brush his nipples, and it sent a shiver of lust through him.

Bryn ran her tongue up his neck to his ear as his hands settled on her hips. She could feel him growing and hardening between them, and she trailed a hand down his body to run her fingers over his length, hearing him moan softly. “Mm, _zaami,_ eh?” She couldn’t help regretting that he had felt driven to saying that to her. Begging her for peace between them. Yielding to her, calling himself her slave, her servant. He was certainly not that, and unfortunately she couldn’t even play on it safely, afraid of triggering some kind of traumatic reaction in him, but it was sweet to hear that he wanted her forgiveness so badly, even if it was a bit sneaky of him to use the dragon language on her in that way. She was well aware of what he was doing in that regard. Well, this was probably the only way he could have melted her coldness, and she couldn’t resent it. Everything he had done had been out of love for her, even if it had been patronizing. He had certainly learned his lesson.

“Yes!” She began stroking him and at that moment he swore he would do anything she demanded of him, even if it meant her taking him again.

 _“Ni zaami,”_ she murmured as she kissed by his ear. _“Ahmuli. Sahrot kodaav bronjun, ahrk ahmuli.”_

Bryn took his earlobe in her mouth and sucked at it as she stroked him more firmly, and he closed his eyes and whispered, “Ah, yes, yes, _hin ahmul…”_ So he was forgiven then. And she had given him back some small measure of his pride by calling him her husband and a mighty bear Jarl and telling him he was not a slave. She kissed him and he responded with a lusty growl, stripping the recently-donned clothes off her. As he made love to her he spared a distracted thought that her resonating cries of pleasure would reassure the others that he had made amends with her without anyone having to ask. He supposed someday she would find out that everyone could hear her and get angry about that too, but he would deal with it when the time came.

As they lay entwined under the covers afterwards, Bryn ran her fingers back through Ulfric’s loose hair, now dry, watching the light glint off strands of silver. Neither of them said anything for some time, Ulfric probably just as afraid of disturbing the peace between them as she was, fragile as it felt. She drew her finger across his forehead to wipe away the beads of sweat and he kissed her wrist, still catching his breath. He had certainly gone above and beyond the call of duty in pleasing her.

When the silence started becoming too much, nice as the petting and cuddling was, Ulfric finally ventured in a quiet voice, “You were saying something about seeing Tullius? Visiting Helgen?”

“You mean before you seduced me?” He eyed her warily, as if wondering if she were joking, and she wiggled her toes against his and murmured, “I’m glad you did.”

“Ah. Good.”

“I…ah, I’m sorry. _Krosis, ahmuli.”_

Ulfric shook his head and sat up on his elbow. “No. Absolutely not. Vilkas and I did something terrible. We did it out of love for you, but it was wrong all the same. I’ve regretted it every time I’ve seen you lost in thought, knowing you’re missing him, every time I hear you say his name or _grohiiki_ in your sleep.” Her breathing grew uneven as she blinked rapidly, frowning. He sighed and leaned his head on his hand as he traced the strong curve of her shoulder with the other. “Believe me when I tell you that I know how much you love him, Brynhilde,” he said in a tone of resigned acceptance. “I meant it when I made that offer. Mara help me, I thought I would pass out when I made it, but I meant it. I know you would never accept it, and I’m sorry if it offended you, but I meant it.” Her eyes began to shine as her chin trembled and her body tensed as if she would throw back the covers and leave. He put her arm over her and kept her there, saying sadly, “If half your heart belongs to him, how much worse could it be?”

“My body belongs to you. My favors belong to you.” She swallowed and went on in a rough voice, “What do you think you are, a male concubine? You’re my husband!”

“So is he.”

“I am not a werewolf! No bond ever formed for me the way it did for him. The Blood never took. I never smelled or felt or behaved like a werewolf. And the dragon…dragons are all male. They don’t mate. They don’t procreate. They simply are. Whatever I feel for Vilkas is a human thing.”

“You said _ahmulle.”_

“I said it to wound you both, and it was cruel.”

“And even after that cruelty, after you walked away from us both, you still looked at each other as if no one else existed for you.” She made a growling sound of frustration, and he shook her and firmly said, “No. Do not start in again. I am trying to get through your…damned stubborn head that I know and accept your love for him. I know my place. Yes, I am your husband. Yes, I am ridiculously pleased to know you would never be unfaithful to me, even with permission, even with someone that considers you his wife, in a way. But for Dibella’s sake, you have nothing to prove to me when it comes to him. I…simply want you to be able to talk about him without fear that you’ll mortally wound me.” Bryn looked past him, her body still tight as a bowstring. “Go see him, on your way back home. Sit and talk to him. Try to forge something between you that will give you each some kind of comfort.”

“That is not possible.”

Ulfric pursed his lips and stared at her for a moment with narrowed eyes, then he said, “You are not making this easy, Brynhilde.”

She rolled away from him and out of the bed before he could stop her, and when he sighed heavily and laid back on the bed to look at the ceiling she hissed, “How can anything about this be easy! What do you want from me?”

“I want you to do what you want to do,” he answered tiredly. “I want you to be as happy as you can be considering our situation. If you want to talk to him, do so. Your honor and his won’t allow you to be unfaithful? Fine, I prefer that, in all honesty. I love you and would rather not share, however I have you because of a lie, and we both know that if you had been forced to choose you would have chosen Vilkas. Perhaps not at first, perhaps you would have given yourself time to think about it, but in the end you would have chosen him.”

“You don’t know that.” He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes, and she insisted with a hint of desperation, “You don’t know that!”

“Yes, I do.” Bryn didn’t protest any further. “As you told Vilkas, you’re High Queen, and your choice of a husband needn’t have had any political undertones to it. Part of why you came to me in the first place was to gain the loyalty of my faction. You wouldn’t have come to me after Sovngarde if you didn’t see the potential to love me, I know that, but taking me as your husband was a shrewd political move, even if it disgusted some. I would have followed you regardless, simply because you are Dragonborn and I knew you were right, and most of my people would have as well, but by marrying me you gained a level of loyalty and even love from my followers that you otherwise would have had to work harder to gain. Marrying me also convinced the half of the country that detests me that you could keep me and my ambitions in line.” He paused for effect then continued, “However you could have accomplished all these things with Vilkas at your side, just more slowly. As Harbinger he is respected equally in all the holds, and his neutrality would have convinced Skyrim of your own. He’s eleven years younger than me. He has no lingering traumas from his past to cloud your relationship. He leads the Companions, who are family to you. His brother and his sister-in-law are your closest friends. He’s ridiculously handsome and tall, even for one of our kinsmen, and would make a much more visually appealing match for you than I do, superficial as that may seem. The two of you seem made for each other, while I…I think I was only meant for you for a while.”

“Not this again!”

Sensing she was dangerously close to losing her temper again, Ulfric relented, saying, “All right. But know that I am serious that I want you to spend time with Vilkas if it makes you happy. This is not a test of your love and loyalty, or any kind of trick. Go see him on your way home, and do whatever you will short of bedding him. All I ask is that it isn’t done in public, to avoid gossip. That’s all I ask.” 

She huffed in annoyance and stepped into the tub of cold water just long enough to rinse off the sweat and wash between her legs. When she stepped back out to dry she saw Ulfric lying on his side watching her, and she muttered at him, “Damn you.” He laughed and threw back the covers, and she let out a long, silent breath, feeling a sad resignation come over her. She ran her eyes over his body, nothing like the supremely toned work of art that was Vilkas, but strong and appealing all the same. Ah, if only she could have them both. They were so different from each other, made love to her so differently. She couldn’t say that Ulfric wasn’t as good a lover as Vilkas, but he lacked that certain something Vilkas had. Maybe it was sensuality. She couldn’t entirely blame it on the trauma Ulfric had endured, either; from what Rikke had said, when he was young Ulfric had been much more reserved than the others their age in the Legion, rarely taking lovers and always being rather private about it. Vilkas had no reserves in that regard; the abuse he had suffered as a little child had only been physical, and for a short time from what he could recall. It really wasn’t fair to compare the two in any way, but how she missed Vilkas’ loving. It had reached parts of her heart and soul that Ulfric had never been able to completely breach. She must have been a fool to leave him. She really couldn’t recall any more why she had done it, other than pride. Her damned draconic arrogance and pride. She was Dragonborn and by Talos no man was going to refuse her proposal!

“See, there it is again,” Ulfric murmured as he walked past her to the tub. She flinched and blinked, coming out of it, then she reached out and caught his arm in a grip of steel, not painful but plenty firm.

“I _love_ you, Ulfric.”

“Yes, my treasure, I’m well aware of that,” he reassured her, “and I love you more than words can say.” She licked her lips, frowning deeply, her eyes on the same level as his, shining like two freshly-struck gold coins in the firelight. He waited, and when she couldn’t get the words out he petted her messy hair back and stated, “When you came to me that night, you told me you wished you had died in Sovngarde and stayed there. It wasn’t simply because you liked it there. It was because of him. You have been apart from him for how many months now, half a year, and it’s as if the pain always stays fresh, for both of you.” She let go of his arm as she looked away from him, and he stroked under her chin as he said, “You hate hearing it, but I will say it again: somehow things went awry. Time went sideways somehow, when you gave me that dossier and let me live. However this is what we have, and I don’t regret any of it other than lying to you and causing you pain. You have made me happier in our time together than all the happy moments before that added together.”

Bryn whispered, “I’m…glad.”

“I like to think I’ve made you happy as well.”

“Of course you have.” He had also helped mold her into what she was today. He had made her strong, made her accept her nature, even if she still disliked it at times. And yet Vilkas hadn’t flinched from it either. When he had looked her in the eyes in Riften he hadn’t recoiled from them, the way the Greybeards had, though to be fair the old men had still been riled up about her Shouting from the peak of their mountain and the gathering of dragons up there. Her Voice didn’t seem to bother him either. Still, Ulfric had been born to rule, and maybe he wouldn’t have been a good High King, but he would have been a strong one, and he had taught her a great deal about ruling, and about the bearing that a ruler should have. She had tempered that with her own belief that a King or Queen should be a servant of the people, something Ulfric had never quite grasped.

“I want you to be happy. I know that the way things are that it simply isn’t possible for you to be completely happy, but I want you to do what you want without fearing that I will get angry, or crumble. Your spending a little time with Vilkas every so often will not wound me. He is a good man, no matter what he once was. As you said, he isn’t any longer.” He moved away from her to get into the tub, and he grit his teeth and lowered himself into the chilly water, feeling his manhood shrink up in defense. “Bloody hell!”

Bryn couldn’t help laughing, and as Ulfric quickly washed she leaned over to look into the tub. “Oh, that’s adorable,” she cooed. “So tiny--” She shrieked as Ulfric lunged up to grab her around the waist and pull her in. The water sloshed over the side onto the floor, making a mess, and when he tweaked her nipple she made a laughing cry and tweaked his in return, hard.

“Ow, you little bitch!” He caught her hands, the sound of her laughter making him laugh in turn. It was good to hear, something that seemed to grow rarer as time went on. He wondered if it was his offer that was letting her relax a bit, and decided it didn’t matter if it was. After all, that had been his intent. She would be finished with the vampire crisis within a week and her rule would then begin in earnest, and she would be ineffective if she was spending her time lost in thought and grieving. He trusted that she wouldn’t have actual sex with Vilkas, something Vilkas’ honor most likely would not allow regardless, and if they should happen to be close in other ways he could live with that. It wouldn’t be happening under his roof, or in front of him, though he couldn’t help feeling a brief twinge of guilty excitement over the thought of that. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen plenty of that sort of thing in his youth, though he had never partaken in it.

“Hm, what’s this?” Bryn purred, feeling something stir between them.

“Let me up and I’ll show you, precious.” The smooth, wet slide of her body against him was novel, pleasurable, and he murmured, “The next vacation we take should be to the tundra. I think I would like to frolic naked with you in the hot pools.” Her eyes lit up at the idea, and he laughed as she climbed out of the little tub then pulled him out of it. He didn’t have it in him to finish a second time, but with a little encouragement he could give her another round before he ran out of steam. He would simply have to put in a bit more effort to keep her attention on the here and now while she was home, since she would soon be spending the majority of her time here. If by letting her have small doses of her first love now and then he could keep her thoughts from drifting, then it was worth the small sadness of knowing he wasn’t her everything. He had always known he wasn’t, and couldn’t be; he had married her knowing that would always be the case. It was a bit of a relief though to know he wasn’t. She would survive losing him one day, and it would only be because Vilkas was there.


	50. Chapter 50

“Hail Harbinger!”

“Hail Hjalki,” Vilkas answered as he and Njada approached the city gates. He pulled off his helmet and fluffed out his sweaty hair, asking, “How is the wife feeling?”

“Eh, the same,” the guard said with a shrug. “Healers say it will pass, but this child’s been hard on her. Her mother is coming to stay with us until the sickness passes, to help with the other two. Good thing I get along with her.”

“Ah, that’s good.” He heard Njada mutter something anti-social under her breath and ignored it, but he couldn’t ignore when the two guards glanced at each other and Hjalki uneasily rubbed the back of his neck. “Something wrong?”

The other guard hastily said, “Oh no, no. It’s just…eh. She’s here. The ah, the Queen.” Vilkas grunted, the Harbinger coming to a stop at the gates while Njada pushed her way through, never one for small talk. The woman was attractive, but the single guards knew better than to approach her. Best to just wait and let her make the first move, or you’d end up with a broken jaw. “She arrived a few hours ago and said she was headed straight up to the palace to see the Jarl. Can’t say where she is now.” Vilkas nodded, looking like he appreciated the warning.

Hjalki said to Vilkas, “She just came from Riverwood, and Helgen before that. Taking a look at the rebuild, I gather. Said it's going well.”

The other guard went on, “Heard rumors from my da’s cousin in Solitude that they’re cleaning out the Emperor’s Tower. They only do that when he’s coming for a visit. Going to be summer before long. Ice will clear out of the Sea of Ghosts. Trade’s already picking up, they say. Got a ship in from High Rock a couple weeks ago, believe it or not.” Vilkas’ eyebrows rose then he nodded thoughtfully.

Hjalki said, “Anyway, better not keep you. You look beat.”

“That I am,” Vilkas agreed. He went through the gates, feeling a knot of dread in the pit of his stomach. Well of course Bryn would stop here on her way home, if she had stopped in Helgen. Both Ralof and Hadvar’s families lived in Riverwood, so it was a given she would make a stop there as well so the young men could visit. Bryn seldom passed through any Jarl’s territory without making a courtesy call, and she loved Balgruuf. And Farkas and Lydia, and the Companions. And Adrianne, and Danica, and everyone else. With a twinge of nervous nausea he wondered how long she was staying. They hadn’t parted well. They probably never would. He had sworn to Aela on the way home that Jorrvaskr was always open to Bryn, somewhat insulted that his Shield-Sister even needed to bring it up. If Bryn came around he would retreat downstairs to his quarters and give her space so she could enjoy spending time with the other Companions, and with any luck they could avoid having any more difficult confrontations.

As he passed through the marketplace he saw Lydia and Aerin at Carlotta’s stall, no doubt shopping for the components of dinner, and he left them to their business and passed by them unnoticed. When he reached the top of the stairs he saw Hadvar sitting under the ever-blooming branches of the Gildergreen with a dark-haired off-duty guard, but Hadvar didn’t notice him either, too engrossed in what was most likely the making of evening plans; the behavior told Vilkas that the younger man was off-duty as well. 

Vilkas headed to the back of Jorrvaskr, hearing the clash of training weapons and shouts of encouragement, and he laughed quietly in amusement to see Farkas sparring with Ralof. The two men were similar in size, though Farkas was older and heavier, and much, much more skilled. The blonde was good, but to Vilkas’ expert eye it was obvious the lad needed formal training. Bryn couldn’t provide it, having become only passable in handling two-handed weapons, preferring a light sword and shield or double wielding. Vilkas glanced around and saw Mjoll with her arm around Bryn’s shoulders, the two women standing next to Aela, who sat nursing Skjorta in a chair on the porch. Ralof finally lowered his weapon and held up his hand after a particularly resounding whack on the flank from Farkas. The young man wasn’t winded in the slightest, in outstanding shape from his travels with Bryn, but he most likely knew he was completely outmatched.

Vilkas approached the training yard, and Ralof saw him and groaned, covering his eyes. “Harbinger,” he said in embarrassment.

“Aw, come on,” Farkas said, slapping him on the back. “You just need a few pointers.”

“You kicked my pathetic ass. I died a dozen times over.” Farkas had challenged him and in his arrogance he had wanted to see how he would do, and he had not done anywhere near as well as he had imagined. He had known Farkas would be much better than him, and clearly it had been a test, but the Companion had wiped the floor with him. And that Vilkas, the master of two-handed swordplay, had seen the entire thing was humiliating.

“Fourteen times. I counted.” He put the practice sword on his shoulder and said, “Maybe Vilkas can show you a thing or two. How long are you in town?”

Ralof glanced at Bryn, and she stated, “I was planning on leaving in the morning, but we could stay through tomorrow and leave the next day. I don’t mind, if you would like to train with the Harbinger a bit, and he’s available.” She would certainly enjoying spending some time here at Jorrvaskr. She supposed it all depended on how tonight went. She and her men had been invited to dinner by Lydia, Mjoll and Aela, and she was looking forward to it as much as it pained her. She hadn’t set foot inside the mead hall since the day she left Vilkas.

“I am,” Vilkas stated quietly.

“I would pay you for the time and your services.”

“That will not be necessary. He guards the High Queen of Skyrim. It would be my honor.” It was actually rather hurtful that she had offered to pay him. Impersonal. He nodded with his chin to Ralof and said, “Be here by ten in the morning. Do not eat a heavy breakfast or you will regret it.”

Torvar guffawed and said to Ralof, “I hope you kissed your mama goodbye.” The young man looked at Vilkas with trepidation, making Torvar laugh into his mug and Athis snicker.

Mjoll chided, “Leave the lad alone. He clearly has promise if he is good enough to guard our lady Queen.” She let go of Bryn and gave her a hard nudge. “Speaking of which, you promised me a go. No time like the present.”

Bryn grimaced as if to protest but the four junior Companions present cried out in encouragement. Farkas grinned and said, “Come on, little bird! I want to see what kind of wallop you’re packing these days.”

Ralof said in a wary tone, “That eh…may not be the wisest thing to do.”

Mjoll sputtered, “Pshaw. I’m no delicate maiden. I’m not afraid of some bruises or broken bones. She promised me in Riften that I would finally get to spar with her next time I saw her. We both still have our armor on. It is now or never.”

“All right,” Bryn sighed. Ria squealed in delight, clapping her hands together, and Bryn undid her belt and handed her sheathed weapons to the Imperial girl, who took them with wide eyes, Athis and Erik moving closer to take a look at the legendary swords. Bryn went to the rack of practice weapons, where Farkas was returning the wooden greatswords, one of which he handed to Mjoll. Bryn looked over the training weapons and took out two swords, hefting them in her hands then walking out into the open, twirling them.

“Ooh, fancy,” the Lioness teased. “Where did you learn to twirl your swords so prettily, eh? Some dainty Breton?” Bryn couldn’t help laughing at that, which had been Mjoll's aim. Bryn wouldn’t give it her all if she was being uptight, and she was being uptight because of the dark, brooding presence in ebony at the corner of the porch. Mjoll wanted a challenge, and the twins were the only fighters she had met who were.

Bryn smirked at her and said, “My very last teacher was Chief Burguk of Dushnikh Yal, a master trainer in light weapons. He sent me on my way when he had nothing more to teach me. That was a long time ago.”

“Yes yes, you told me that stale old story when we were dismantling the Thieves Guild. Seems to me all you really did was a lot of bow work and sneaking.”

“Ha!”

“So, no Shouting, yeah?” Bryn rolled her eyes, knowing the demand was ridiculous; of course she wouldn’t stack the odds in that way. Mjoll wanted a straight fight, and she wanted to see what her friend could do. It was all in good fun. She said to Aela, “Cover the baby’s eyes, honey. This is going to get bloody.” The gathered Companions laughed at that, including Aela.

“It won’t be my blood,” Bryn countered, adding to Aela, “I hope you still think she’s pretty with a few teeth knocked out.” There was fresh laughter, and when she finally glanced at Vilkas he was leaning against a post at the corner of the porch, Ralof and his brother next to him, all three men smiling. She quickly looked away, wanting to leave it that way.

Torvar leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and said with glee, “By the Nine, I love me a girl fight!”

Bryn performed an elaborate Altmer bow then charged at Mjoll, shouting thunderously, _“Krongrah los dii, Spaan-Briinah!”_

Mjoll moved to block the charge, crying, “I said no Shouting!”

“That isn’t Shouting, it’s yelling,” Farkas said helpfully.

Bryn pulled up her charge short then spun low to catch Mjoll across the back of her knees, making her cry out, and when her friend swung the greatsword she flattened herself then rolled away and up to her feet again. The tip of Mjoll’s sword grazed her upper arm and she knocked it away with her right sword then shoved the tip of her left into Mjoll’s abdomen. Mjoll grunted but her armor blocked any injury, though it was obvious it was a disabling if not killing blow. Bryn backed away, and Mjoll roared and came after her, and when Bryn tried to block her downswing with crossed swords the force of the blow broke through both practice swords. The crossguards stopped the swing from landing, and Bryn had to grit her teeth to stop herself from instinctively Shouting _FUS_ to get her friend off. She could get her off quite easily without Shouting, but she wasn’t sure she could do it without using an excess of force.

Mjoll grinned at her as the two women struggled. “What’s the matter? Trying to figure out how to get out of this, eh?” Mjoll said breathlessly.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Bryn said with worry. “I haven’t sparred in a long time.” She did enough fighting that she didn’t need to.

“Don’t be a baby. Come on and hurt me!” She felt a twinge of misgiving when Bryn’s nostrils flared, and the younger woman dropped away and nearly disappeared for a moment, and before Mjoll could turn to find her she felt something slam into her back, flattening her onto her stomach. She rolled onto her back and grunted as a knee drove into her gut and she found her own sword across her throat.

_“Gahvon, Spaan-Briinah?”_

“What?”

“Do you yield, Shield-Sister?”

“Yes, yes, I yield, miss fancy-pants,” she said good-naturedly. Bryn smiled and pulled her to her feet, kissing her cheek, and Mjoll grinned at her and said, “You fight dirty.”

“I usually fight much dirtier than that. I nearly Shouted you in the face.” She saw movement up at the Skyforge and Eorlund was there watching, and when he bowed to her she smiled at him and gave him a wave. He nodded and went back to work. Bryn handed the wooden greatsword back to Mjoll then held her palm out to her and healed her, though there would have been nothing but a few good bruises to show for their short fight.

“Oh, stop it, stop it,” Mjoll chided her. “What’s a few sore spots?” She nodded towards Vilkas and called to him, “Bryn’s staying for dinner, any problem with that?”

Aela sighed and shook her head, and Vilkas stated in an exasperated tone, “No, I do not have a problem with that. She is still a member of the Circle, still a Companion. Jorrvaskr’s doors are always open to her.” When he looked at Bryn she was looking sideways at him, and when she smiled slightly at him he let out a silent breath along with a small amount of tension. So she was no longer angry with him. That was good, but it was upsetting that she was here, and would be eating dinner in his hall. She hadn’t crossed the threshold since the day she had left him, a day that simultaneously felt ages ago and just yesterday.

He bowed slightly to her then turned away. As he entered the hall he saw Lydia and Aerin had returned and were making dinner, both of them giving him a brief smile as he passed. He returned it as best he could then went downstairs to the living area. He took his time stripping off his armor and storing it neatly; it didn’t need more than a little buffing later, the job with Njada routine and rather dull. She wasn’t particularly fascinating company, either. He headed downstairs to the bathing room, an outrageous luxury that on its own made living here more than worth it. He saw signs that someone had recently been here, probably Njada, and she had picked up after herself, something she was still doing with reluctance, having gotten used to Tilma’s ceaseless efforts to look after everyone. Lydia had no patience for being everyone’s mother, and Aerin didn’t have as much time to tend to Jorrvaskr has he once had, looking into partnering with Ysolda to buy the Bannered Mare from Hulda, who was eager to retire down to Bruma, where her son and grandchildren lived, now that the borders were open, if closely monitored. If Aerin was going to look after people, better to do it for coin in his own business than just a roof over his head.

Vilkas opened the hot and cold water sluices to fill the stone tub then sank into the steaming water with a grateful sigh, leaning back to close his eyes. For a brief moment he briefly entertained a silly fantasy of Bryn wandering in ‘accidentally’, something that of course had a snowball’s chance in Oblivion of happening. The two of them had had many a pleasant interlude down here during the year they were together, and having her here now was certainly making it all fresh again. That small, enigmatic smile she had given him was driving him mad, wondering what it meant, or if it meant anything more than that he was forgiven for going behind her back. There was really no way the smile could mean much, seeing as how she was another man’s wife.

He stayed in the water until his fingers and toes were wrinkled, but he certainly felt clean. He dried and dressed then pulled the drain, washing several days worth of grime down to…wherever it went. He never had figured that out, or had ever found any document in the archives that gave any kind of satisfactory explanation for the advanced heating and plumbing system of Jorrvaskr, or how the ship itself had made it here to the plains, and then had gotten flipped over and turned into the mead hall. He had asked Lydia not long after returning from the wedding a few weeks ago if the Heart would answer questions, and she had shaken her head. It all seemed to go one way. She still wasn’t entirely used to the thing and didn’t particularly like it, but it was hers until another mistress of the hall took her place, fifty- or sixty-odd years from now. Vilkas wasn’t particularly comfortable with the Heart either, wondering just what it felt was worth mentioning, or not. He didn’t really like the notion that it might be telling Lydia every time he whacked off or used the privy.

Dressed and clean, and dreading dinner, Vilkas went back upstairs to the living quarters, wondering if it would be churlish of him to eat downstairs when everyone else would be up in the hall. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t handle eating in the same room with her, though it would be awkward. He knew damn well that his eyes would keep getting drawn to her, over and over again, now that she knew that he had seen the same vision she had, and knew that he had basically handed her over to Ulfric. He hoped she understood why they had misled her, unforgivable as it was in hindsight.

His heart went into his throat as he entered his quarters and saw Bryn standing in front a display case of Dwemer weapons, ones she had seen a thousand times before, her hands clasped behind her. She also looked freshly bathed, her hair still slightly damp at the tips, loose on her shoulders and hanging down her back. She had changed out of her armor into fine clothing of a pale green silk tunic and deep yellow wool pants, her only jewelry her wedding ring and an Amulet of Talos, but it was like none he had ever seen, and he was seeing them more and more often lately. This one was made of gold chased with silver and it hung from a gold chain. No doubt she had made it herself at some point, with the jewelry making skills she had learned from Balimund’s big hands. It was laughable that Vilkas had ever been jealous of the smith, when the much greater threat had come from himself. When Bryn said nothing, Vilkas glanced behind him down the hall, expecting to see Ralof standing guard; he wasn’t. He asked in a tense voice, “Where is Ralof?”

“Enjoying Njada and Ria’s attention in a corner upstairs,” she murmured. “Last I saw they were trying to outdo each other, trying to win his favor. He might as well bed them both at the same time and end the rivalry.” She glanced at him and added, “I offered to let him be my chaperone. I think I embarrassed him. He refused to come down here. He said it wasn’t his place.” She was also fairly certain that Ulfric had talked to him about it before they had left Windhelm; as they were leaving Ralof had looked between his Queen and the Jarl with poorly hidden worry, then Ulfric had shaken his head discreetly, though not discreetly enough to keep Bryn from seeing it. She didn’t doubt that Ulfric had explained the situation as best he could, without mentioning his eventual demise, and had told the young man to trust Bryn’s fidelity and turn a blind eye to everything else and let her and Vilkas be. While she appreciated that, she had hoped to keep Ralof out of it. Hadvar took a more mature view of things and was entirely Bryn’s man, but Ralof saw things in a much more black-and-white manner and loved Ulfric dearly. It had no doubt upset him to hear his Jarl condoning Bryn spending time alone with Vilkas. Well, it had upset Bryn too. She still wasn’t happy about it, but having the last several weeks of travel to ponder the issue had left her resigned to it. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Vilkas while she was away from home, though she missed Ulfric. He had attended her nearly every waking moment during the day and a half that she had been in Windhelm, treating her with the utmost consideration, driving thoughts of Vilkas back. And then she had left home, and her heart and mind constantly betrayed her.

“So what ah…brings you to me?” Bryn shrugged, her cheeks turning faintly pink. Unsettled, he kept it safe and asked, “Find any strange creatures in your travels?”

“Oh yes, quite a few. Things I don’t think you’ve ever seen before.” She turned away to sit in a chair, the one he had been sitting in when she first laid eyes on him. “In the Forgotten Vale we saw Frost Giants, like immense trolls, but they carried clubs as giants do. Each one I killed carried a huge jewel called a Paragon. Five of them. Each unlocked a portal to an otherwise inaccessible area of the Vale. I found Auriel’s Shield in one of them. I commissioned holders for the jewels from Oengul, so I can display them. They’re very pretty.” Vilkas nodded, and she motioned towards the Harbinger’s chair. He licked his lips, hesitating, and she asked, “Do you want to close the doors?”

Taken aback, Vilkas stared at her for a moment, seeing she was blushing again, and he whispered in confusion, “Should I?” She shrugged one shoulder. “Do you want me to?” he pressed.

“I would prefer it, yes.”

The slight tremor to her voice gave him pause, and he pleaded, “Please tell me you aren’t going to lay into me again.”

“No, I’m not. That isn’t what I’m here for.”

“Then what? Because you surely aren’t here to tell me about your adventures.”

“Actually, that is part of it. I wanted to tell you what I saw in Sovngarde. I wanted to tell you about Kodlak. And Ysgramor. Seeing as how you didn’t get my letter telling you any of those things. Or anything else.” She heard him take in a shaky breath then he turned and shut the doors. He kept his back to her, his hands on the handles, and she fiddled with the ebony band on her left ring finger as she quietly stated, “I would have chosen you.”

Shocked, Vilkas cried in dismay, “Don’t tell me that!”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t choose you? Do you know what I nearly did in Sovngarde? Do you know what I nearly did when I came back from there? I climbed the peak of the Throat of the World and stood on the highest point in Tamriel, and I looked down on Whiterun and realized what I had done to you, and I nearly jumped." He made a sound of anguish and ran his fingers back through his wet hair. “My pride was my undoing. _Our_ undoing. I was too proud to tolerate your rejection of my proposal, and too proud to accept when you turned around and said yes, and too proud to face you in person after Sovngarde. I am Dragonborn, the most powerful being in the known world, and why should I go grovel to the man who rejected me?”

“I didn’t reject you,” he choked as he rubbed his eyes. “I…I felt what we had was enough.”

“Yes, I suppose you did. After all, we’re mated for life, aren’t we?”

He laughed bitterly, saying, “Well, I am.”

“And you think I’m not, in my own way?” she countered, getting up from the seat. “What do you think it does to Ulfric to catch me daydreaming about you, from before we ever married? I’ve tried so hard not to, and he’s never given me grief over it, but nothing I do or he does stops it for long. It doesn’t stop me from talking about you in my sleep, where he can hear it, where Divines help me Ralof and Hadvar and Rikke have heard it. I could manage, before the Scrolls, but ever since then it… _haunts_ me, constantly. I keep seeing and feeling it, over and over again, you and the children.” The catch in her voice made him turn sideways to look at her, his eyes damp. Well so were hers.

“Ulfric thinks…he thinks the boy is his.”

“Unfortunately so do I. _Mal kodaav kiir_ …a little bear child.” She folded her arms tightly as she closed her eyes in fresh grief. There was really no concrete reason to think the blond little boy was Ulfric’s, other than her calling him cub, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was. It made her determined to avoid getting pregnant as long as possible. Not that she had the freedom to even try until the Aldmeri Dominion was dealt with. She would give up her long-time dream for a child if it meant keeping Ulfric alive, no matter how much she wanted to be with Vilkas.

“If he is…I would raise him as my own, I swear it. I would take care of you both.” He expected her to break into tears, but she simply sighed miserably and nodded. It was as if she was too worn down or too broken at this point to cry anymore. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Mara forgive me, I’ve fucked up everything, just as I knew I would. I told Farkas I would, and I did.”

“You did much less than I,” she muttered, opening her eyes and looking away.

“I can’t believe you considered killing yourself. Mjoll told me you nearly did in Sovngarde, but she didn’t tell me about the mountain.”

“Because she doesn’t know.” 

“Why didn’t you just come back?” he asked in a tone of mixed sorrow and exasperation. “You would consider killing yourself but you couldn’t face me? Why?”

“Why? Look at me! Listen to me! Why do you think?” 

Vilkas’ eyes widened in offense. “So you thought I would think you’re a freak, is that it? When have I ever turned away from what you are? When Mjoll came here she explained what happened, why your eyes and voice changed. We heard you here, clear as a bell. I wept when I heard that and realized you were still alive. I kept hoping you would come back, give me some sign that we could fix things. Maybe I should have gone to see you, but you turned away from me that last time. I knew why, but I thought maybe it was permanent. If you had at least let Mjoll say something to me I would have gone to you.” She didn’t defend herself, trembling slightly, not meeting his eyes. He waited, and when nearly half a minute had gone by he prompted in frustration, “Well?”

“I hate what I am. I still do.”

He sighed in understanding and went to her, unable to avoid it any longer. He put one hand on her shoulder and tilted up her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes. He made a sound of frustrated longing and stroked her cheek, enjoying being able to touch her again after so long. Her eyes were startling this close up, so bright and shining that it seemed they would glow in the dark, but they were Divine-touched, beautiful. He quietly said, “Just because you hate it doesn’t mean anyone else does. I would not have turned away from you. I never will.” He sucked in a startled breath as she whimpered and threw herself against him, putting her arms around his waist. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders as he leaned his head against hers, whispering, “Ah love, what have we done to each other…” She laid her head on his shoulder, the only woman he had ever met tall enough to do so. She fit against him so perfectly. He was well aware that she could feel his growing desire between them but found it impossible to care. So what if she was Ulfric’s wife? It was only because Vilkas had stupidly given her to him, and she had been Vilkas’ first. She was still his. This was only a temporary separation. He felt a twinge of sudden panic as she pressed her stomach against his groin at the same time that she hugged the small of his back, and he whispered, “Sweet Dibella, don’t do that! You will get us both in trouble!”

“There won’t be any trouble,” she murmured against his neck. “Ulfric knows.”

“Wh-what?” Vilkas groaned as her hands went inside his shirt and he felt her bare hands on his skin. She kissed his neck then nipped at it, making him shudder.

“He said I could do whatever I wanted, short of sleeping with you.”

“But…that’s still…” he choked, feeling her hands slide up his ribs. When she touched her lips to his, his head reared back as he protested, “It is still wrong!”

“Why?”

“Because you’re another man’s wife!”

“Does it feel like I am, _grohiiki?_ Or does it feel like I’m yours?”

“It doesn’t matter what I feel!”

She let go of him and growled, “Or what I feel, apparently!” He sighed and shook his head helplessly, and she made a hissing sound of irritation and frustration, feeling herself aching with unmet need. She moved away from him and went for the door, saying, “You say you would never turn away from me and not a moment later you do!”

Vilkas put his hand on the door, stopping her. “I did _not_ turn away from you. I kept you from being unfaithful to your husband, and kept myself from sullying my honor. It does not matter that it feels as if you’re still mine, you wear another man’s ring on your finger. You took vows—“

“Under false pretenses!”

“They were vows all the same.”

“Do you know what he told me? The day we got home? He told me if I wanted to see you from time to time that he would look the other way. He asked if it would even be infidelity or an affair, considering our situation. I told him he was out of his mind, that I understood what marriage meant to Nords, and as relieved as he was, still, he told me again that he thought it would be good for me if I saw you once in a while, that I could have you any way I wanted as long as I didn’t have actual sex with you. He wouldn’t let it go. He convinced me that it wasn’t a big deal, and for the last three weeks it was all I could think about, and I come here willing to let it happen and you tell me no?”

“Because it is wrong even with his permission,” Vilkas insisted. Still, it was shocking to hear, that Ulfric had given it. The other man was probably just happy that Bryn wasn’t going to leave him over his part in the lie and was willing to take whatever he could get out of what was left of his marriage. “What kind of hell did you put him through on the way back to Windhelm that made him agree to such a thing?” Bryn’s nostrils flared furiously, and he went on in disapproval, “You did, didn’t you. Of course he agreed to whatever he thought would win back your favor, if you spent the entire trip home yelling at him.”

“I did _not_ yell at him! I didn’t speak to him or even look at him—“

“That’s even worse.” She glared at him with her jaw clenched, trembling with anger and upset, and he reached for her as he sighed, “Don’t be so upset—“ She stepped back out of his reach. “Damn it, Bryn!”

“Don’t touch me. Never touch me again.”

“I wasn’t going to start anything. I never intended to the first time, either.”

“It will no matter what you do. You think you can put your hands on me and nothing will happen?”

“I only wanted to comfort you, and myself,” he said in a pleading voice.

“I’m not what I was, Vilkas. I may dislike what I am, but I’ve accepted what I am, and since I read the Scrolls it’s only gotten worse. You can’t rile the dragon and heat my blood then simply step away. _Dovah smoliin uznahgaar._ It doesn’t work like that. I don’t work like that. Not anymore.” He swallowed as he nodded then shivered the slightest bit, though it seemed equal parts anxiety and desire. Yes, he would respond to her aggression just as she wanted, if he were free to do so, and if she were free, but they weren’t. He was right about that. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead, trying to let go of her anger. _“Horvutah,”_ she muttered tiredly. _“Mahfaeraak horvutah. Niid drem. Tahrodiis kodaav.”_

Vilkas reached out and took her left hand, making her eyes fly open, and she tensed to pull away but he shook his head. “No. We can give ourselves this much.” She gazed at him painfully, and when he began to knead her palm she blew out a long breath then closed her eyes again. He could feel the tension leaving her by the second. Farkas had always had a knack for calming her with a shoulder rub or an enveloping hug, but holding her hand was all Vilkas dared. He gently tugged her over to sit back down in the chair, and he dragged his over to sit in front of her and took both her hands in his and continued rubbing her palms. “What did you say just then?”

“Dragon passion unbridled,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “Forever trapped. No peace. Treacherous bear.”

“He did it out of love for you,” he reminded her. “We both did, stupid as it was.”

“I know that.”

“I do love you.”

“Ah, _grohiiki_ …I love you too,” she whispered. She felt a light peck on her forehead and nearly protested it, but couldn’t find it in her to do so. She kept her eyes shut, unable to bear the thought of that perfect face so close to hers. So close and yet inaccessible. “You and your damn honor.”

Vilkas laughed quietly and said, “You will be glad for it when you get home and can look at Ulfric with a clean conscience.”

She grumbled, “Yes.” She could already see the relief that would be on her husband’s face when he realized nothing happened. No matter how he loved her, no man in his right mind wanted to share his wife. Like it or not, it would have wounded Ulfric if she had carried through on his offer. It was rather ironic that Vilkas had been the one to see things clearly. She hadn’t been able to see or feel with any clarity since reading the Elder Scrolls. The damned Dragon Scroll was still in her backpack, up in Dragonsreach, taunting her with the offer of more visions of a happy future with her beloved and their children. There was no way in hell she was giving in to the abominable thing.

“Tell me about Sovngarde, and Kodlak. And Ysgramor. All of it.”

“I’ll tell everyone at dinner. If you sit by me.”

“Yes love, I will sit by you,” he promised.

“I wish I knew what happened to the letter.”

“That is something I don’t think we will ever know.” He paused then stated, “Lydia thinks it was your ‘friend’ who sent you those letters.” Bryn’s eyes flew open in shock, and he frowned and asked, “She didn’t say anything?”

“No, we had too many other things to talk about.”

“It was only a theory, but one that has merit, I think. If my letter was with the one to Lydia and Farkas…”

“Yes, they were bundled together. With a string.” She reached up with one hand to clutch the amulet, one that Lortheim had blessed and enchanted for her. As she stared past Vilkas at the closed doors she couldn’t help thinking he and Lydia were right. It would take some sort of supernatural agency to separate the letters and make Vilkas’ disappear. Talos had supposedly appeared to the Nerevarine once, as an avatar, and had given him a lucky septim. The Divines did send avatars to Nirn from time to time, to accomplish directly that which otherwise might not get done. It wasn’t far-fetched to imagine the courier running across an older man on the road, maybe sharing a campsite with him for the night, then going on his way the next morning one letter short. And why wouldn’t Talos prefer the Dragonborn to be with Ulfric Stormcloak, the man who had fought and suffered so for his cause?

“Well…what did it say?”

She frowned and kept her eyes off his face as she said with some difficulty, “That I was sorry for hurting you, and still loved you and would marry you if you would have me. Or just go back to how things were if that was what you wanted. I asked you to write me back, or just come to Riften, and…”

“And I never showed up,” he whispered sadly. “What you must have thought of me.” As Mjoll had said, Bryn had waited, and prayed, and had finally given up and had gone straight to Ulfric. What an insane mess, the extent of which only became clearer the more Vilkas talked to the two of them. Of course it all could have been avoided if he had just said yes to her proposal, or better yet asked her himself when he had first wanted to, which in hindsight had been all the way back when she had gotten so gravely wounded by that bandit’s arrow. He would never forgive himself for it, not even when she was finally his again. In order for that to happen Ulfric had to die. It was a cruel thing to have to look forward to; the price was too high.

“Water under the bridge.” Bryn sighed heavily, and when she felt Vilkas’ hand on her cheek she leaned into it, putting her own hand over it, and when she looked up at him he was staring at her with an expression of grief. “What am I going to do?” she asked in a plaintive tone. “I don’t want to go home. Windhelm doesn’t feel like home. Whiterun does, even Riften does, but not Windhelm!” Even Solitude was warmer and more welcoming than Windhelm, and it wasn’t just because of the weather.

“And how much time have you spent there?” he countered in a soothing tone. He took both her hands in his and held them, answering for her, “A week at a time at most. You’ve had no time at all to make the place your own, the Palace or the city. You have no other adventures lined up, so spend your time doing what you feel you need to in order to make it your home. Ulfric has enjoyed his bachelor life long enough.” Bryn didn’t laugh at his joke. “Whatever you dislike about Windhelm, change it. If Ulfric doesn’t like it, too damn bad. If he was willing to share you with me, he should be willing to do whatever you want to make you comfortable in his city. It became your city as well when he married you, and he already knew then that you disapproved of how he ran it.”

She nodded slowly, feeling some of her helplessness ebb. Yes, whipping Windhelm into shape would be a project worthy of her. Winterhold wasn’t far from Windhelm, less than a day’s sail, so she could go there a few days a month to continue her studies at the College and provide some encouragement for Korir’s rebuilding efforts, which seemed to have stalled lately due to his wife’s disapproval. She had visited all the holds and all the Jarls within the last month and a half, so she could finally settle in to Windhelm and get down to the real business of being High Queen…whatever that was. Rikke had filled in for her long enough. She tried to smile as she said, “Surely I won’t have to give up adventuring entirely.”

“I am sure you won’t. You are still as much a magnet for trouble as always.” She smiled more fully at him, and he sighed and squeezed her hands as he leaned forward to press his lips against her forehead. He smelled the lavender in her hair and tried to find some peace in the moment. There was peace between them, and that was what mattered. He would get by the same as before, would still be lonely, but with a clear head. He could only hope that his beloved found some way to clear her own.  
-  
“Her Majesty returned night before last, my lord.”

“Aye,” Ulfric said with a nod, and as he went through the city gates he felt his stomach start to churn with the anxiety he had tried so fruitlessly to stifle for the last couple weeks. He had been fine when Bryn left for Castle Volkihar, and pleased when she had written him from Solitude telling him that the vampire Lord Harkon was utterly destroyed along with his minions, that she and Serana had retrieved Valerica from the Soul Cairn and the two vampire women would be cleaning up the bloody mess that was the island, and that Bryn would be staying in Elisif’s city for several days to visit with Tullius and attempt once more to meet with Elisif. She had written him again a week later saying she was in Markarth and would spend about a week in the Reach visiting Igmund’s court and looking into the Forsworn problem more closely; when next she had written she was in Falkreath, in Dengeir’s hall, and intended to pass through Helgen then Riverwood then Whiterun on the way home. 

That was the last he had heard of her, and ever since then he had been plagued with thoughts of her in Whiterun. In Vilkas’ city. In Vilkas’ hall. In Vilkas’ quarters. In Vilkas’ arms. He had tried desperately to shake off the thoughts, telling himself that he had given her permission, that he had caused all this in the first place by lying to her, trapping her in a marriage that she would not have entered into if given the choice. He knew damn well she would have chosen Vilkas. It had gotten so bad that Galmar had finally gotten sick of his brooding and had forced him into a long hunting trip with some of the men in the Velothi Mountains to the east. Galmar had no idea that Ulfric had made Bryn that offer, or had told Ralof to ignore any signs that she was taking him up on said offer. That Ulfric feared his best friend might find out should have told him how stupid the idea had been. Well, it was done, and there was no taking it back. He would have to live with this decision the way he had to live with every other he had ever made.

Ulfric paused in surprise at the steps leading up to the courtyard in front of the palace, and Galmar grunted and said, “Suppose it had to get done sooner or later.” A mixed Nord and Dunmer crew, mostly Dunmer, were at work resetting the stones, many of which had been askew or missing for decades if not centuries; Captain Lonely-Gale and Brunwulf Free-Winter were supervising, and while the Nord and Dunmer workers kept casting cold or suspicious glances at each other they were working silently and efficiently. Rikke had told Galmar and Jorleif that Bryn wanted Windhelm ‘cleaned up’ at some point but hadn’t given specifics; it seemed she had finally provided some. Galmar had to admit it was a decent idea, though for folk who had lived here their entire lives it simply hadn’t occurred to them.

Brunwulf and Lonely-Gale noticed the Jarl’s presence and bowed to Ulfric, glancing at each other warily, and he nodded to them and hesitated before reluctantly saying, “This was well overdue.”

“Aye my Jarl,” both men answered in relief.

He took a deep breath and continued on his way, unable to find fault with the project. Everyone was so used to much of the stonework inside the city being damaged or off-kilter that it was never really noticed. He supposed to Bryn’s objective gaze, and probably Rikke’s as well, the city looked like it was falling apart. The outer walls and defenses were always pristine, and Ulfric had always considered that enough. He had always thought Balgruuf a fool for not spending the time and money to fix Whiterun’s walls, though Bryn had told Ulfric that the inside of the city was well-maintained and the folk well-fed and content for the most part. He had been used to thinking in terms of war for so long that that was how his priorities had been arranged. Even his father Fjonnar had always ignored certain things. Well, if Bryn wanted to make repairs it was her prerogative; she was Lady of Eastmarch and Windhelm as much as she was High Queen. Jorleif would keep her apprised of what funds were available, and she of course had plenty of her own.

As he entered the courtyard he saw that the bronze memorial plaques to prior High Kings had been cleaned and were now fully legible. He snorted a laugh to himself and entered the Palace, and the sound of his party’s entry drew Bryn’s attention out of the sitting room. She smiled happily at the sight of him and came towards him with Rikke on her heels, and a gut-wrenching surge of jealousy went through him at how cheerful she looked. She was so beautiful with her hair loose around her shoulders, wearing a light bluish-green dress with a leather bodice and soft boots. Jorleif called for the servants to set up a bath for the Jarl, and Bryn met him halfway across the hall while half the guards headed down to the barracks and the other half carried the week’s game to the kitchens. Galmar greeted Rikke with a big hug then she cried out and swatted at him for how he smelled, which couldn’t be any worse than how Ulfric smelled after a week in the wilds.

Bryn stopped short of hugging Ulfric, seeing him blinking more than he should, the muscles along his jaw twitching. It was obvious what was wrong, and it made her grateful for the thousandth time to Vilkas for stopping her from doing the unforgivable. She made a sound of sorrow and murmured, _“Nid krosis, ahmuli. Zu’u drey ni nok voth grohiiki. Zu’u los nunon hin rekdovah, mahfaeraak.”_ He closed his eyes briefly, letting out a shuddering breath, then he swept her into a hug and held her tightly. She could feel him trembling with relief, and it made her ill to think of how close she had come to betraying him. _Kogaan, grohiiki,_ she thought fervently. Blessings to Vilkas for guarding his honor, and hers. She whispered in Ulfric's ear, “He asked me what the happiest day of my life was, and I told him the truth: the day I married you.” Vilkas had known that when he asked her, too. Ulfric made a choking sound and tightened his hold on her. After a while he finally loosened his grip, and she petted his cheeks, seeing his eyes were shining damply. “I like this,” she murmured, stroking the full beard he wore. It made him look a little older, but it was very masculine, very Nord, and very flattering.

“I will keep it then,” he replied quietly. He stared into her eyes, seeing only a little sadness, and none of the edge that had been there when she left. He whispered, “Ah, my treasure. You are too fine for me.” She shook her head, not dignifying his statement with an answer. He saw Rikke and Galmar going upstairs hand in hand, and he let them have a head start, leaning close to kiss his wife lingeringly, their arms still around each other. When he pulled back to look her in the eyes again he asked, “Were you able to visit with him, at least?”

“Yes. We said what had to be said, in private. We held hands, and he kissed me on the forehead. That was all.” He nodded, fresh relief in his expression as he smiled at her. She left it at that; it would hurt him terribly to hear that she had literally thrown herself at Vilkas like some cheap tart. What mattered was that nothing ended up happening. “We sat by each other at dinner, in Jorrvaskr. All the Companions were there and I told them about Sovngarde, and Kodlak and Ysgramor. It was… wonderful. Like old times.” Ralof had just about been splitting at the seams, he was so proud to be feasting with the Companions, and he had ended up with both Njada and Ria that night, in Skjor’s old room, though she had to wonder just how stellar the performance was as drunk as all three of them were. He had been extremely subdued the next morning though, and Vilkas had nearly forced him to train with a hangover to teach him a lesson; Lydia had taken pity on the young man and dosed him with some potions. Bryn had slept up at Dragonsreach, Farkas walking her back that night like a gentleman, and she had spent the day around Whiterun visiting and feeling only a little sad. Each day after that had gotten better, imagining what Ulfric’s reaction would have been. Seeing it just now certainly drove home how idiotic it would have been to dally with Vilkas in any way.

“I’m glad.”

“Vilkas spent half the next day training Ralof, as a favor.”

“Ah. Yes. The lad is good, but nothing can replace formal training, especially with a Master. Perhaps we can have him train with Torbjorn Shatter-Shield here, if the man ever sobers up. He is no Vilkas, but he was a great warrior when he was young.” He put his arm around her and headed towards the sitting room, seeing servants carrying the tub upstairs. It would take them some time to heat water and fill the tub, so he would sit and talk to his wife for a while in the meantime.

Watching the servants go, Bryn said wistfully, “I wish we had some way of making a bathing room like Jorrvaskr has.”

“My father’s mother, when I was a wee lad, told me that her grandfather told her when she was small that his own grandfather had once said that the Palace was heated and had a bathing room, long ago, but an earthquake damaged the systems and they never worked again. I’ve been over every inch of this place and have never seen evidence of a bathing room, or any heating system, but perhaps it was removed and the room converted into something else. The Atmorans were a great people; it is impossible to say what knowledge they had that we have lost.” Bryn nodded thoughtfully, and he patted her on the backside and said, “I’ll get washed up soon enough, precious. Then I’m going to pound you into that bed.”

She laughed and replied, “You had better, _ahmuli.”_

_“Geh, hin ahmul.”_

She sighed and smiled sadly at him, leaning in to kiss his weathered cheek. _“Geh, nunon ahmuli.”_ At least for as long as she had him.


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: talk about Ulfric's past traumas in more detail. I thought I would mention it in advance as I have read that some people can be 'triggered' by such things.

Only a slight sweatiness to Ulfric’s palms betrayed his unease as he led Bryn down the gangplank from the small boat they had hired to bring them to Solitude. The Emperor’s ship Katariah bobbed in the waters of the Karth River, patrolled by sharp-eyed soldiers of the Penitus Oculatus, some of whom watched their small group with ill-disguised suspicion, particularly Bryn. She found it somewhat amusing, considering how very little she wanted the Emperor’s position or responsibilities. Her own were quite enough. 

While it had been wonderful to spend the last nearly two months at home in Windhelm with her husband, it was quickly becoming apparent to her just how unexciting and sometimes frustrating the position of High Queen really was. She had expected when she took the job that she probably wouldn’t enjoy it, but she hadn’t expected quite the level of tedium that she had encountered. The letters never seemed to end, though Rikke did a fantastic job of sorting them for her and leaving her only those that needed her personal attention; Rikke also was quite efficient at dealing with visitors before they ever got to Bryn, though to be fair the visitors had been few so far, most people too intimidated by the Dragonborn to risk irritating her by wasting her time. She had resolved some land disputes that the Jarls hadn’t been able to settle, and she had entertained a trio of diplomats from High Rock a week ago, the other province eager to resume trade with Skyrim. That visit had been somewhat interesting, and she hoped productive, though she had found the Bretons’ overly-refined mannerisms slightly annoying. Well, they had no doubt considered her a barbarian, no matter who had raised her. She had thought about sending letters of introduction and offers of the discussion of trade with Hammerfell and the remains of Morrowind, however Rikke had counseled waiting until she spoke with the Emperor, which Ulfric had reluctantly agreed was the best course of action. 

The only break in the tedium had been a long weekend in Winterhold for more magical training, and a small side trip to visit Septimus Signus’ outpost, north of Winterhold, to return the essence extractor. Bryn had been carrying around the gruesome device for collecting Elven blood for some time, debating what to do with it, and had finally figured she might as well get rid of it. She had told Ralof and Hadvar to wait outside, and after the horror of what had occurred inside she was glad she had. The poor crazy old man was nothing but a pile of dust now, thanks to Hermaeus Mora, and Bryn’s head was stuffed with a great many things that she really wished she could take back. Useful things, to be sure, but nothing she was going to tell anyone about. She had sold the nasty book to Urag and hoped it never came up again. She also hoped that Hermaeus Mora had gotten the message that she was not in the least interested in his patronage.

Ulfric let go of her hand once she was on the dock, and he reminded her in a murmur, “You will walk two steps ahead of me.”

“Yes darling,” she agreed, trying not to sigh. Her husband’s first visit to the city of Solitude since Torygg’s death two years ago was causing him a fair amount of anxiety, mostly due to his fears that his appearing here at her side would rile the folk that up to now had viewed her favorably. He feared nothing for himself. Bryn wasn’t entirely sure what she would do if the citizens started harassing her husband, though she doubted they would with her present. Some in Solitude considered Ulfric a hero, minority that they were. Elisif wasn’t about to be out walking the streets, where she surely would cause a scene. She had again refused to meet with Bryn the last time the Queen had come to Solitude, not long after she had defeated Harkon; Bryn had gotten fed up and had commanded her presence, the first time she had ever done such a thing, and when the sullen girl had appeared Bryn had let her know quite clearly that her behavior was childish and unbecoming of a Jarl and that no doubt Tullius found her a terrible disappointment. It had been stated harshly, but Bryn had no patience for the girl’s continued grudge. It wasn't as if Bryn had ever wronged Elisif. If Elisif kept it up she would find herself replaced by her steward. If Falk wasn't already carrying on a not-so-secret affair with Bryling it would be a tidy solution for him to just marry Elisif and run the hold openly.

Galmar scanned the cliffs above the harbor, seeing them lined with citizens and soldiers, and he growled, “Damn, I don’t like this, Ulfric.” His Jarl had tried leaving him behind again and he had refused. He was his Jarl’s housecarl and by Talos he was going to do his job. The two Queen’s Guards were along and wouldn’t allow anything to happen to Ulfric, nor would Rikke, right behind her lady in full steel plate armor, but crowds could turn all too easily. Even Galmar had been convinced to give up his bear armor and wear steel plate instead, not about to antagonize anyone with a Stormcloak officer’s uniform. He was changing back into it the moment they got home though.

“There will be no mob today, Galmar,” Bryn stated.

“I’m more concerned about a knife or arrow in the back.”

“If it happens I will be there to deal with it.”

Galmar nodded and said curtly, “Aye, my lady.” The High Queen would make the perpetrator wish he or she had never been born, but still, Galmar wanted to avoid it in the first place. This was Elisif’s city, if not as devoted a city as it once was. The girl hadn’t lived up to her promise, which in Galmar’s mind had been little to begin with. Falk Firebeard was the one who truly ruled here, and everyone knew it; Tullius had distanced himself from Elisif after her insane behavior at the Moot, and rumor had it that he might return to Cyrodiil with the bulk of his troops after the Emperor left Skyrim. He had only come to Skyrim to begin with to quell Ulfric’s rebellion, and Bryn’s reign seemed to be quiet and stable so far. She never did end up having to flush out and disperse the lingering groups of Stormcloak soldiers; the commanders had spread out on their own and had made it clear to them that they would be considered bandits if they didn’t go home and the Dragonborn herself would deal with them, and that had been enough to get through to most of them. The few that hadn’t complied had probably fallen in with bandit groups and were as good as dead.

The few East Empire Company workers at the dock bowed as Bryn passed. Vittoria Vici was nowhere to be seen, no doubt up in the Emperor’s Tower visiting her cousin Titus Mede II. Bryn was fairly nervous about the meeting, afraid she was going to embarrass Skyrim in some way. She had gotten used to the somewhat rough, informal ways of Nords but her Altmeri manners had never entirely left her, and she hoped they would come in useful tomorrow when she dined with the Emperor. It was going to be an awkward meeting no matter what, since Ulfric was going to be there, the invitation extended to ‘the High Queen’s consort’, and Tullius would be there as well. No, Ulfric was not at all looking forward to sitting down to eat at the same table as two of the men he still blamed for a great many things, but he hadn’t tried to get out of it, or the visit to Solitude, and had sworn he would be on his best behavior, something Bryn would never ask and that he had volunteered.

Their group of six made their way up the hill and to the gates of Solitude without incident, and while a great number of whispers and mutters were heard amongst the cheers for the Queen, no one shouted at Ulfric or threw anything at him, which Bryn was grateful for. She honestly wasn’t sure how she would have dealt with such a thing. The people had every right to how they felt about Ulfric. Even he accepted that. Galmar didn’t, still, but he followed where Ulfric led. Ulfric was doing everything he could during this trip to avoid any appearance of leading Bryn, hence his insistence that she walk before him. She didn’t like her husband following at her heels like a war bride, but if he was fine with it then she wasn’t going to argue it.

When they reached Proudspire Manor, they found a flustered Jordis standing in the living room. Bryn greeted her with an embrace then asked, “What’s wrong?”

“My lady, ah…” The housecarl licked her lips then cleared her throat as Ulfric entered the house. At least she had been expecting that. “Jarl Ulfric,” she said with a deep bow. “I am honored to welcome you to Proudspire Manor, my lord.”

“The honor is mine,” he replied. He looked around the house and nodded in approval, thinking the young woman would relax, but clearly he wasn’t the problem. “This is a splendid home, Brynhilde,” he said to his wife. It was fit for a noble, a decent size and well-appointed, but comfortable.

“Yes, I’ve always been very comfortable here,” Bryn replied. It wasn’t quite a lie; the house itself was fine, if a bit awkward in layout. It was being in Elisif’s city that grated on her somewhat. She had been warmly welcomed here until it became apparent that she might become High Queen, and then some folk had become stilted and stand-offish around her, if always polite. She didn’t have that problem anywhere else, and folk in Whiterun treated her nearly the same as they always had. She wondered when she would have the opportunity to visit there again, and honestly couldn’t say when she would. She still missed Vilkas a great deal, every day, but her duties kept her busy, as did the continuing work on Windhelm and her plans to build homes in the remaining holds where she didn’t have one. She had the sneaking suspicion that Ulfric planned to give her Hjerim for her twenty-ninth birthday next month but had let him have his surprise so as not to ruin it for him. She could definitely use the house to host visitors, with space nearly non-existent in the palace. She wasn’t sure how Jorleif’s people were going to get the bloody mess in that house cleaned up, but she had faith in the steward.

Jordis turned her attention back to Bryn and said with concern, “My lady, visitors came last night. Imperial visitors. I tried to turn them away but they said they came on behalf of the Emperor. They stayed here and didn’t go into the rest of the house, but…well, look.”

Her housecarl took her arm and led her around the corner to a rarely-used area, and Bryn’s breath caught as she took in what were obviously gifts. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the large stone tub by the window, and she felt tears prick at her eyes as she slowly knelt in front of it. It was filled with fresh water, and at the center floated a sacred lotus plant, graced with one perfect white flower and several unopened buds. She leaned forward and buried her nose in it, the scent not strong but absolutely heavenly, like nothing else on Nirn. The smell of her childhood. She had spent many a lazy afternoon staring into the decorative pools in the Imperial City, watching the tiny fish dart about and smelling the lotuses.

Ulfric’s jaw clenched as he fought not to get angry, or at least not angry enough to embarrass his wife, knowing damn well where the plant had come from and what it must have taken to get it here alive on a ship. There were several boxes that contained gods knew what, and if there was any jewelry or other expensive items in there he was going to say something to the Emperor and manners be damned. Bryn had paid Skyrim’s tribute out of her own coin and-- A sharp nudge from Galmar broke him out of his increasingly aggravated thoughts, and he went to his wife, kneeling by her. He caught the faint perfume of the lily and it made him want to gag, his memories of the Imperial City not pleasant at all. He put his hand on Bryn’s back, seeing her straighten up with tears in her eyes. He quietly prompted, “Why do you think he did this?”

“There could be many reasons, only some of which I appreciate,” she answered in kind. She felt him relax at that. Well, she wasn’t as naïve as she had once been. A year ago she would have been charmed by the gesture; now all she could wonder was if it was meant to throw her off kilter. She decided to believe for now that it had been meant to gain her favor, one of the more palatable reasons. She sighed and ran her fingers over the fleshy white petals, each perfectly shaped, and caught a fresh burst of fragrance. There was a pot under the water that the lotus was rooted in, and she hoped that it lived, while fearing it wouldn’t. It was a warm-weather plant, and it might not get enough light from the window here to survive. Well, it was the gesture that counted, whatever that gesture meant.

Jordis touched Bryn’s shoulder to get her attention then held out a small wooden box to her as she said in an uneasy tone, “My lady, the men insisted you get this first.”

Bryn took the box, and she pried the lid open then her eyes widened in surprise as she stood. Ulfric stood with her, and when he looked inside the box he frowned then wrinkled his nose, irritated all over again. “Strawberries,” he said flatly. Big, fat, juicy, exotic strawberries that could only grow in warm lands. Alpine strawberries grew in some places here in Skyrim, but the animals nearly always got to them first, and they were tiny and tart.

“I love strawberries,” she murmured. She couldn’t imagine how they had made it here unspoiled. “My aunt…she would make me a bowl of strawberries and cream, when my uncle and cousin were out. As a treat, when I had been good.” She took one out, watching the light glisten on the tender red flesh of the fruit, then she brought the box up to her nose and breathed deeply. It smelled like summer in Cyrodiil. She moved to pop it in her mouth then Jordis made a sound of alarm and stopped her.

“My lady, what if it’s poisoned?” she asked with worry.

Frowning, Bryn asked, “What would the point of that be?” She couldn’t say any more than that without giving away that Titus Mede II had wanted her to be High Queen. Might want her to become Empress. She went on, “Even if it was poisoned, it won’t kill me, Jordis, but thank you for your concern. I’ve spent so long mixing potions and working with poisons that they don’t do me much harm anymore.” The housecarl removed her hand and Bryn put the strawberry in her mouth, closing her eyes as she moaned softly in delight. It was so soft, so sweet. Perfect. The only thing more perfect would be if it was floating in a spoonful of thick cream. She swallowed and sighed happily, opening her eyes, seeing the others all watching her with concern, except for Rikke. She offered the box and everyone shook their heads. Well, all the more for her then.

Rikke stated, “I would, my Queen, but I’m allergic. I’d be covered in hives within minutes.” She decided to take the situation in hand and went to Bryn. “Let’s open the rest of the boxes, my lady. What do you want to bet they’re all things that can only be found in Cyrodiil?”

“Yes, you’re probably right,” she said in resignation. “I wonder if his people spoke to my aunt or grandmother?” The way Rikke’s contacts had.

“I wouldn’t put it past them, my lady. In fact they would have been fools not to do so.” She opened another box while Bryn greedily ate one berry after another, and a wonderful citrusy smell rose out of the box a moment later.

“Oranges!” Bryn said in delight. A good dozen oranges, carefully packed in straw, and there was no way she could eat them all. “All right, you’re all going to help me eat these, at least.” She picked up one and threw it to Hadvar, who grinned and took out a small utility knife to start peeling it, the easy way he did it telling her he had eaten them many a time in the south while in the Legion. She held one out to her husband and he folded his arms.

“No,” Ulfric stated, “I will not.” Bryn shrugged and tossed one to Ralof who looked at it in confusion then took out his knife and followed Hadvar’s lead. The Jarl went on in an irritated tone, “He is not one for subtlety, is he. All these things that are commonplace in Cyrodiil yet never seen up here. Things from your childhood. Perhaps he has your aunt stashed somewhere.”

“None of these boxes are big enough. I’d be happy to find my cousin’s head in one though.” Her husband wasn’t amused. “Really darling, do you think some fruit and a plant are going to make me want to move to the Imperial City? I’m sure that all these things are meant to do is make me view his intentions favorably. It’s no different than the dagger I made him. A simple gift. At least I made the dagger myself. He just had some flunkies do all this.” Ulfric grumbled but said nothing more, and when Bryn held an orange out to him again he stared at her for a moment then took it, unable to resist, and when she held another out to Rikke she shook her head in regret.

“Those too, my lady,” Rikke stated unhappily. Pears would have made her happy though. She had loved pears while stationed in the south. Bryn tossed an orange to Galmar who glanced at Ulfric, and when he saw Ulfric eating his he tore into his own with gusto. One small box was left, and Bryn set aside the now-empty strawberry box to take this one from Rikke. It was small but had some heft to it.

Bryn pried open the box to find it full of wool batting, protecting something. She carefully pulled it away then her mouth went round with amazement as she saw the precious thing inside. She took it out tenderly then held it by the base, stunned speechless. It was a dragon carved of mammoth ivory, stylized and smooth-skinned but for two horns, a beautiful, creamy white color, with eyes of pure gold, and a gold crown circled its head. It sat with one foreclaw raised, its tail wrapped around its feet, wings slightly raised from its back, lovely but commanding. Majestic. It wasn’t a proper dragon, with its extra appendages, but it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She could truly say without a doubt that she had never beheld anything more gorgeous in her entire life, other than the sight of her _zeymahhe_ gathered at the peak of the Throat of the World.

“Perfect,” Ulfric muttered angrily. Even as aggravated as he was, he could see the thing was priceless, one of a kind. A gift fit for an Empress. The dragon was the Empress, because it was obvious that the dragon was meant to represent Bryn. Bryn was completely enchanted by the gift, as anyone would be. If Ulfric had ever found such a thing he would have paid any price to have it for his wife. Unlike the fruit and lotus, this was not a simple gift. This was outrageously valuable, something that had no doubt taken weeks if not months to carve, full of meaning, something for Bryn to ponder until the meeting tomorrow. Ulfric hated the Emperor for it. The only comfort he could take from it all was that the Elder Scrolls had stolen Titus Mede II’s thunder and nothing much that the Emperor could say would come as a shock. At least Ulfric hoped so.

Ulfric simmered all through dinner, simmered as he watched Rikke braid Bryn’s long, pale blond hair, still wet from the bath, into rows so that by dinner tomorrow it could be taken down and would lay over her shoulders in sunny waves, something he had seen only once, at their wedding. Bryn joined him on the balcony to watch the sun set over the sea, feeling her head and wincing at the tightness of it, and he muttered, “You go to too much effort for someone who does not deserve it.”

“Rikke tells me that I often neglect one of my most potent weapons,” she replied as she leaned on the stone wall next to him.

“It is much more potent than you realize,” he said with irritated concern. “Do not charm the man too much, or you will find him pursuing you, and he will not care that you are married, or even that you are married to me.” The Emperor was widely known to be a womanizer, of women both single and not. And of course the man would feel Ulfric owed him, for pardoning him. All Ulfric could hope was that Titus Mede would find her too intimidating to dream of bedding. Bryn would never agree to it, but Mede could make her life miserable if she didn't.

“I care, and it will get him nowhere. I don’t plan on charming him. I’ll be wearing full dragonscale armor and both swords. He isn’t a Nord. Colovians like more feminine women.”

Dismayed, Ulfric said, “You are quite feminine. There are different kinds of femininity. Do not measure yourself against the whiny milk drinker that inhabits the Blue Palace.” Which was all too close to here. He knew damn well that part of his foul mood was simply being here, close to the scene of his greatest crime, so to speak. He deeply disliked being in Solitude, but there was no way in hell his wife was going in front of the Emperor without him at her side. The invitation had made it clear he was there only as consort, nothing more, and he would do his best to play the part of the supportive, properly chastened spouse. Which he was, to some extent, but only some.

“Whenever I do she comes up short, believe me, dearest.” He huffed and she leaned against him, murmuring, “You are, you know. Dearest.”

“Hm. So I am.” He pulled her against him and put his arms around her waist as she put hers around his shoulders. He could hear the faint sound of singing and drums from the Bards College next door, and the sound of the sea in the distance, and he tried to let it soothe him. Yes, he did believe that his wife held him dearest to her. She felt like a true wife to him now, with all the time they had spent together the last two months and her conscious decision to put him first. He still occasionally caught her staring into nothingness, daydreaming, but the moments were few. She seemed content in Windhelm, and the folk of Windhelm loved her dearly, and the Dunmer worshiped the ground she walked on, or so he had heard. He still wasn’t going to let them into his Palace, and Bryn had been careful not to ask. Ulfric placed a lingering kiss on her lips, then murmured against them, “Is your cycle over yet?” She shook her head unhappily. Disappointed, he said, “Ah, well.”

“You would be the first to know, beloved.” She leaned her forehead against his and whispered, “I wish you would—“

“No.”

“All right.” She left the matter alone, for now, and he moved behind her to put his arms around her waist and lean his head against hers. He still wouldn’t let her pleasure him, giving the excuse that if she couldn’t enjoy it then he wouldn’t either, but she wasn’t buying it. She wished they had time to go to Markarth together, so that he could pray to Dibella with her. There was a Shrine to Dibella here, in the Temple of the Divines, but no priestess dedicated to her worship. When Bryn had passed through Markarth last she had unburdened herself to Hamal, the Mother Priestess there, and the older woman had been utterly horrified by what Bryn had told her; she had known that Ulfric was a prisoner of war long ago, but she hadn’t known of the extent of the torture and abuse he had been put through. Hamal had prayed on the matter overnight and had done some research in the temple’s archives, and when Bryn had come back the next day she had advised extreme patience and gentle persistence, to always let him feel like he had control over the act and never force the issue or make him feel like less of a man for being afraid. Healing such trauma in men was often harder than it was in a woman, and that it had happened to Ulfric as a grown man was worse for him in some ways than if it had happened when he was a child, which was what Hamal usually encountered, though thankfully rarely. She had promised to craft, enchant and bless a special Amulet of Dibella for her, but Bryn hadn’t seen it arrive yet. She hoped when she did that Ulfric would cooperate with her. The experience in Riften had shaken him and he had dug in again, and she couldn’t help him if he didn’t meet her halfway.

Bryn sighed as Ulfric tightened his hold on her as they watched the sun start dipping down to the horizon, and she suddenly realized that asking him to let her pleasure him tonight had been a mistake. He was unhappy about being here in Solitude, angry, not at all pleased about seeing the Emperor, which had to be bringing back all kinds of unpleasant, helpless feelings from the past. She softly ventured, “I’m sorry that you had to come here, darling.”

“It is my duty,” he grumbled, “as it is yours.”

“It isn’t an unpleasant one for me. I’m curious about the Emperor, what he’s like. I want to know what he intends to do about the Dominion. I want him to know what I intend to do about it, with or without his cooperation.”

He snorted a bitter laugh then sighed and nuzzled her. _“Rekdovahi.”_

_“Geh._ I will have him know what he’s dealing with. I will leave no confusion in that regard.” She rubbed his arms and added, “I should demand that he allow you to personally tear up the White-Gold Concordat, in front of the Elder Council and the Aldmeri ambassador.”

“That would be…ah, don’t tease me.”

As the sun sank lower and touched the surface of the sea she stated, “I think I’d like to be there when the heads get dumped out.”

“As would I.” Ulfric made a sound of frustration and muttered, “Talos help me, I don’t think I will be able to look the man in the eye without him seeing my hatred.”

“Let him see it. You aren’t an extension of me. You’re entitled to your feelings. They’re justified.” She rubbed his arms and warned, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he brings it up, darling. Please be prepared for that. He doesn’t know everything you went through.” He grumbled and she felt a slight shudder from him. She sighed, “I wish I could spare you this, or take some of it from—“

“No! Leave it alone!” Bryn stiffened at his harshness, and he pleaded in a whisper, “Leave it alone, Brynhilde, please. I refuse to pick at my wounds in this place. I will not appear weak before the one who left me to rot for a year in that hellhole, or before Tullius. You cannot imagine…”

When he didn’t continue she did for him, gently prompting, “Imagine what?”

“What it felt like to be bound and gagged again. In that wagon. After Darkwater Crossing. That feeling of…utter helplessness. Impotence. It will come back to me again seeing them in front of me.”

“Maybe, but what if it does? I will be there with you.”

“You will be there being inspected like a new toy in front of me. I will have to see the greed in the Emperor’s eyes as he appraises you.”

“No, Tullius already did that for him.” He made a sound of offense and she turned in his arms to face him, though it meant she would miss seeing the sun sink below the horizon. She put her hands on his bearded cheeks, his face colored red by the setting sun, fitting his mood. “Don’t get angry and upset for my sake, _ahmuli._ I can’t be used except in ways that I choose to be. I begged Tullius to make use of me, before he sent me after Elenwen. I told him that he and the Emperor would be fools to let my abilities go to waste. He agreed, and said that the Emperor wanted me on the throne and would pardon you. Pardoning you was the Emperor’s idea, not mine, and I doubt it was a gift to me because we were sleeping together. It was because of you. What did you tell me, when I asked you to come to the peace conference? That Tullius had thrown everything he had at you and you still controlled half of Skyrim. The Emperor and Tullius aren’t about to degrade or embarrass anyone on purpose tomorrow, let alone the two of us. It would be stupid, and neither of them are stupid.” Ulfric grunted, some of his anger subsiding. “If you see the Emperor’s eyes appraising me, it will be because I’m Dragonborn.”

“A pretty female Dragonborn,” he said in a sullen tone. “Something novel and exotic. He will want to call you to the Imperial City before your time, simply to have you around to…to gawk at.”

“I’m used to getting gawked at, and unless the war is starting I have no reason to go to the Imperial City. I’m needed here. This is my country.”

“You were born in Cyrodiil. He was trying to remind you of that.”

“It doesn’t matter where I was first born. I was really born here, in Skyrim.”

Ulfric let out the last of his anger and tension as he sighed, “Yes. Yes you were, precious.” The last of the sun disappeared and he pulled her tight against him, kissing her, and the feel of her body against him couldn’t help but rouse him. She felt his arousal between them and reached down to stroke him as she began lightly kissing and nibbling at his neck, and he whispered, “Not out here.”

“It’s naughty, isn’t it.” He caught her wrist and pulled her hand away, and she had to stifle a surge of irritation that she knew was unwarranted. She had to be patient. She _knew_ she had to be, and yet it was so hard at times. She simply couldn’t relate to how he felt, no matter how she tried, couldn’t help being frustrated and even hurt by his refusal. Vilkas would have been thrilled to-- No, she couldn’t go there. That was completely unfair. Still, how she longed for those days, when it was always easy, when they never thought about it and just fell into each other without a care. Vilkas had always been ready, always eager, and she had always been satisfied, except for his refusal to marry her. And now she was married but her sex life was occasionally frustrating. It was always something. 

Ulfric led her inside, where the others were either already in bed or getting ready, and he watched his wife warily as she put on her nightgown in tense movements, avoiding his eyes. He tried to ignore it, somewhat annoyed that she had even tried to start something that couldn’t go anywhere, and in a place they could get caught at that. He sat down on the edge of the bed and watched her blow out the candles in the room then get into bed and lie there silently, her back to him, and it was all he could do not to say something. Well he’d be damned if he did.

An hour later he regretted that course of action when he still couldn’t sleep, and when he felt Bryn get out of bed and silently leave the room, closing the door behind her, he knew he had to say something, even if it caused an argument. He couldn’t have tension between them tomorrow. He waited another half an hour for her to come back, and when she didn’t he hauled himself out of bed and went looking for her. She wasn’t at the table outside the bedroom, or in the living area or kitchen, where he saw Hadvar and Ralof sleeping on cots in front of the banked fire. He went down to the basement, where he knew Rikke and Galmar were sleeping in Jordis’ room, the housecarl having taken the night off to sleep at the Winking Skeever, and he found Bryn at the enchanting desk, a glass shield before her and a large soul gem in her hand. He stayed silent and out of the way, though she most likely knew he was there. He studied the two mannequins in the room, one outfitted entirely in Daedric armor, the other in a suit of armor he had never seen the like of before. It was clunky-looking, not attractive, but it looked strong as hell, and he realized with a shock that it was entirely made of dragon bones.

The crack and ping of the soul gem disintegrating startled him and drew his attention back to Bryn, who made a breathless sound and rubbed her eyes, swaying slightly, and he steeled himself and went to her, half expecting her to shrug him off. She was trembling, and he asked with worry, “Are you all right?”

“Just tired,” she whispered. “Double enchanting is…extremely draining.” She had hoped that enchanting a few items would make her tired enough to sleep. Ulfric tentatively pulled on her to turn her around, and she dropped her hands and asked him in a pain-filled tone, “Why do you still not trust me?”

“What?” he whispered in shock.

“You don’t trust me. I’ve tried so hard to be patient, and still you treat me like the enemy.”

“Bullshit,” he protested in a rough voice. “Like hell I do!”

“You won’t talk about it. You won’t work with me on it. I can’t help you if you don’t let me!”

He let his hands fall away and said, “Not here. Not now.”

“Then when, and where?” Ulfric bit his lip, staring past her with a hurt expression. “Nearly two months. That’s how long I’ve been waiting for you to give me some sign, and I haven’t pushed you. I know what we did in Riften upset you, so I left it alone, and I’ve waited, and waited, and tonight you pulled me against you and started kissing and caressing me then have the _nerve_ to get aggravated when I respond to it?” He didn’t answer. She made a sound of frustration and went on, “I don’t know what to do, Ulfric. If you didn’t get aroused I wouldn’t push, but you do—“

“I have no control over that!”

The hiss in his voice and the look on his face stopped her from getting any more upset, since he clearly was. “I know that,” she stated gently, “and there’s nothing wrong with it. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

“Not always.”

“Yes it is, between you and me. I’m talking about you and me, Ulfric.” He took a deep breath then shook his head and moved to turn away then stopped himself. “Please,” she begged. “If you don’t want to talk here, fine, we’ll wait until we get home. But at least promise me that you will. It hurts every time I try and you reject me. You may not think that’s what you’re doing, but you are. It makes me feel as if you don’t trust me.”

“It has nothing to do with that. I…can’t. I don’t…I can’t drag you into it.”

“I’m already into it. I came into it willingly when I agreed to marry you. I was dragged into it when I had to listen to Elenwen’s filth—“ She blinked in surprise when he clamped a hand over her mouth, a look of panic in his eyes.

“No,” he whispered shakily. “No.” Bryn gazed at him sadly, and he took his hand away then gently grabbed her by the arm and led her upstairs, back into the bedroom, where he shut and locked the door. He let go of her and licked his lips as he stared at her, and she stared back with an expression of kind neutrality, waiting. Well then, if she said she could take it, they would see about that. “When I got free…” He laughed bitterly. “When they let me go. That is what they did, they let me go. When I returned to the first Legion outpost I could find, I learned that my commanding officer, Legate Svendl, was long dead. The Legate in charge of the camp, Justinia, had me healed then assigned me a new command. I told her I wanted out, that I couldn’t do it, that I was broken. I tried to tell her what they had done to me, and the bitch told me to ‘man up’ and stop crying like some delicate maiden. She told me if I couldn’t perform my duties that I would find myself back in prison, an Imperial one this time, as a deserter. She died at Red Ring, and good riddance.” Bryn looked pained and angry but said nothing, her eyes glistening. “When I found Galmar again, near the end of the war…he demanded that I tell him everything, and…I couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come out. I knew he would weep for me, more than he already did. I knew Rikke would have, if I had known where she was. I couldn’t let anyone weep for me, or I would weep myself, and I didn’t dare. Better that I stay angry, always angry. Anger was strength.”

Bryn quietly stated, “It is a brittle strength, beloved.”

“Yes, I realize that, now, but at the time, up until you…it held me together. It was always easier to turn the anger on others, on whatever target or cause I could find. It was easier than turning it on myself.”

She made a sound of grief and reached for him but he shook his head. “Why would you turn it on yourself? You were blameless in what happened to you.”

“Yes, but…” Ulfric trailed off, feeling his face reddening. When Bryn reached for him again he allowed it, and he gazed into her eyes, full of love and compassion for him, as if Mara herself was the one petting his hair and holding his hand. He held it tightly, feeling her wedding ring digging into his skin, warm and solid between them, and he brought it up to his mouth and whispered against it, “But…what if…what does it mean if…at times…” He grimaced and closed his eyes. “When it was the women, I told myself that of course it felt good, even if it was against my will, but the men…that, _that_ was true rape. It was a violation of my personal integrity, a defilement, and yet…and yet at times…” He felt his wife squeeze his hands. “I never knew which it was going to be, a man or a woman, gentle or rough, and I couldn’t…I couldn’t help enjoying it at times, couldn’t help having an orgasm even when it hurt, and I despised myself afterwards for it. I hated myself for being nothing better than an animal, and _she_ was always there, watching, making cold, snide comments in that despicable voice of hers. By time I got loose I started to believe what she said, that I was little more than a beast.”

“No,” Bryn whispered, in tears. “Oh honey, tell me you don’t really believe that.”

“Yes, sometimes I still do.” He sighed heavily. “I couldn’t stand the thought of being with anyone for close to three years after I came home. The first time afterwards I vomited. I told her I was drunk. Some girl my father pushed at me, wanting me to marry before he got any older, wanting grandchildren to spoil, and Galmar found me weeping in my room, and he wouldn’t leave until I told him why, and I couldn’t get all the words out, but he figured it out. I felt like a weak, pathetic child, not a grown man. I think…he must have said something to Father, because he never mentioned me taking a woman or getting married ever again. Father treated me like I was fragile after that, and it only made me angrier. The healers say his heart gave out, when he died, while I was in prison after Markarth, and all I can imagine is that he died of a broken heart. Because of me. Worrying for me. Worrying that it was happening to me again.” When Ulfric opened his eyes Bryn was staring at him with tears running down her cheeks, but she looked as angry as she did sorrowful. It helped. He should have known that she wouldn’t crumble to hear all this. He should have trusted her more, trusted that he wouldn’t have to comfort her when he was the one who so desperately needed it.

“Never blame yourself,” she said in offense. “Yancarro would hold me down and tickle me until I screamed, until I got too big for him to overpower me. Mer aren’t ticklish, and he thought it was hilarious that he could make me laugh from something I hated, but I never blamed myself for laughing. It was an involuntary response. You’re not a beast or an animal for having a response forced out of you. It makes you human.” She stroked his cheek, running her fingers along the scars then his beard, so rich and thick, a darker blond than his hair. “I would never think less of you. I wish you had told me all this sooner.” She had known that control was at the root of the problem, but she hadn’t imagined that he still felt such self-loathing over something no one could help.

“I wanted to protect you. You’re my wife.” Bryn sighed and shook her head slightly; it went without saying that she didn’t need protecting. He knew that. It was why he had married her, why he had let himself love her. He kissed her hand, still cradled between his, and she silently stroked his face then ran her fingers back through his loose hair. He felt the strength in her hand, and though an occasional fresh tear ran down her cheek, still, she didn’t collapse. He closed his eyes again, letting her soothe him, and he found that he wasn’t as upset as he had thought he would be to finally tell her, tell someone, everything. If anything he felt drained, as if a boil had been lanced, but he didn’t feel angry, and he didn’t feel like weeping, he just felt…drained. He felt her move and a moment later her lips were against his forehead, firm but tender. He whispered, “You are truly an Agent of Mara and Dibella, my treasure. You…you simply have no idea. How I love you.”

“Of course I do.”

“No, you do not.” He opened his eyes and let go of her hand to take her face in his hands. “If I were to lose you…I think I would simply cease to exist. Vilkas let you go, but I…I would chase you to the ends of the world if you left me, and if you died, I would be right behind you, I swear it, Brynhilde.” He kissed her hard before she could react to his words, tasting salt, but she returned his kisses eagerly, throwing her arms around his neck and her body against his so forcefully that it nearly slammed him back into the door. _“Lokali,”_ he whispered against her mouth. _“Saviiki.”_ Even after what she had heard, she treated him like a man, like an equal, and it was a relief.

_“Kodaavi…”_

Ulfric turned them around to press her against the door. _“Geh, hin kodaav, hin ahmul.”_ How he wanted her right now, wanted the comfort of her body against his, but she was bleeding, and that was a line he would never cross. He felt her hand on him, her touch firm and insistent. He was so used to having her whenever he wanted, after the last seven weeks of being constantly together, that the last few days of being unable to make love to her had left him needy, which he couldn’t help finding laughable considering he had spent most of the last thirty years celibate. 

When he felt her tugging at the string of his pants he didn’t resist, though he felt a twinge of anxiety, but the feel of her bare hand along his length quickly banished it, or at least enough to let her continue. She hesitated and he nodded, and when she lowered herself to her knees she took one of his hands with her. He felt surprised relief as she held his hand while she took him in her mouth, and as she gently but firmly worked at him she placed his hand on the back of her head, keeping hold of his wrist. This he could tolerate, knowing he still had some control of it. He leaned his other arm on the door and laid his forehead on it, watching her, reminding himself _this is my wife, this is my wife,_ doing something any thoughtful wife would do for her husband, then all coherent thought left him as the climax built and he pulled her head against him more quickly. It was over before he knew it, making him groan through gritted teeth and leaving him weak-kneed and sweating slightly. He let out a shaky breath but didn’t feel the wrenching anxiety and grief that he had in Riften. Maybe it was because he was standing and she was kneeling before him, something that left him in some position of power, illusive though it was. Maybe it was also because he wasn’t drunk. In hindsight that had been a definite mistake.

Bryn pulled away and swallowed quickly, trying not to make a face, then she leaned forward again and kissed along his softening length tenderly. She felt Ulfric begin to pet her braided hair, feeling only a slight trembling from him, but she didn’t hear any sniffing. “Was that all right, darling?” she whispered.

“Yes. Yes it was.” He heard a sound of relief from her as she continued placing sweet kisses. This he could manage, and it made him wish he had done this sooner, as happy as it had made his wife, and he had to admit that it had felt marvelous. Bryn pulled up his underclothes and pants as she stood and he kissed her deeply, tasting a bitterness that confused him for a moment until he realized what it was, and it sent fresh twinges of arousal through him along with a faint anxiety that he ignored. He could ignore it, and one day he would find that it was simply no longer there.


	52. Chapter 52

_Be what you are,_ Bryn mentally reminded herself in Ulfric’s voice as their small group approached the Emperor’s Tower. The Queen’s Guards and Galmar would remain just inside the door, but Rikke was accompanying them all the way into the hall for Bryn’s first meeting with Titus Mede II, in her capacity as Bryn’s chamberlain and main advisor. The streets were lined with city folk, and the courtyard packed with both Imperial soldiers and Haafingar guards. The guards shouted, “Hail Queen Brynhilde! Hail Dragonborn!” Even some of the Imperial soldiers joined in hailing the Dragonborn, and they weren’t all Nord. 

Bryn made sure to wave and smile to those who cheered her, trying to do it with some measure of dignity and bearing and not look like a silly girl. She wasn’t used to this measure of spectacle; even the Moot hadn’t been anything like this. The Emperor had never visited Skyrim during his nearly forty-year reign, and that he was visiting now, expressly to meet the Dragonborn, had all of Skyrim talking. It had the entire Empire talking. It made Bryn nervous, something she was very unused to. It made her feel like she was on display. Well, so she was.

As they reached the guarded doors Ulfric murmured to her, _“Dahmaan…kah ahrk ahkrin, Dovahkiin.”_ Pride and courage were things the Dragonborn should have in abundance in front of the man who had nearly destroyed them all and had brought Tiber Septim’s Empire low.

 _“Geh, ahmul,”_ she stated, then took a deep breath. She smiled at the others, who nodded back, unsmiling, Ralof looking especially uncomfortable with the whole thing, then she motioned for the door to be opened, hearing another cheer go up from the Nord soldiers and guards in the courtyard. She would be exactly who and what she was: Dragonborn and High Queen of Skyrim. Perhaps the Emperor was the most powerful man in the Empire, but she was the most powerful being in the known world, no matter what she had been when she left Cyrodiil.

She walked through the entry where Ralof, Hadvar and Galmar took up position, the housecarl looking extremely disgruntled, and she strode the short distance through the hall, Ulfric two steps behind her with Rikke. The Emperor sat up straight on the edge of his throne, his hands gripping the front of the arms. Bryn had never seen the man, but she wasn’t all that impressed; he was small, and unremarkable, looking like nothing more than someone’s favorite uncle, though his clothing was rich, adorned with the red diamond and black dragon of the Empire. When she swept back her fur cloak and performed an elaborate Altmeri bow then sank to one knee he arose from his seat. She could only assume her husband had bowed and knelt as well and couldn’t spare the attention to worry about it. He had promised to pay Titus Mede II his due, whatever that meant. She had noticed Tullius standing on one side of the throne and Commander Maro on the other side; half a dozen Penitus Oculatus soldiers stood guard against the walls, and two young battlemages stood guard in the openings in the wall above the throne, one an Imperial woman and the other a Breton man. “Your Majesty,” she stated, not bothering to control the _thu’um_ in her voice, “I welcome you to Skyrim. _Drem Yol Lok, Jun se Taazokaan.”_

“Ahhh,” Mede breathed as he slowly came down the steps. “To think, in my lifetime…” He gestured to her with his hand and said eagerly, “Come, come child, to your feet.” The girl rose and his breath caught as she lifted her chin and looked him in the eye, her own the color of pure gold, and in such a face. He hadn’t expected her to be so…pretty. Lovely. She was a good six inches taller than him, as tall as a High Elf, and the silken tresses that curled on her shoulders and framed her face were as fine and pale as an Altmer’s as well. He could feel the hair on his entire body standing on end in her presence, the air nearly thrumming with the power she contained. He took in a deep breath then shook himself and smiled at her, and when a slow smile spread over her face he laughed and said to Ulfric in admiration, “Damn you, Stormcloak, you’ve ruined everything.” Ulfric didn’t answer, and he turned his attention to the other man, who stared back with cold hatred in his eyes, not bothering to hide it. “Ah, yes. There are…issues, aren’t there. Be assured I do not blame you for it. It’s rather refreshing, really. I’m used to people wanting to slit my throat, but I so rarely get to actually _see_ it.” Ulfric’s lips pursed and he said nothing, and Mede waved him off, shaking his head. “Please, forgive me, I’m…completely flustered by this… _being._ A true Dragonborn! A Dragonborn woman at that, and such a… Well, I’m…I hardly know what to say.”

Bryn moderated her voice and inclined her head, saying, “I’m flattered, Your Majesty.”

“Please, you needn’t be. You’ve done well. Quite, quite well, for yourself and Skyrim, and in the end, the Empire. I only wish you had waited to wed. This all would have been so much tidier.” Her expression went cool at that, understanding what he was getting at, and he heard a strangled growl from the Jarl behind her. He soothed, “Now now, it would have been a political marriage, my dear, nothing more. I could have hoped for it to be more, but, well, look at me, and look at you. You’re breathtaking, but the logistics of the thing…hopeless.” Bryn laughed at that, a giggle that she quickly smothered with a gloved hand, her cheeks pink, and he laughed in turn and looked behind him at Tullius. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Tullius. And you, Maro. You two never said a word to me about how enchanting she is.”

Tullius stated with a completely straight face, “We must have caught her on her bad days, Your Majesty.”

Mede rolled his eyes and Bryn laughed again, and the Emperor sighed and moved to take Bryn’s hand, seeing his guards move slightly, and he saw her scan the room again then once again mentally dismiss them. “Yes,” he murmured in a thoughtful tone, seeing those Divine eyes move back to him. “You know, Maro actually suggested to me that you and your people be disarmed before entering my presence. Good man, but really, it would be a rather poor sign of trust, and besides, how does one disarm someone who breathes fire and ice, or someone who can Shout you into a wall? Well, I suppose you could disable such a person, but it wouldn’t be easy now, would it, and in your case probably impossible. So, show me. I haven’t seen or heard the _thu’um_ since the war, from your oh-so-charming spouse here, and even then it was at a distance. Show me how the _thu’um_ would get you out of this situation, my dear.”

Bryn frowned at him, the sudden change in his tone of voice making her uneasy, along with the intense, measuring quality of his dark-eyed gaze, all his charm suddenly gone. She had to remind herself that this was a man who had kept himself alive and the Empire somewhat together against all odds for nearly forty years, and who had been the consummate Imperial warrior for most of that time. Titus Mede II had personally fought on the field in every battle, coming through nearly unscathed. So he wanted a demonstration. All right then. She quietly stated, “I have no wish to harm anyone, Majesty.”

“As long as it isn’t permanent, there will be no harm. You may proceed.”

Ulfric said in offense, “The Voice is not an act, to be used for entertainment. Your Majesty.” The last was added with extreme reluctance, and no small amount of bitterness.

“I’m not asking to be entertained, Jarl Ulfric, and forgive my bluntness, but perhaps if you had been more a bit more willing to use the _thu’um_ on the battlefield you would not have—“

_“TIID KLO UL!”_

Mede gasped as the Shout rang in his skull like thunder and time slowed to the consistency of taffy. He felt the girl’s hand slide out of his and he grasped for it, fruitlessly. Well, he supposed this was what he had asked for. He struggled to turn about as he watched the first three bodyguards fall in slow motion, the Dragonborn a blur, and he was only halfway turned as he heard the other three cry out and fall, and by time he was facing his throne and time snapped back to normal he found the needle-sharp point of a dagger in his throat, the girl’s body hard and tense behind him. The six Penitus Oculatus soldiers were on the ground, groaning, and Maro and Tullius were moving for weapons that were no longer at their sides, surely an instinctive reaction since he had asked the Dragonborn to do this. “Well,” he said in a strained voice, “I am certainly impressed, Queen Brynhilde.” She grunted in response, and he could feel her practically vibrating like a drawn bowstring against him. He looked up at the two battlemages upstairs, all four hands alight with spells that had been charged but not cast. He raised his voice and asked in a curious tone, “Was there anything that could have been done?”

The Breton dispelled his magic and said in a tense voice, “Nay, Sire. I had thought to paralyze her, but the angle of the blade is such that it would have gone into your throat if she fell.”

Mede looked at the Imperial mage, who shook her head, saying, “No, Your Majesty. Not that I can think of.” She turned her dark gaze on Bryn, adding coldly, “But you can be sure I will ponder the situation, Sire.”

“Oh, of course,” he said dryly. The prick of the blade fell away from his neck and Bryn stepped back, raising her hand to cast a spell of grand healing on the fallen bodyguards, who hauled themselves to their feet, several of them glaring at her. “Now now, people,” Mede said with a hint of irritation, “was I the one who asked for this, or wasn’t I? I will have no grudge held against the Dragonborn for doing as I demanded. And I am most impressed, as I said, and quite sure that this was only a taste of what she can do.” He turned and beamed at her and she stared back fearlessly. He motioned towards Tullius and Maro, asking her, “Why not disable them?”

She answered, “I know and like them, Your Majesty.” She bowed and held the dagger out to the Emperor on the palms of her hands. “For you, Your Majesty. I intended this for you before the tremendously generous presents you had sent to my house, and now I wish I had done more.”

“A gift? How thoughtful!” He laughed and took it, adding, “And an ironic one, really.” He turned the weapon around in his hands, a perplexed look on his face. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he murmured. The metal was ebony, the pommel formed into the head of a dragon with blazing ruby eyes. The blade seemed organic, an odd tan color, warmer than metal.

“There is nothing else like it, Your Majesty. I crafted it myself, of dragon bone.”

“Dragon bone,” Mede breathed. “A real dragon!”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Your armor too, then? And the circlet you wear.”

“Dragon scales and bone, Majesty. Crafted under the guidance of the great Master Smith Eorlund Gray-Mane, in the fires of the Skyforge of Whiterun.” She gestured to the entry way. “My Guards carry dragon bone weapons that I crafted and enchanted myself. I didn’t enchant your dagger, Majesty, but I would be pleased to perform the service while you are here, if you let me know which two enchantments you would like on it.”

“Two enchantments!” scoffed the Breton mage. He heard a derisive snicker from the female mage next to him at the notion.

“Yes, two enchantments. I would be more than happy to provide a demonstration if you and your partner would like to watch, and if the two of you are skilled enough to understand what I’m doing.”

Both mages stiffened in offense and the Emperor laughed in delight. “Yes, yes, Guillaume, I think that would be a marvelous idea,” Mede stated. “You will arrive bright and early at Queen Brynhilde’s house tomorrow morning. Octavia will stay here.”

Ulfric added in aggravation, “And you will be properly respectful of the one who is Dragonborn and High Queen of the Nords, mage.”

Guillaume drew himself up then bowed slightly to Bryn, saying with a touch of haughtiness, “I would not dream of disrespecting Her Majesty the High Queen of Skyrim.”

“You had better. I do not think you people have a proper grasp of who and what you are dealing with.”

Mede waved his hand and shook his head, saying, “Now now, Stormcloak. I for one am more than willing to understand Queen Brynhilde’s capabilities. Both Tullius and Maro have impressed quite strongly on me, Tullius especially, how extremely capable the Dragonborn is. I would dearly love to see a live dragon. That must have been…ah, magnificent. A once in a lifetime event.”

“One can always hope it was, Sire,” Tullius stated. He stepped down from the dais and came forward to stand at the Emperor’s right hand, where he bowed slightly to Bryn. “Queen Brynhilde.”

“It’s good to see you, General,” she replied with a nod.

Mede continued, “Tullius described your ideas for fighting the Dominion, Ulfric’s idea rather, and I must say that I’m intrigued. This ‘storm call’ Shout of yours…is it really that powerful?”

“Yes Majesty, it is. It is extremely deadly. I would demonstrate it for you, but it cannot tell friend from foe. It will strike anyone but me in the area that is in the open and on the ground.”

“How many dragons still live, do you think?”

“I have no idea, Majesty. At least twenty is my best guess. Some have retreated to Skuldafn, to follow the Greybeards’ Way of the Voice and reconcile themselves to behaving peacefully. There are some who refuse to follow anyone, and they’ve either gone their own way or I’ve killed them. Seven of my brothers including Odahviing acknowledge me as _Thur_ , Overlord.” There was the gruesome Durnehviir as well, but the sight of the creature absolutely appalled her.

“Only seven? Is that enough?”

Bryn laughed quietly then stated, “I will win the war for you with those seven dragons, Emperor. I will not drive back the Aldmeri Dominion; I will utterly obliterate them. Elves will not dare to make war on Man again. _Zu’u los Qahnaarin. Zu’u los Kroniid. Zu’u los nahkriin se Strundu’ul.”_

“The dragon tongue!” Mede whispered eagerly. “What does it mean?”

Ulfric translated, “I am the Vanquisher. I am the Conqueror. I am Stormcrown’s vengeance.”

Mede stared into Bryn’s eyes, and she gazed back unblinkingly. “Talos’ vengeance,” he murmured in a halting tone. He hadn’t missed the gleaming gold Amulet of Talos she wore, or the dark one Ulfric wore, or the one the silent, handsome woman behind them wore. Well, it wasn't as if he didn't have his own stashed away. He folded his arms and tapped his finger on his chin, quietly saying, “Tullius thinks we can do this. But then he thought he could stop you, Stormcloak, and we both know he couldn’t have. Not without the Dragonborn fighting for him.”

“The Dragonborn stopped me, in her own way. My…conscience stopped me. If not for her, and the truths she made me see, I would have won the war,” he stated without vanity. “I would have won because more and more Nord families would have had loved ones dragged away in the night by the Thalmor and would have rallied to my banner because of it. In the end, Skyrim would have been mine, and I would have been High King. And for a time, perhaps, we could have held off our enemies, but we would not have been able to fight the Elves, the Empire _and_ the dragons. Eventually Skyrim would fall. Everything would fall.”

“Yes,” Mede said thoughtfully. “Yes, everything and everyone would fall. Eventually, even the Dominion, with Alduin involved. The bringer of the end times, as foretold in the Elder Scrolls. One must wonder: would the Aldmeri Dominion have even tried to fight Alduin? Or would they have welcomed what his return heralded? Would they have rejoiced at the chance to finally escape this mortal coil, this endless cycle of death and rebirth? Mortality is very messy. We come into this world bloody and squalling, and often leave the same way. It is so…undignified. The mer, especially the Altmer, are quite careful of their dignity. How it must gall them every time they have to take a shit.” Ulfric wasn’t amused, though Bryn let out a quiet laugh, her eyes sparkling. He nodded and said, “I see you aren’t surprised by my estimation of the situation, either of you. Well, the Empire’s estimation, and some careful readings of Elder Scrolls by the Moth Priests. And now Alduin is dead, gone for good, one hopes, and still, we have a Dragonborn. What is that Dragonborn’s purpose, one must wonder, beyond destroying Alduin?”

A pang of grief made Bryn’s smile instantly disappear. “I asked someone that, once,” she muttered. “Early on. What my purpose was.” _Oh Vilkas,_ she thoughtful painfully. She wondered how he would be handling this entire encounter, if he had been at her side instead of Ulfric. Ulfric was behaving quite well, but she could tell this was stressful for him.

“And what was the answer?”

“He didn’t have one. He couldn’t see past Alduin.”

“And what do you think your ultimate purpose is, Dragonborn?” The girl looked at him with resigned anguish, had in fact never looked away once since Tullius joined them. It was unfortunate, the burden of greatness, but it was what she had been born for, and she apparently knew it. He went on mirthlessly, “A moth priest came back to the Imperial City not long ago, one Dexion Evicus. He was blind, sadly, but such is the ultimate fate they all accept upon choosing that path in life. He had a fantastic tale to tell, and two Elder Scrolls in his possession. He had tried to buy a third, from you, Queen Brynhilde, and you said it wasn’t yours to sell to him. He said that you had read all three Scrolls, one after the other. And that you seemed marvelously unaffected.”

“I can assure you, Your Majesty, that I was quite deeply and permanently affected,” she said in clipped, tense words. “I saw things that left scars in my soul that will never heal.”

“Of that I have no doubt. Even one such as you cannot attempt such a feat and walk away unscathed. Still, Dexion was quite impressed with said feat, as were his brethren when he returned to the fold. They were all quite, quite eager to hear about the Dragonborn. A being of legend, here, now, at such a critical juncture, in the right place at exactly the right time, as such beings tend to be, and often as has been foretold in prophecy.”

 _“Munax bein qostiid!”_ Bryn spat, the words thundering in the hall, making the soldiers and two mages tense and the Emperor flinch back. “Prophecy is cruel and foul. If you only knew what I had seen! _Zu’u los daanik, pah dovahkiin kiiri wah dinoksetiid! Zu’u fen aus mahfaeraak, sili dreh sosaal!”_

Mede stared at her with wide, dark eyes, and when she hissed and ground the heels of her gauntlets into her eyes he whispered, “I…I’m sorry, but…” He looked to Ulfric for a translation, but the Jarl was staring at his wife with glistening eyes, the muscles beneath his beard twitching. The man looked one moment away from giving in to tears, but then Nords always did live with their emotions close to the surface.

Ulfric moved close to his wife, taking her hands away from her face, and she growled and allowed it, her eyes fixing on him. He glanced at the Emperor, who was waiting for an explanation, and he said shortly, “No. You have picked open a wound that I have kept closed for three months now. Your Majesty. If she wishes to tell you what she said, she will do so.”

Mede took in a deep breath and blew it out again, not happy with the answer, and when he looked at Tullius the general was staring at Bryn with an expression that only long association told him was one of dread. Their dark eyes met and it was clear Tullius was deeply worried, no doubt wondering if their Dragonborn was slightly mad, something Tullius had never hinted at, and he would have. Well, all the Dragonborn were to some extent, walking that fine line between brilliance and insanity, and all too often going over it. 

He finally said to Ulfric, “Forgive me if I inadvertently caused distress, however it is not unthinkable that I would want to know what she saw in those Scrolls. The moth priests have seen portents that have them highly agitated. They had _me_ rather agitated. I’ve spent the last six months… obsessing, yes, obsessing over those portents, until I gave in and accepted what they had to mean. They could mean nothing else. I asked myself _What is the Dragonborn’s purpose?_ What does the Dragonborn do, every time one appears? Alessia. Reman Cyrodiil. Tiber Septim. What did each of them do?” Bryn’s eyes moved back to him, dry, having never shed a tear, though Ulfric still looked upset. “Each of them with a dragon’s soul and Voice, and yet even Tiber Septim had but his own dragon soul and the few Shouts that the Greybeards taught him. You however…how many dragon souls have you absorbed? From what I have learned each soul taken increases the Dragonborn’s power. How many dragons have you devoured?”

“I don’t know,” she said in a trembling voice. “Fifty, sixty…I’ve lost count. I’m…full. I don’t think I can take many more. I feel sometimes as if I’m going to split at the seams.” She felt Ulfric’s hands tighten on hers, and she couldn’t bear to look at him. She had never told him that. Maybe because she had never been able to put the feeling into words before, or even realized the feeling was there. Now that she had, she realized that was exactly how it felt.

“Yes, and I won’t insult you by saying I can imagine what it feels like. But there is a _reason_ for it! A reason the dragons returned now, and a Dragonborn hero returned now to take those dragons’ souls. Everything is falling apart, Brynhilde. It’s been falling apart since Uriel VII was killed. He had the gift of prophetic dreams, as did many of the Septim line, and he told the Hero of Kvatch: _When the dragon dies, the Empire dies._ The Empire cannot survive in its current form, with nothing but trumped up warlords leading it. The Empire has never thrived except with a Dragonborn bloodline on the throne. And so Uriel said: _So long as the blood of the dragon prince runs strong in her rulers, the glory of the Empire shall extend in unbroken years.”_ Neither was surprised, and he nodded slowly. “So. That is what you saw in the Scrolls. Tell me that the experience didn’t break you to the point where you cannot do it.” She made a sputtering sound of exasperation and closed her eyes, and he moved closer to her, saying intently, “Tell me you have it in you to do it!”

“You will unleash a monster,” she whispered.

“Perhaps a monster is what we need!”

“Stop this, please,” Rikke said in horror, finally compelled to step forward and say something. She put her arm around Bryn’s shoulders and said in a pleading tone, “I beg you, Your Majesty, to not call her that. Anything but that.”

“Former Legate Rikke, is it?”

“Yes Sire,” she said, letting go of Bryn to bow deeply. 

When he made a sound of affirmation she rose again, putting her arm back around the girl’s shoulders. No, the Dragonborn was no girl, no matter what she looked like. “A poor choice of words, but I was only echoing your own, Dragonborn,” Mede stated. “I have been apprised of your upbringing. Maro’s people have talked to your family, your Altmer side of the family, and I’ve spoken to Tullius at length about you. You were not prepared to take on any of the challenges you have faced, or will face. I was raised as a Prince and was chosen by my father to succeed him as Emperor when I was not much younger than you. I was born and raised to rule, as were my brother and sister. That you have come as far as you have in such a short time is a testament to your character and strength.”

“It’s only because I’m Dragonborn,” Bryn muttered.

“So? What difference does that make? You _are_ Dragonborn. It is what you are. It isn’t a condition you have, for heaven’s sake. It is a gift of Akatosh, not something to be embarrassed of or feel guilty for. A great singer, a great painter, they are born with that potential. Should they be embarrassed of it, because they have a talent others don’t? It was given to you for a reason, and you’ve made good use of it. You have had excellent teachers here in Skyrim. Even your poor, dimwitted Elven aunt did a service to you by giving you some weapons and magical training, inadequate as it was. She wouldn’t have lasted long if she hadn’t dropped out of the Legion to raise you, dear, I assure you. From what I’ve been told your father Ennescar was a very gifted battlemage, ten times the mage and warrior Elluhrine was. Your mother Heska has been a bit harder to pin down, as there were several Heskas around her age in the Legion, and it seems those who remember your father don’t remember her quite so much. I suppose a young Nord soldier would stand in the shadow of an older Altmer mage of his talent and bearing. Very handsome mer, I’ve been told, and those who remember Ennescar do recall that his wife was quite pretty. Tall, blond, blue—“

“Wife,” she said, her voice breaking. “They were married, then?”

“Yes, why?” She hesitated, and Mede rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you thought you were a bastard on top of everything else.”

“My aunt and grandmother told me they weren’t married. That I was…an accident.”

“All right, enough of this,” the Emperor said in exasperation. He took Bryn by the arm and pulled her away from her husband and chamberlain, Ulfric making a sound of offense but letting her go. Mede put his arm through hers and said, “I smell dinner, and I think we would all do better with food in our stomachs.” He led Bryn to the stairs, motioning for Ulfric, Rikke, Tullius and Maro to follow. “My good man Maro has the wedding certificate and a few other documents that his people were able to dig up. He wanted to give those to you personally, as they aren’t quite the sort of thing one leaves lying around. Your parents married in the Chapel of Mara in Bravil, on Sun’s Dawn 16th, 4E172.”

“Heart’s Day,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes.

“Yes, it’s a rather busy day at the Chapel, but they do make a point of recording the weddings. So you see, they married long before you were conceived, of their own accord. Frankly I don’t think it matters whether you were born under paper or not, and it surely doesn’t matter to the Nords, but I’m sure you’ve been told that.” He patted her gauntleted hand on his arm. “You will sit next to me at dinner, and we will try to keep the conversation on pleasant subjects. Tomorrow you will come have brunch with me, just the two of us and Tullius, and we’ll get back down to more serious business. Guillaume will escort you back after you’ve slapped him around a bit and taken the wind out of his sails.”

“Yes. Thank you, Sire. For…for everything.”

“Of course, my dear. No trouble at all.”

Ulfric watched the Emperor walk away with his wife, a troubled look on his face, and Rikke could well guess how he was feeling. He was no doubt upset about Bryn’s fresh grief and torment, the root of which Rikke knew was more than just anxiety over one day becoming Empress. She had seen something else during the reading that Ulfric knew about, and they hadn’t shared it with anyone in Windhelm. Rikke was sure that Bryn had shared it with Lydia, or at least hoped that she had, knowing all too well her lady’s propensity for keeping things to herself. Ulfric was also probably irritated that the Emperor was going out of his way to court Bryn, at least as far as gaining her loyalty. Rikke had no issue with it; it was necessary, and in a way reassuring that Titus Mede II understood how very vital Bryn was to the survival of the Empire. It should have reassured Ulfric that the Emperor cared so much about the future of the Empire that he was willing to put it into the hands of someone outside the Mede bloodline. She had to wonder though if he had shared those intentions with his kin. Bryn shouldn’t have to deal with a civil war someday instigated by disgruntled Medes.

When Rikke touched his arm, Ulfric grumbled and offered it to her. Maro was already going ahead of them with the six soldiers and the mages, but Tullius was standing there, gazing at Ulfric with an unreadable expression. Ulfric motioned for him to go ahead, saying coldly, “Please, after you, General. Unless you feel compelled to say something _meaningful_ to me.”

“Actually, Jarl Ulfric, I was going to offer Rikke an escort, but you beat me to it,” he stated in a calm tone.

Rikke patted Ulfric’s shoulder and said, “It’s all right, Ulfric. Thank you.” Ulfric grunted and let her go, striding out of the room without a backward glance. Once he was gone she quietly said to Tullius, “This has been hard on him, sir. Too many reminders of the past.”

“What did I tell you about calling me that?”

“Sorry.”

“He should know that he isn’t the only one it happened to, by far.”

Rikke grimaced and said, “With all due respect, I don’t think you can even begin to imagine what those… _fiends_ did to him.”

“I know exactly what they did to him, Rikke. I know in extremely graphic detail.” She looked ill and stunned, and he rubbed his chin and went on, “Those files that Brynhilde found on the Thalmor ship. A few outlined the Dominion’s methods for breaking prisoners. Breaking men, especially. Ulfric was mentioned in one of the files. As one of the few that didn’t take their own lives at some point after being let go. The low survival rate of their ‘dormant assets’ made them reassess their methods. Most were dead inside of five years by their own hand.”

“Merciful Mara!” she whispered in grief.

“I would tell him I’m sorry for what he went through, but something tells me the effort would not be appreciated.”

“Divines, no, it would not. He would hate you for it. But the Queen would appreciate the sentiment.” She bit her lip, wondering what more she had the right to say, then she finally said, “It was her sympathy for him that changed things. She had the dossier for nearly a year and spent all that time pondering what effects his captivity had had on him, and when she finally met with him and gave him the dossier and he confided in her about how he couldn’t tolerate being with anyone because of it, all those years… That was what started things between them, even though she was still with Vilkas of the Companions at the time. When she came back from Sovngarde changed she felt no man but Ulfric would have her or understand her, and he felt no woman was strong enough to deal with his trauma but her.”

Tullius grunted and muttered, “Seems it was inevitable, I suppose.” He wasn’t a romantic or prone to deep emotion, but even he couldn’t help being moved by Rikke’s words. Maybe the two of them had really only had each other to turn to.

“Ulfric…he _lives_ for her.”

“Yes, I could tell.” It was something Tullius had never gotten used to, how Nords put their emotions on display like that. Ulfric’s feelings had been right there for everyone to see, without pride or shame. Tullius supposed going from nearly having your head chopped off as a rebel to ending up as the Dragonborn High Queen’s consort made one rather grateful. “So…you and Galmar Stone-Fist.” As expected, Rikke’s cheeks reddened, but she didn’t look away, again as expected.

“I knew you were going to bring that up.”

“I’m not judging, just…surprised.”

“We’re close in age, and we get along. We were lonely. He’s a widower, and I have no family. He’s a handsome man, an honorable man, and we talked about it and figured, why not?”

“Indeed, why not.” He offered her his arm and gave her a brief smile. “Before we’re missed.” She smiled at him with those dimples that no doubt had charmed the gruff old warrior, and he felt a certain wistfulness that he no longer worked with her and would soon be leaving Skyrim. He had grown to respect the Nords, even if he still couldn’t relate to them. After the last two years here he was going to miss the crispness the air held even on the warmest summer day, miss the mountains that were always nearby no matter where in the province you were. He would miss smelling the sea and hearing the cries of the fish hawks that flew over the city. He would miss Captain Aldis, and Falk Firebeard. He would even miss Elisif, though she had become a deep disappointment to him, and continued to be. As Ulfric had reportedly said at the Moot, she had never been meant for anything else than being a pretty accessory to a man. It was a shame that she had let her grief twist her into something bitter and unpalatable. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t entertained certain daydreams, once in a while; now he thanked Dibella that he’d had the sense to resist temptation. He was well aware of his age and had no desire to deal with the whims of a young wife or the chaos of a family. When he got back to Cyrodiil, and if the Emperor allowed him to retire, he might consider finding a comfortable woman in her late thirties or early forties to settle down with, someone with no desire for children. He supposed that was a big if.


	53. Chapter 53

“Good luck,” Hadvar wryly said over his shoulder as he retreated back upstairs.

Guillaume frowned at the Nord’s broad back then sniffed in derision and confidently strode forward. His stride faltered as he entered the armory, and he stood there stunned for a moment by the full suits of armor, one Daedric and the other…something else. A bewildering array of priceless enchanted weapons hung on the walls, as did shelves of greater, grand and black soul gems and enchanting potions. Three treasure chests lined the walls, holding who knew what. His eyes lit on the enchanting desk; it was a much different style from what was used in Cyrodiil, but the symbols for the different schools of magic were quite similar. Movement next to the desk caught his eye and he gasped and brought his hands up in defense then let them fall as he let out a shaky breath and bowed stiffly. “Milady.”

“Good morning, Guillaume,” Bryn said with a smile. “I’m sorry I startled you. I wanted to observe your reaction to my little collection.”

“How did you do that? If I may ask?”

“I stood very still.”

“It wasn’t magic?”

“No. Simply a very great deal of practice. I’m sure you think all Nords are battle tanks and simply bash through every target. I avoid that wherever and whenever possible.” She stood away from the wall and looked him over, finding him as unappealing as every other non-Nord she had met. He was attractive, she supposed, with black hair and bright green eyes that tilted up at the corners in a way similar to her own, with a narrow chin and pale skin, but he was short, as Bretons usually were, though he looked strong in a wiry way and no doubt was quite skilled with the double daggers he wore. “So, tell me a little about yourself, Guillaume. What are you good at?”

“Good at,” he muttered in confusion.

“What schools of magic do you specialize in, or are you a generalist?”

“I’m a Master of Alteration and Destruction, milady. I am also an expert enchanter and hope to attain mastery shortly. I am adept in Restoration and Conjuration.” He hesitated then asked, “And you?”

“Hm, you actually managed to ask that without sounding snide.”

“Excuse me, milady?”

“Please, dispense with the formalities,” she stated, going to the desk and reaching above it to take down a filled grand soul gem. Since her experiences in the Soul Cairn she didn’t feel comfortable anymore using or filling the black ones. “I’m well aware of the high esteem in which Bretons hold Nords.”

“You are half-Altmer, mi…well, you are in many ways a Breton.”

“Good recovery.” He looked baffled, and she explained, “You and your partner Octavia seemed to have a problem with me yesterday, even though I did nothing to earn your displeasure or contempt.”

Guillaume drew himself up as much as his height allowed and stated with some difficulty, “You had my lord in your grasp with a dagger at this throat. It was…unsettling. The Emperor made it quite clear to both me and Octavia that we were not to hold it against you, and I for one do not. He asked for a demonstration of your abilities and you provided one.” He couldn’t vouch for Octavia’s feeling on the matter; the Colovian woman was a prickly one, though good at her job.

“A weak one, but yes. Believe me, I do not enjoy being asked to perform on demand like a trained hound. I feel like enough of a freak without being told to show everyone how freakish I really am, and that was but a small taste.”

“Milady,” he breathed, aghast. “Surely…” He fell silent, remembering the previous night. She gazed at him evenly, looking like any other wealthy Nord noblewoman would look, a Nord in every way other than the very faint hint of Elvish features that one would have to know to look for, and of course those shining eyes of pure gold that even Altmer didn’t bear. And that Voice; she was speaking in a normal tone of voice and still it resonated off the stone walls around them. He cleared his throat and stated, “Milady, I assure you, no one believes you any sort of freak or abomination, other than perhaps the Aldmeri Dominion, and they consider my entire race distasteful mistakes of breeding. Divine Akatosh blessed you at birth with a dragon’s blood and soul. The Emperor…he is risking his life to make you his heir, and--” He grimaced and said, “I was not supposed to talk about that. Please, may we continue?”

“All right. I don’t want you to get in trouble.” He seemed decent enough. They had simply gotten off on the wrong foot, for understandable reasons. “You asked where my magical skills lie. I am a Master of Restoration, a Master Enchanter, and a Master Alchemist. I haven’t had much time or cause to hone my skills in most of the schools of magic, since my Shouts fill nearly all my needs, however in thinking ahead to facing the Dominion I’ve realized it might be a good idea to master at least the school of Destruction. I’m soon going to start spending a few days a month at the College of Winterhold to further my education in that regard. Many of the Shouts I use are so draining that I can’t Shout again for several minutes, and when I call the full force of the storm I can’t Shout again for eight to ten minutes. I can’t risk being defenseless in battle if I lose my weapons.” It was extremely unlikely, but not unthinkable.

“Have you ever lost a weapon in battle?”

“Yes, against draugr. A type of undead that can use dragon Shouts. There is a Shout that can disarm opponents. Before I knew I was Dragonborn, right after the first word wall I encountered, I ran into a draugr that Shouted my weapon out of my hand. I ran all over trying to find it and ended up tripping over it and falling flat on my face.”

Guillaume smiled, seeing that she found it amusing. “I suppose that is one way of finding it.”

Bryn laughed, “I suppose so.” She clapped her hands together and went on, “All right then, double enchanting. What should we enchant? I have some necklaces and rings that we could do.”

“I brought the dagger you crafted for the Emperor.”

“Ah, good choice.”

He pulled it out of his robe, examining it once again, bewildered by the notion that he was holding something made from a dragon. “I can’t imagine how you were able to create this,” he said in a halting tone.

“I’m a Master Smith.”

His eyebrows rose and he said, “Well, yes, I’m sure. However it seems impossible that bone is workable. I have never tried my hand at blacksmithing but I understand the basics of the craft, and I understand the properties of bone.”

“Not dragon bone.” She went to one of the suits of armor and tapped it. “This entire suit of armor is dragon bone.”

Guillaume eagerly went to it and at Bryn’s nod reached out to run his bare hand over it. “Mighty Akatosh,” he whispered. “And the suit of armor you and the blond guard wear is dragon scale? Real dragon scale, not simply a term for the style of the armor?”

“Yes, it’s real dragon scale. My first housecarl, Lydia, my best friend…she and I started collecting the remains of every dragon we killed, with the second one. We thought if nothing else they might be worth something. Then I showed a bone and scale to my friend Balimund in Riften, an expert smith, and he determined that they have a high metallic content and might be workable. I went to Eorlund Gray-Mane after that to see what he thought of it, and he agreed. I gave him some bone and scale to experiment on, and once my skill was high enough we crafted a shield together. After I destroyed the Dark Brotherhood I decided to make a full set, the one I currently wear.”

“The set in which you faced Alduin?”

“Yes. And wore to Sovngarde. And killed the Thalmor in. It has great sentimental value to me.” She knocked her knuckles on the breastplate next to them. “Dragonplate is massively strong, but also quite heavy, and frankly quite ugly. I made it when I was bored, waiting for the Moot, just to see if I could, and I will never wear it. I think sometimes about selling it, but frankly no one could pay enough for it, and who would want to wear it? It’s hideous.”

“Many collectors in High Rock or Cyrodiil would be eager to have such a set, simply to display like this.”

“Well, if we have trouble coming up with our tribute again I suppose I’ll have to use it for that. I can always make another set. I have dragon bones and scales coming out my ears.” And souls too, it seemed, but she was stuck with those. She held her hand out and said, “Let’s see what we can do with the Emperor’s dagger.”

Guillaume handed it over and they went to the desk, where she pulled down a large potion. “So you use skill-enhancing potions?”

“Yes, for important items. I don’t bother with things I’m enchanting simply to increase their value. I sometimes think I should make another set of dragon scale armor to wear in the war, so that I can double enchant all the pieces for extra protection. Maybe next time I’m in Whiterun I’ll make a new set. I prefer to use the Skyforge for such a task.” She waved her hand. “Anyway, the dagger. Did he figure out which enchantments he wanted?”

“Fire and frost. He felt such a draconic weapon should have purely draconic enchantments.”

“Interesting.” She laid the dagger on the desk. “Have you heard of the book _Twin Secrets_ by Brarilu Theran?”

“Yes, but I have never had the fortune to lay eyes on a copy. It’s a very rare book.”

“I have an extra, in my house in Riften. Next time I go there I’ll wrap it up and send it to you.” Guillaume stared at her, a baffled look on his face, and she smirked at him and said, “Most of us Nords _can_ read, you know.”

“I…no, milady, I know that, it’s… You would do that? Send me something so valuable and rare? You don’t know me at all.”

Bryn shrugged. “I don’t have to. I’ve already read the book and have no further use for it, and I’ve determined that you’re a good person and that I like you. What more is there to it? What more _should_ there be to it?” He seemed troubled, and she shook her head and said with regret, “It never ceases to amaze me, the places I go and the people I meet where simple acts of kindness are met with astonishment. Everyone is so busy looking out for themselves that the notion that a stranger might help them is inconceivable. It’s even more inconceivable to them that anyone with any power would help them, when that should be the main purpose of those in power.” She laid the soul gem on the cross piece of the dagger. “I’ve become good at reading people, Guillaume. Even Dunmer, who seem to go out of their way to be inscrutable. You came here with somewhat preconceived notions and yet were willing to set them aside and simply talk to me like a normal person. I appreciate that.”

“I…well, I’m glad, milady.” How sad, that base courtesy could engender such a response in the Dragonborn. She was a charming creature, and the folk in the Imperial City would certainly find her so. The common folk, anyway. The cynical among the nobles would be harder to win over, and the power hungry would find her a threat. Too many on the Elder Council would find her an inconvenience, and her dragon blood would make it especially so. She would have no tolerance whatsoever for corruption and they would quickly realize it. Well, if she could completely eradicate the Dark Brotherhood and do everything else she had done, she would survive the occasional assassination attempt. It came with the territory, even up here.

Bryn tapped the desk. “So, double enchanting. I don’t know what you know of the book, but it details an elderly Dunmer wizard's encounter with a dragon in the remains of Vvardenfell, after it erupted. It seems that some dragons have always been in the world, those that were either trapped somewhere or wise enough to remain hidden and not draw attention to themselves. They fought to a standstill and he agreed to let the dragon go for a favor, and the dragon taught him the secret of forcing more than one enchantment into an item.”

“But the Law of Firsts…”

“Is not violated this way. The secret is not a secondary enchanting. It’s a simultaneous enchanting. Forcing two enchantments into the item at the same time.” He stared at her with huge green eyes then blew out a long breath, blinking owlishly. “It’s difficult, insanely difficult, and massively draining even for me, but I’ve done it a dozen or more times now. The weapons my guards carry are both double enchanted. _Fahliil-Kriid,_ Elf-Slayer, is the sword Hadvar carries, that I originally made for Rikke when she was traveling with me. Ralof carries the greatsword _Fahliil-Maar,_ Elf-Terror.”

“You named the swords so?”

“Yes. I created them to kill Altmer and Bosmer. They cause shock damage and drain stamina. Quite effective against mages, battlemages especially.”

“Oh, I…see.” Bryn laughed and he realized she was teasing him a bit. He laughed self-consciously and asked, “What will you name the dagger?”

“Yes, I should name it, shouldn’t I. I think the Emperor would get a kick out of that.” She picked up the potion and uncorked it. “You have to basically divide yourself when you perform the enchantment. If you’re familiar with human and mer anatomy you will see that the brain has two hemispheres, just as we have two eyes, two ears, two hands, two legs.”

“Half your brain and body casts each enchantment?”

“In a way, however your entire seeing must focus on one, while your hearing focuses on the other.” She nibbled at her lip then went on in an apologetic tone, “I really don’t know how to explain it any better than that. I hope to discuss it further with a Master Enchanter at some point, but the only one I know of is a senior priestess of Dibella in Markarth and she’s extremely busy. I worried that I might be the only one who can perform a double enchantment, but the author of the book was able to do it. Of course it drained him to the point of nearly killing him, but I think perhaps that was only because he was very elderly.”

Guillaume nodded gravely before saying, “I will keep your words in mind, milady, and perhaps once I have the book I could discuss it with my mentor. He is…difficult, but gifted, the greatest enchanter I’ve ever met. I wish I could show him the Emperor’s dagger to prove to him that this can be done.”

“Well, let’s do this then, so I can at least show you that it can be done. Don’t be alarmed if I look a bit sickly after this. It won’t last long.”

“Yes, milady.” He moved to the side to get a clear view of the desk and Bryn’s work. He took a deep breath as she quickly guzzled the contents of the bottle then placed her right palm on the sigil for Destruction while the other came down on the blade. The glass globe swirled violently as her eyes dilated then contracted as they focused on the dagger. The soul gem rang like a bell then disintegrated into the weapon. Bryn’s knees sagged a bit as she grabbed onto the edge of the desk, her eyes squeezed shut, but before Guillaume could offer any assistance she straightened up again, shaking her head as she rubbed her eyes. She motioned with one hand for him to take the dagger, and he hesitated then did so, gingerly picking it up by the hilt. He saw a soft white gleam, the frost enchantment, then the eddy of reddish-yellow fire, and when he ran his finger along the blade’s flat surface they mixed then separated then mixed again. “Extraordinary,” he whispered in awe. “It seems impossible!”

_“Dovahsu’um,”_ she stated. “Dragon Breath. That will be its name.”

“I am honored, milady, to have witnessed such a wonder! My lord Emperor will be most pleased by this very gracious gift.”

“Here, wait a moment.” She went to the nearest chest and took out a silver jeweled necklace and placed it on the desk. She took down another grand soul gem and potion, and before the mage could protest she drank it down and placed her hands on the sigils for Alteration and Destruction, with the necklace strung between them. The globe swirled greenly again, and the soul gem vibrated then pinged and dissolved into the necklace.

“Milady,” Guillaume said in alarm, seeing her sink to her knees and lay her forehead on her arms against the table.

“Just...give me a minute.”

He put the dagger inside his robe, feeling a faint throbbing mix of chill and warmth emanating from it, and he waited for Bryn to recover. It took a little longer than a minute, and when she rose to her feet again and dusted off her knees she seemed no worse for wear, though her fair skin was paler than normal. When she picked up the necklace and handed it to him he had to resist the urge to ask if she was all right.

“If or when you learn to do this, I would suggest not doing it more than once a day, if that. You don’t have the constitution of a dragon.”

“That I do not, milady.” He held up the necklace, watching the colored gemstones sparkle. Pale blue magic gleamed along the chain and pendant, and he assessed it for a moment then said in a greedy tone, “This enhances Alteration and Destruction.” He held it out to her but she shook her head.

“It’s yours.” He looked at her in alarm, and she snorted and said, “Who did you think I was making it for? I have a hundred necklaces like that amongst my houses and can make a hundred more. I enchanted it so you can show your mentor back home, and really there’s no reason for you not to keep it. I would like it if you did.”

He said with misgiving, “I don’t want to give the impression of favoritism, or…well, bribery.”

“Bribery!” she laughed. “What on earth would I want to bribe out of anyone? I can find, take or create whatever I want, if I don’t already have it. Favoritism, that I can see. Do you want me to make a necklace for Octavia, just to make things even?”

“I doubt she would appreciate the gesture, milady, but…” He felt another surge of greed as he looked at the necklace again. It was priceless. He couldn’t even begin to place a value on it. And yet it wasn’t the monetary value of the thing that got to him. It was that the High Queen of Skyrim had made it for him, because…well, just because. She had specifically chosen to enhance those two schools of magic, because he specialized in them. He wore two rings that did the same thing, but with the necklace he could get two different rings to enhance other skills.

“Who do you answer to?”

“Commander Maro, when he’s present. Otherwise, only the Emperor.”

“So ask them if it would be improper to accept it. Tell them I offered to make one for Octavia as well. I’m sure either of them would tell you to keep it.” She paused then asked, “What would help soften up Octavia?”

“Why bother?” he countered.

“I don’t like that she has some kind of resentment towards me. I could tell by how she watched me during dinner last night. No matter what the Emperor said, she’s holding something against me.” The Breton hesitated, looking torn, and she prompted, “Is she his lover?”

Aghast, he gasped, “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess.”

“It’s only…it’s a matter of convenience, while traveling. It’s…she’s…er….”

“Not his only bedmate, I’m sure. If she thinks I’ll ever get in bed with that old goat she’s out of her mind.”

“Milady!” he sputtered in shock.

“I might like older men, but I am very happily married. Ulfric is everything to me and I would never be unfaithful to him. Besides, as the Emperor said, I’m ridiculously tall and he’s…not. Could you imagine what that would look like?”

His cheeks reddening, he squawked, “I’d rather not, thank you!” Bryn stared at him for a moment then burst into peals of laughter, the sound ringing off the stone. The sound was so infectious that he couldn’t help a strangled snort from coming out, and he tried to be serious as he said, “Milady, this really is not the type of conversation we should be having.” She laughed anew and he let out another small laugh. He was sure everyone in the house could hear her laughing, and were probably wondering what she was laughing about. It was a good laugh though, a true laugh, with nothing mocking or cynical about it. She was truly beautiful when she laughed too, but again, so tall that he felt like a child standing next to her. He did around most Nords, and that blond bodyguard of hers was so enormous it was unsettling. As she had implied earlier, most Bretons considered Nords ignorant brutes, and he had to admit that he usually assumed they were not quite as mentally quick as Bretons or Elves, or even Nibenese and Colovians. This was his first time in Skyrim, so his exposure to Nords outside the province was usually soldiers and adventurers.

“I’m sorry, but you should have seen your face.”

“It’s that it really isn’t proper.”

“I know,” she said with a grin. At that he let out a real laugh and she was satisfied. “All right then, I won’t scandalize you any further. But Octavia has nothing to worry about. Nords take marriage very seriously. We don’t fool around.” She was generalizing, but still, for the most part they didn’t.

“I’m sure she knows that, milady. The Emperor…he, well, he made it clear that he’s taking you under his wing as a sort of daughter. He’s very…open, for a Colovian. He isn’t typical of his race.”

“I’ve noticed that. He’s very approachable.”

“He’s, um, how should I put this…he’s mellowed, as he’s gotten older. While there has been hardship, the people as a whole do love him.”

“Then I’m sure I will as well.”

“Shall we go then, milady? I think the wind has been sufficiently let out of my sails.”

Bryn laughed then motioned for him to go ahead of her up the stairs, and he did so, slipping the necklace into his pocket. She hoped he ended up wearing it. He seemed a likable little fellow, though she supposed it wasn’t a matter of Bretons and the other races being small as Nords being big. She couldn’t imagine how weird it would feel to have a little man clambering all over her in bed. No, she definitely preferred tall, sturdy Nord men. She was so damn strong she’d probably break a man of any other race into pieces during the act, except perhaps an Orsimer.

Once they were upstairs Guillaume waited for her by the door, where Bryn noticed with amusement that Hadvar gave him an appraising glance then sighed to himself and looked away. Unfortunately for him the Breton seemed to be straight. Bryn thought that they would have the same problem of mismatched body types that she would, then quickly put it out of mind as her husband came down from the upstairs. She could hear Jordis and Ralof talking in the kitchen and wondered how long it would be before they ended up falling into bed, not missing the appreciative looks they had traded yesterday. Frustrated and hoping her cycle ended soon, Bryn went to Ulfric and said, “I’m off, darling.”

“Did you properly put the mage in his place?” he replied as he took her hands. The little Breton heard the comment and his lips pursed as he looked anywhere but at the Jarl.

“No, I did not,” she chided. “He’s very pleasant. We had a nice time.”

“Yes, I heard you laughing. It was a good sound.” One he heard all too rarely. Ulfric kissed her cheek then she kissed his, her lips lingering on the scar there. It seemed her favorite place to kiss and touch, perhaps simply a reminder to him that she loved him just as he was, scars and all. He swore he had caught Tullius staring at it at one point during dinner but the General had so quickly averted his gaze that it was hard to tell. He wasn’t sure what idiot had put the man directly across the table from him, but it had been unpleasant to say the least and they hadn’t said a word to each other. Bryn had seemed subdued but fine, and Ulfric had to admit that the Emperor had gone out of his way to cheer her. Titus Mede II had seemed quite enamored of her by time they were allowed to leave after the interminable meal, one that had given him no pleasure; the portion sizes had been unsatisfying and everything too heavily seasoned or sauced. Bryn had eaten everything happily, having been raised on southern and Elven cuisine, and Rikke was too polite to show any distaste, but Ulfric had been forced to use every bit of self-control he had to not sneer at every new dish that was brought out and had ended up tearing into a sandwich of hearty bread, goat cheese and cold venison with Galmar and the Guards when they got back. Unable to help himself, he told his wife, “Enjoy your ‘brunch’ with the Emperor. Perhaps the cooks will bring out pastries the size of a fingernail.”

Bryn couldn’t help laughing at his sour tone and put her hands on his bearded cheeks. “I could hear your stomach growling at the end of dinner last night.”

“We are Nords, not birds.”

“I’m sure brunch will be just fine.”

“Brunch,” he sneered. “What in Oblivion is brunch?” 

“Breakfast-lunch. Because it’s between the two.”

“I know what it is! It is simply an idiotic word.”

She murmured to him, “I think it’s a Breton word, dearest.”

“It figures.” Bryn shook her head slightly, and he grumbled and pecked her on the lips, realizing he was being grouchy. He couldn’t wait to get away from here, and away from the Emperor and his people especially.

_“Wuth bron kodaavi,”_ she whispered, so softly only he could hear it, and he grumbled again and softened further. “I’ll be back in a few hours at most, I’m sure,” she said more loudly.

“All right.”

She didn’t patronize him by asking what he was going to do with himself while she was gone. It wasn’t as if he was going to go strolling through the streets of Solitude. Ulfric was well aware of where he was and how most of the folk here felt about him. She had to wonder if they hated him even more for leaving them stuck with what had turned out to be an incompetent Jarl. Falk took care of nearly everything, usually without Elisif even being aware of it, but things had only gone downhill after the Moot; it wasn’t so much that Elisif had stabbed Ulfric, it was that she had done it without conviction and had involved Bryn in it, and had used it as the price for her vote. She had lost not only Tullius’ advice and confidence in her but the confidence and trust of her people after that. And of course Elisif considered that Bryn and Ulfric’s fault as well. How it probably galled her to have the Emperor here in her city just to see Bryn, not her.

Hadvar accompanied her to Castle Dour along with Guillaume. She was dressed in fine but comfortable clothing, armed only with the Blade of Woe. Hadvar stayed downstairs while Bryn was escorted upstairs to the dining room by Guillaume who then bowed to her and took up position outside in a sitting area. Brunch was already being laid out by the servants, and Bryn was relieved to see that it was a casual affair: mild egg dishes and spiced potatoes with small pastries and hot tea. General Tullius was there, dressed in less formal Imperial armor. He bowed to her slightly in greeting, and she smiled and went to him, putting her hand on his shoulder and giving him a light kiss on the cheek.

Tullius cleared his throat, bewildered, then put his hands behind his back and said in an uncomfortable tone, “I ah, can’t imagine what I did to deserve that, Queen Brynhilde.”

“I had a chat with Rikke last night, while we watched the sun set, just us girls.”

“Ah.”

“I appreciate your understanding. Ulfric wouldn’t, but I do.”

“Yes, I’m sure he would be quite displeased if I said anything to him about it.” The servants placed the last of the dishes then bowed their way out and shut the door. Now that there was some privacy, Tullius quietly stated, “I would never make light of what he went through. It was…horrifying, what was done to him and so many others. He should know there were others. He should know that he was one of the few that survived it.”

Tears stinging her eyes, Bryn nodded and haltingly said, “I only wish there had been someone to help him right after it happened. He told me the Legate that found him afterward was absolutely heartless about it. She told him to quit whining like a girl and get back on the battlefield or she would have him thrown in prison as a deserter.”

Tullius shook his head in disgust and stated, “There are bad apples in every barrel, including the Legion. But yes, perhaps if he had run into priests instead of her a great many problems could have been avoided. However what is done is done, and better to get help now instead of never.” He let out a long breath and went on in a reluctant tone, “It takes a big man to admit he was wrong, and I admire that he was able to do that. I was wrong about Ulfric. I thought he would renege on the terms of the peace treaty first chance he got, or try to find some way around it. I thought he would try to use you to fulfill his own ambitions. Even as of last night I thought he would find some way to take jabs at me or the Emperor. He’s…surprised me, at every turn. I only wish the unpleasantness with Elisif at the Moot could have been avoided. She’s been a disappointment to me, I’m sorry to say.”

She wasn’t about to tell Tullius that she had told Elisif so. “Yes, to everyone.”

He sighed and folded his arms, looking away from the Queen’s earnest gaze. There was only sympathy there, and he muttered, “I’ll admit it, to you and only you: you were right. I sometimes considered…” He sighed. “She’s a beautiful girl, and she had a charm to her, before she let bitterness sour her. In hindsight I’m grateful that I didn’t let my heart rule my head, as a Nord would have, but I have…regrets.”

Bryn made a sound of sympathy and stated, “Conversely, I let my head overrule my heart, and I have regrets, but they get less over time.”

“You mean the Companion.”

“Yes. I made a mistake, and I still consider it a mistake, but in hindsight it was one that had to be made, for Ulfric’s sake. And maybe even mine. I would not be who I am today without Ulfric’s instruction, or without the effort that I’ve put into helping him. He’s moody at times, and impatient, but he’s a good man, and it’s all been worth it.” She could only wish that she would be able to spend more time with him before he was taken from her, whenever and however that would be. She tried not to think about it or the panic started edging back into her. Vilkas didn’t look any older in her vision than he did now, with only a few bright strands of silver at the front of his dark hair. Well, Tullius didn’t need to know that. No one but those who already knew. No sense having any more hearts than her own broken ahead of time.


	54. Chapter 54

Bryn giggled as Ulfric put her hands over her eyes, and he tried to be stern as he warned, “No peeking.”

“I don’t want to ruin my surprise,” she reassured him. Her husband had been sweet to her all day, if a bit anxious about something. Maybe he was worried that she wouldn’t like her gift. As he led her outside the Palace and she heard the guards chuckle she was sure all over again that he was giving her the house Hjerim. It was impossible to keep the house’s refurbishing a secret, even though she had gone out of her way to avoid that area of town and pretend she didn’t notice when Jorleif left the Palace in the company of workers. Some of them had even been Dunmer; Ulfric couldn’t tolerate the sight of them in his home, but had finally relented to her after an argument several weeks ago to allow them at least into the main hall like any other citizen of his city and hold, seeing as how for the first time in living memory they had actually paid a small amount of taxes, and when they came in he found some excuse to leave the room. Bryn hoped that eventually he would get better than that, but it was progress.

She smiled as he turned her right as she expected him to, then right again, hearing the occasional laugh from someone they passed, then up a few steps where he knocked on a door. It opened and he led her inside. She heard the creak of floorboards under her feet and the smell of food cooking, which surprised her. It was warm in here, and she could hear the faint jingle of armor. So the house came with a housecarl; well, she supposed someone had to take care of it and see to the needs of any guests that stayed here. She laughed as he turned her around to face him, and he took her hands down but didn’t let her look around. “My, this is so mysterious, darling,” she said in mock confusion.

Ulfric chuckled as Bryn smiled widely at him, her eyes twinkling. “You’ve no doubt already figured it out, precious,” he stated. “Hjerim is yours.” She made a sound of delight and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly, and he laughed and broke away, taking her arms down, his face warm. He cleared his throat and glanced behind her then said, “The house is yours to do with as you see fit, however Rikke and Jorleif thought it would be useful as a guest house. The Palace is full, and it is rather embarrassing to put visitors in Candlehearth Hall when this place has been empty for so long. The Shatter-Shield family was glad to be rid of it, and Jorleif’s people did well in cleaning it up and furnishing it.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” she said eagerly. _“Kogaan, ahmuli.”_ She tried to kiss him again and he laughed uneasily and stepped back, lifting her hand instead to kiss it. She frowned at him, wondering why he was being shy; it wasn’t as if he was ever embarrassed to show her affection in front of the servants, and a housecarl should be no different.

“You haven’t gotten all your presents yet,” he said in explanation.

“All right,” she relented. She nearly made a crack about breaking in the bed upstairs, and when he took her by the shoulders and turned her around she was suddenly grateful that she hadn’t.

Ulfric grinned broadly as Bryn squealed in joy and threw her hands in the air. The Companions laughed and clapped, wishing her a happy birthday, and she ran to them and grabbed a very pregnant Lydia up in a hug and spun her around. Farkas was next as he pulled her into his arms and she kissed his cheeks fervently. Ulfric’s eyes met Vilkas’ at the back of the group, and the Harbinger frowned and visibly sighed as he looked away. He tried not to cringe as Bryn hugged Athis and kissed his forehead. He supposed if nothing else he finally had to break down and accustom himself to the Dunmer folk at least. There were too damn many of them in his city to ignore and Bryn was too fond of them, for reasons that still escaped him, and what was more they were being seen in the rest of the city more frequently as they continued the project of repairing the stonework, which led to them being asked to do other jobs by the more enterprising citizens, which had led to them finally scraping together a paltry sum of taxes to pay for the services they had been receiving for nearly a year. There was also the fact that his wife had actually gone into business with some of them, which still rubbed him the wrong way. Well, he would burn in Oblivion before any beast folk set foot inside the city walls, let alone his home. He had to draw the line somewhere. Windhelm was the most Nord of cities, the city of Ysgramor himself, built by Atmorans four thousand years ago, the oldest human city still in existence, and he’d be damned if it was taken over by non-humans.

Vilkas tensed as Bryn made her way through everyone, and when she finally came to him she looked at him sadly for a moment then moved into his arms, and he closed his eyes and held her tightly, not wanting to see Ulfric’s expression. “It’s good to see you again, dear,” he whispered into her hair, so faintly only she could hear it. It had been nearly four months since he had seen her and he had been miserable the entire time, drowning himself in work and training every day until he dropped. He couldn’t count the number of times he had nearly picked up and just gone to Windhelm, figuring he could come up with an excuse for the visit on the way. He had talked himself out of it every time, and when he had received Ulfric’s letter a month ago he had nearly wept in relief. Bryn wrote to him every few weeks, but it wasn’t the same as seeing and holding and smelling her. And yet now that he was, he knew it was going to be torture.

“And you, beloved,” she replied just as softly, then she let him go and stepped back, giving him a smile before turning away to pluck Skjorta out of Mjoll’s arms. The baby stared at her with a complete lack of recognition in her green eyes, her frown entirely Skjor’s. She was going to be a year old before long and it seemed she had been born just yesterday. She put the baby in the crook of her arm and went to Ulfric. She kissed his cheek and said, “Thank you, darling. This is wonderful. The best surprise I can think of.”

“I knew you would think so, my treasure,” he replied. He smiled at the Companions and said, “You are welcome to say as long as you would like.” There were murmurs of thanks at that. He motioned off to the right at the entrance to the kitchen, and a middle-aged redheaded warrior with heavy sideburns came trotting up, bowing deeply to them both. “This is Calder. He will watch over the house and whatever you choose to put in it. It will be good for you to have a place to keep some of your--" The baby girl suddenly burst into tears, staring at him with huge wet eyes, and when he looked at her she wailed and waved her fists.

Farkas laughed and said, “Hey Ulfric, you’ve really got a way with the ladies.”

“So it would seem.” At the sound of his voice Skjorta screamed harder, and he murmured, “I don’t understand. Is it my voice?” Everyone liked the sound of his voice. An infant should be no exception.

Bryn smothered a laugh and moved away from him, saying, “I’m sure it isn’t personal, dearest.” She felt a twinge of guilt as she remembered Vilkas’ presence, not that she could really forget it, then she felt another pang of guilt for feeling guilty to begin with. Ulfric was her husband and she could call him what she wished. She bounced the baby on her shoulder, trying to calm her, but it didn’t seem to be working, and Aela came over and took her daughter back with an apologetic smile. The baby whimpered then quieted in Aela’s arms, and Bryn swallowed hard and tried not to feel grief. Twenty-nine today and her womb was as lifeless as a draugr crypt. She should have had a child by now. If Vilkas had married her surely they could have had one by--

“Precious.” Bryn blinked and looked at him but kept frowning as if she was in pain, and he came and took her arm. “Come look at the rest of your house while Calder makes your guests comfortable.”

“I’ll come with you,” Lydia stated, quickly moving to take Bryn’s other arm. She hadn’t missed the look either, and Ulfric let out a breath of relief, looking grateful for her help. She really had to wonder how the older man managed her most of the time, but then Rikke no doubt spent a great deal of time with her.

Vilkas sighed heavily as the three went upstairs, and as the other Companions began heading to either the kitchen or the dining area Farkas went to his twin and said in a sad tone, “She still really wants a baby.”

His brother replied, “Yes, but as long as war is on the horizon it’s impossible.” And at this point Bryn was terrified that if she got pregnant that Ulfric would die soon after. He wasn’t sure how she could ever bring herself to even try. When Farkas was silent he glanced at his brother to see him staring evenly at him. “What?”

“That was quite a hug.”

“Shut up,” Vilkas hissed. They were pretty much alone, but it was the idea. “What is wrong with you? Her husband is upstairs!”

“Oh, that makes sense. You won’t talk about it but you go ahead and hug his wife like that in front of him? And everyone else?”

“It isn’t what you think.”

“Well I kind of have to go off just what I think, considering you don’t tell me anything anymore.”

“I already told you months ago: Bryn and I made our peace last time she visited. Ulfric knows and encouraged it. He wants me and Bryn to be friends. She kissed you so I don’t know why you’re making so much out of this.”

“Because he was watching you two with a weird look on his face, that’s why.”

Vilkas rolled his eyes and said, “Whatever. Who knows what he was thinking, and I’m not going to ask. I’ve had enough uncomfortable secret discussions with him to last me a lifetime. I assure you, Ulfric has no problem with me hugging Bryn, and maybe I hugged her longer than I should have, but I’ve missed her. I haven’t seen her in four months. We’ve never gone that long…eh.” 

Farkas’ eyebrows crinkled as he stared at Vilkas, and Vilkas swallowed and looked away uncomfortably. “Huh.” His brother didn’t answer, and he quietly went on, “Lydia doesn’t talk about it, because she says she keeps Bryn’s secrets. I understand that and I don’t push. Mostly because I don’t want to fight with punkin, but you I’ll fight. Not here or now, but when we get back I will.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You don’t tell me what’s going on with Bryn and I will. Something’s been going on with her for nearly six months now. More than the usual stuff.” They were all used to her moods, but this was different, and Ulfric knew what it was, and Vilkas knew too.

Vilkas angrily stated, “It isn’t my place to tell. I’ll be damned if I tell. I will not betray her trust, or Ulfric’s.” Granted, no one had told him to keep it secret, but it was the sort of thing that went without saying.

“Fine, don’t tell me their business, but you’d better tell me yours,” Farkas said, a touch of hurt in his voice. “You never talk to me anymore. You haven’t really talked to me since she became High Queen. You two have been apart for a year now and it’s like everything changed but it’s just different, not better. You think no one sees how you drive yourself? The juniors don’t say anything to you, out of respect, because you’re the best damn Harbinger we’ve had since…I don’t know when. But they talk to the Circle. Vignar tells them to be glad that we finally have someone to get things straightened out, and Mjoll and Aela tell them to mind their own business, but me…I don’t know what to tell them, because I don’t know why you’re still doing this to yourself.”

“It isn’t as if I can help it,” Vilkas said tiredly. “I would if I could, but I can’t.” He said that, but he had to wonder if that was even true anymore, if it ever was. The thought of not feeling this way about Bryn was unbearable.

“Look, Bryn’s great and I love her to death. But a year should be long enough to get over anybody, even her. Maybe if you tried getting laid once in a--"

“Shut your damn mouth,” he hissed.

“I mean it! It’s not like you have to find someone new, just--" Vilkas walked away from him, and when his twin reached the front door of the house he growled and went after him, ignoring the rolled eyes and shaking heads of the other Companions. He went outside and shut the door, seeing Vilkas pacing in the little courtyard in front of the house. Farkas caught his shoulder and demanded, “Talk to me, damn it. I’m sick of this. I’m sick of watching you run yourself into the ground and make yourself miserable.”

“I’m not making myself miserable, idiot!” Farkas shoved him so hard he nearly lost his balance and landed on his ass, and it took all Vilkas’ self-control not to take a swing at him. He knew Farkas was confronting him out of brotherly love, but it was still aggravating.

“Tell me what’s going on or I’m going to ask Ulfric.”

Vilkas’ eyes widened as he gasped, “You wouldn’t dare!” And yet he knew damn well that Farkas would. Farkas would dare just about anything. “I don’t have the right to tell you everything!”

“Then tell me what you can, because Lydia isn’t telling me. I’m not going to push her. Not when she’s pregnant. I still feel bad about the last time with the werewolf thing.”

Vilkas laughed bitterly, “The werewolf thing.” He rubbed his face, making a sound of frustration, and Farkas grabbed his wrists and pulled his arms down but kept hold of them. “The werewolf thing,” he said painfully. _“That’s_ the root of the problem. I…can’t. Get over her. Or be with anyone else, the way you can’t be with anyone but Lydia. I can’t even think about it. I’ll never be able to, as long as she or I live.”

“Aw hell,” Farkas said in sudden understanding. “I’m…aw shit, I’m sorry.” He pulled his twin into a hug, and Vilkas sighed and let him. This was worse than Farkas had ever imagined it could be. It was hopeless, and that was about as bad as it got.

“I thought it would end once we were cured. The problems the Blood caused. And now it will never end.”

“So that’s what Aela was telling you, the day we left Riften.” He felt Vilkas nod. “I should’ve figured it out. I guess it’s kind of obvious. I just wish…well, I just wish.” That Vilkas had married Bryn when he had the chance. That Bryn hadn’t walked away, or had come back and worked things out.

“So do I.”

“Does she know?”

“Yes. And so does Ulfric.” Farkas stiffened then pushed him out at arm’s length.

“Did you tell him? About what we were?”

“No, she did. When they got home from Riften.”

“Why?”

“To explain why I couldn’t leave her memory alone. He’s the only one, and it went no further than him. She wanted him to understand that I wasn’t simply being obsessive, or selfish.” He rubbed his forehead and sighed, “And I think she did it to hurt him, unfortunately. We talked a long time, when she visited Whiterun last. She told me…” He folded his arms and stared down the street, seeing an elderly Imperial woman pause at her gate and watch them with suspicion for a moment then go into her house. “Bryn sent me a letter,” he murmured. “From Riften, not long after she returned from Sovngarde. She begged my forgiveness for leaving me, told me she still loved me as much as ever and wanted to be together, married or not she didn’t care.”

“What?” Farkas said with a clenched jaw, his eyes narrowed. “You never said anything about a letter!”

“I never got it, so don’t get all up in arms about it. I never got the letter. I didn’t know until the Moot that she had ever sent one. Ulfric told me, but by then she was already with him and they had talked about getting married. I couldn’t hurt her again by telling her. That’s what she was yelling at us about when we left Riften. She found out I never got the letter and that Ulfric and I agreed between the two of us to not tell her. She called us traitors. Treacherous husbands.”

“Husbands!”

“Lydia told her about the ah…mating for life thing.” He made a sound of distaste. _“Mated._ Like some damn animal. Aela told me she and Skjor were mates. That as much as she loves Mjoll she’s missing part of herself. And so I’m stuck alone, with my mate in another man’s bed, calling another man dearest and darling and _ahmul,_ and he’s stuck with a wife that is still in love with another man. She told me she would have chosen me, if Ulfric and I had given her that choice, and Ulfric knows it.” He snorted a sad laugh and went on, “He told her to go see me, when she came to Whiterun. He told her she could have me any way she wanted short of actually sleeping with me. He gave her permission to have an affair, Farkas. That is how much he loves her and wanted to keep her. We couldn’t go through with it. It doesn’t matter that she married him based on a lie, still, they’re married and that should be honored. Ulfric would have been devastated if she had carried through. The next time she wrote me, a few weeks later, she told me he was so relieved he nearly wept. For better or worse she does love him, a great deal, as much as she loves me, if not more by this point, and yet…she still loves me. She called me beloved when she hugged me.”

When Vilkas raised his eyes to his brother’s, Farkas stared back with a blank expression, so stunned he couldn’t think of what to say. When Vilkas huffed and looked away he finally asked, “And Lydia knows all this?”

“Yes, and more, but the more of it isn’t mine to share.” No one needed to know Ulfric was going to die. Vilkas had no idea how Bryn managed to function with what she knew; Vilkas thought about it nearly every day. He was dreading the day he heard that Bryn was pregnant. She was making sure in that secret woman’s way that it didn’t happen, but it pained her that she had to. He had reassured her many times that her getting pregnant wasn’t going to be the catalyst for what was inevitable, and she hadn’t wanted to hear it.

“So…what are you going to do? How are you supposed to live like this?” Farkas asked with worry. “Even before Lydia got pregnant, I would’ve killed anyone who took her from me. I never would’ve just given…” He trailed off, seeing his brother’s expression harden. He never would’ve just stepped aside. Given his woman to another man to marry. He would’ve just married her and avoided the whole issue, just the way that he had. He’d never really imagined that werewolves really did mate for life; he’d only wondered about it vaguely from time to time then the thought had drifted away. If he had known it could really happen maybe he would’ve made the connection with Vilkas early on and harassed him until he married her. But then making that connection wasn’t a given. He was more aware of his limitations than anyone.

“I did it because I didn’t want to cause her any more pain,” Vilkas insisted. “I figured she was over me by then. I figured Ulfric would be better for her. A Jarl, someone who can speak the dragon tongue to her.”

“You could learn it.”

Vilkas stared at him for a moment in shock then shook his head. “No. That’s their thing. It wouldn’t seem right.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He put his arm around Vilkas’ neck and hugged him to him, making him sputter in protest then sigh and give in. “I wish you’d told me all this before.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t, but I don’t feel any better.”

“I know,” he said with deep sympathy. “I can’t even…how are you supposed to keep doing this, Vilkas? I never worried that much before. I just thought you were being self-absorbed, but…this is bad. Really bad.”

“Yes, it is very, very bad, for everyone involved. All Bryn and I can do is try to be as close as we can, as friends, with Ulfric’s blessing.”

Farkas led him back to the front door, saying with a grin, “Hey, too bad Ulfric doesn’t go both ways. Then all three of you could just—“

“Well I don’t go both ways!” he said in offense. He had no problem with it at all, and gods knew he had spent his entire teen and adult years being ogled by men who preferred other men, even Hadvar and Aerin, or men who loved men and women, and he had always found it flattering, but he had never even been curious about trying it himself. The thought had never even crossed his mind. It didn’t do anything at all for him.

“Don’t knock it until you try it.” Vilkas wrinkled his nose and looked at him sideways, and he laughed loudly. “No no no, not me. I love women. But Lydia has this thing she does to me, you know, back there, and it feels really damn good, so I’m sure that the whole—“

“Ack, I don’t want to hear it! What the hell is wrong with you!”

“You’re getting prude in your old age,” Farkas laughed. “Forty doesn’t agree with you.” They really had no idea how old they were, other than Vilkas knowing they were three when Jergen found them, but whether they had just turned three or were nearly four no one knew, and they had no actual birthday, simply marking the first day of summer as the day to move up a year.

“I am _not_ prude in the least. I simply have no wish to hear about what you do with your wife.”

“You never cared before.”

“Because the others were not your wife, and not my sister.”

“All right, all right.” He opened the door and pulled Vilkas inside, his arm still around him. Bryn, Ulfric and Lydia were coming down the stairs, and Farkas felt a lump rise in his throat when Bryn gazed painfully at Vilkas then laughed and smiled slightly at the sight of him in a stranglehold. Ulfric looked between the twins then gave a brief smile to Farkas with a knowing look in his eye. Farkas knew that there was more going on than anyone was telling him, but at least Lydia knew, and looking at his wife he could tell that she knew everything. That was fine. At least Vilkas had Lydia to talk to, about whatever those things were.

Her arm through Lydia’s, Bryn asked Vilkas, “How long can you all stay?”

He shoved Farkas’ arm off and said, “Most of us will go home the day after tomorrow. Farkas and Lydia wanted to stay all week to visit with you, if that is all right. I said I would stay with them, to escort them home, if that is also all right.”

“Of course it is.” _All week,_ she thought with mixed pleasure and dread. She felt Ulfric squeeze her hand, rubbing his thumb against it to reassure her. She couldn’t help wondering why Vilkas and Farkas had been outside, and worried it was because of her. There was a certain something in Farkas’ gaze now that hadn’t been there before. Sadness. She hoped to Arkay that Vilkas hadn’t told his brother about Ulfric’s possible doom. She really hoped he hadn’t. Farkas liked Ulfric a great deal and didn’t need to live with that grief a second sooner than necessary.

Ulfric stated, “We would be honored to have you here, Harbinger. It’s unfortunate that Ralof and Hadvar are in Riverwood. They could use some further training. I fear the lads are getting lazy with Brynhilde home all the time now.” The two young men had gone back to their hometown for an extended visit with their respective families, the first time they had done such a thing together. They had become so close over the time they had served Bryn together that they were nearly inseparable, something that Bryn and Rikke found adorable and Ulfric and Galmar found ironic, if charming.

“I would be glad to give them training next time they’re in Whiterun,” Vilkas said with a nod, then he nudged Farkas with his elbow. “You will help me.”

“Don’t I get a say?” Farkas retorted.

“No, you do not.”

“All right.” He didn’t really mind, and it would give Bryn and Lydia some girl time. He went to his wife and kissed her forehead then said, “Hungry, punkin?”

Lydia murmured, “Sure honey.” It broke her heart to see the way Vilkas was looking at Bryn, like a starving child looking through the window of a bakery at a row of sweetrolls.

Farkas took Lydia’s hand then smiled and pointed at Ulfric. “You and me have some drinking to do.”

“Of course,” Ulfric agreed, and when Farkas walked away to get some food for his pregnant wife he heard Bryn grumble. When he looked at her she was gazing at him with worry, and he quietly promised, “Not very much.” She smiled briefly at him then she glanced at Vilkas then swallowed and looked away at the Companions gathering at the long table, where Calder was setting out platters of food. When Ulfric glanced at Vilkas the younger man was staring at Bryn with a hungry gaze, his fists clenching and unclenching, then he took a deep breath and looked at Ulfric, narrowing his eyes when he realized he was being watched. He turned away and went to join the others, and Ulfric felt a tremor go through Bryn as her eyes fastened on the Harbinger. He softly said to her, “I could go.”

“Absolutely not,” she muttered. “It’s my birthday and you’re my husband.” And frankly the last thing she needed was to be alone with Vilkas. Well, not alone, but close enough. Too close.

“Yes, that is true.”

She said in a softer tone, “I do appreciate this, darling.”

“Yes precious, I know you do. This is your family.” He let go of her hand to put his arm around her. Unfortunately because of Vilkas she would never be able to really be comfortable with them ever again. Or at least not until she was with Vilkas again. Seeing them embrace a few minutes ago, seeing how they looked at each other, made him squirm with guilt and regret. It almost made him consider telling her once more that she was free to dally with him short of actual intercourse. It clearly caused them both a great deal of pain to be around each other with no relief. She had seemed happier after her last visit to Whiterun, but the meetings with the Emperor last month had weighed heavily on her mind and she had been slow to smile and laugh until today. He had waited on her hand and foot all day and her mood had lifted. She had been overjoyed to see the Companions, especially Lydia and Farkas, and she was thrilled with the house, but seeing Vilkas come in from talking to his brother about something had set her back again.

A knock at the door drew everyone’s attention, and Calder hurried to answer it, one hand on the haft of his war axe. He opened it to see a young man standing there, a small box wrapped in leather and twine in his hands. “A parcel for Queen Brynhilde,” the courier said in a perky tone, leaning around the housecarl to peek inside. She came forward, Jarl Ulfric behind her, and he bowed deeply. “Happy Birthday, my Queen.”

“Thank you very much,” she murmured.

He held the small box out to her. “Special delivery, from the temple in Markarth,” he said, whispering the last part. The priestess had been very specific about the need to be discreet. Which couriers always were, of course, but he couldn’t help wondering what was in the box. It had a bit of weight to it.

Bryn brightened, and she smiled at him and said, “Would you like a quick drink and a bite to eat before you go?”

“I…oh yes, my lady!” he said in delight. A drink and a bite with the Companions and nobility…he’d be mad to decline.

“Do I owe you anything for the delivery?”

“Well, two hundred gold, but—“

Ulfric stated, “See Jorleif in the Palace. He will pay you.”

“Yes my lord.”

Calder closed the door behind the courier then ushered him to the table when he acted a bit shy. Bryn tucked the box under her arm then headed for the stairs to put it somewhere safe, and Ulfric followed. When they were upstairs and she was placing the box in a chest he murmured, “Do you have a secret admirer?”

She laughed, “Oh, I’m sure I have many. But I do know who this is from.” When she said nothing more, closing the lid, he cleared his throat. She laughed again, and he was staring at her with his tongue in his cheek, trying not to smile. She put her hand on his cheeks and softly said, “It’s from Hamal. I told you I talked to her, last time I was in Markarth.” It hadn’t been easy telling him, after they had left Solitude, and at first he had been rather put out about it, not to mention embarrassed, but after she had explained to him why, and what the priestess had said, he had relented, realizing Bryn had the right to talk to someone fully about it and knowing that the priestess’ confidence was utterly secure, even from the other priestesses. When Ulfric frowned and nodded, she went on, “She crafted, enchanted and blessed a special amulet of Dibella, just for us. To hang on the bed, or wear. So that Dibella’s presence will be with us.”

“She already is, through you,” he said with some difficulty, unable to help feeling his cheeks grow warm. Well, he had asked, and if she had played coy he would’ve pestered her about it.

“Well, Hamal said this might make certain things easier,” she murmured, stroking his beard. “Keep the ghosts at bay, and over time lessen the burden of memory. I’m not sure why it took her so long, but I’m glad it’s finally here. Though…the box was rather heavy for just one amulet.” She turned to open the chest again but Ulfric caught her and gently stopped her.

“Not here,” he quietly pleaded. “Later, at home.” She nodded and smiled briefly. He gave her a soft, lingering kiss then said, “It was a sweet thought, my treasure. I’ll try it.” She smiled happily, and he tried to keep the moment going as he led her back to the stairs. “I hired the Dunmer bard from Candlehearth Hall to come sing tonight.”

“Really!”

“Well, Rikke did, but it was my idea.”

“Ah.”

“She should be arriving soon, and she promised not to sing any songs about you.”

“Oh good!”

Ulfric let out a silent breath of relief as he led his wife downstairs and she happily went to the table, squeezing in between Ria and Njada, the former kissing her cheek and the latter slapping her on the back companionably. Ulfric smiled and took the offered seat next to Farkas, which was thankfully not across from Vilkas, though it was somewhat unfortunately right across from Athis. The Dark Elf stared at him for a moment, and when he hesitated then nodded in greeting the Dunmer inclined his head slightly, just enough to be polite, then pointedly ignored him and turned to the blond warrior next to him.

Athis nudged Torvar and said, “Tomorrow night. You and me. New Gnisis Cornerclub.” He had always tried to avoid Windhelm, sure that he could smell ash on the air, a painful reminder of his homeland and lost kin, but now that he was here he was going to spend time with his own kind. Now that it was quite apparent that Irileth was banging the Jarl his hopes in that department had died, so he might as well see if he could find some company for a night at least among his own folk. He wasn’t desperate enough yet to even consider that psychopath Jenassa at the Drunken Huntsman.

“Yeah,” Torvar drawled with an evil grin, then he rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Oh yeah. Get me some of that sujamma and a dusky-skinned filly on each arm and I’ll be set.”

Athis snorted in derision. “You’d better pace yourself, Shield-Brother, or the only reason the ‘fillies’ will be grabbing your arms is to drag your sodden ass into the street.”

“Come on, I’ve been good for a long time now.”

“I’m just warning you. Dunmer women don’t find loud mouths or drunkenness charming.” He took a sip of ale and said thoughtfully, “A Dunmer woman is a proud creature. Slow to passion, but once roused…” He snorted a laugh. “You are woefully unprepared, friend.”

Torvar rolled his eyes. “Oh sure, sure.”

“I’m just warning you,” he repeated. “I warned you about Haelga. You didn’t listen.”

Torvar grimaced. “Eh, you’ve got me there.”

Farkas said to him, “Hey Torvar, remind me again, was it a horker tusk or—“

“This conversation is over!”

Athis asked thoughtfully, “Was she wearing the Daedric boots that time? I forget.”

Farkas added, “Bet you sobered up fast after that.”

“Over, I said!” Torvar stated, raising his voice. “And damn you both to the depths of Oblivion!” He got up from the table, muttering, “I need another drink.”

“Ah, come now,” Athis said in an apologetic tone, getting up as well. He put his arm around Torvar’s shoulder and the other man lightly punched him in the ribs, making him laugh, then he put his arm around the Dunmer and the two headed to the kitchen.

Farkas snorted into his mug, and when he glanced at Ulfric the older man was watching the two Companions with a troubled look, then he noticed Farkas’ attention and tried to smooth out his expression. “Best friends,” Farkas stated with a shrug. “You should see how Vilkas and I used to fight. It’s great being best friends with your brother, but sometimes it’s a pain.”

Ulfric said, “I wouldn’t know. I was an only child. Galmar and I were children together, but I was summoned to High Hrothgar when I was eight, and was there for nearly ten years, so we missed a great many things other lads take for granted.” He snorted. “Well, I missed them. He did not.”

Farkas grimaced and said, “Ugh, that must’ve been real fun. Spending your teens with a bunch of old men.”

“Some of them weren’t so old then.” He took a drink of mead and watched Athis and Torvar in the kitchen popping the corks out of two bottles of mead then click them together in a toast. The other Companions were talking amongst themselves, the room growing noisier by the minute. “I wonder sometimes, what kind of person I would be now if I hadn’t gone to the monastery so young. Would it have made a difference, do you think?”

“Hell yes, it would have. You’d be a totally different person. Better person, probably not though.” Touched, Ulfric smiled at him and patted him on the back. “Now me and Vilkas, we would’ve driven the Greybeards crazy. Jergen left when we were about eight and Kodlak took over raising us, and I won’t lie, we were brats. There were times he threatened to throw us out on the street, or take us to Honorhall, but we always knew he didn’t really mean it. He told us before he died that the best years of his life were when we were kids, but I think we were what made his hair turn white. Either that or becoming Harbinger. Vilkas didn’t get his first gray hair until after that.” He nudged Ulfric and lowered his voice, saying with a grin, “I caught him staring at himself in the mirror the other day before we left Whiterun, looking for more gray hairs. Is that vain or what? He tried to pass it off like my imagination or something but who is he kidding?”

Ulfric laughed and nodded, though the laugh was halfhearted. Farkas topped off his mug and he raised it to the Companion then took a drink, trying to pace himself. He knew Bryn didn’t really mind him drinking; her worry was that it would cause something like their experience in Riften with him in tears afterward. He thought nervously of the Amulet of Dibella upstairs and wondered what exactly it would do for him that Bryn wasn’t already doing on her own. He supposed he might find out later tonight, if Bryn had any interest in her after being around Vilkas. She had sworn to him that they had gotten along fine in Whiterun, that it had helped them both to be able to talk freely, but Ulfric couldn’t help thinking it had somehow made things worse. Made the yearning worse. He didn’t know how to make it any less painful for either of them. He wouldn’t have had as much sympathy for Vilkas if it wasn’t for the knowledge that he was physically incapable of moving past losing Bryn. The matter with the letter was of course terrible, but an ordinary man would have grieved for a while then gradually moved on. There was little about Vilkas that was ordinary, and knowing he had been a werewolf made it doubly so.

He glanced sideways at Farkas, who was leaning close to his wife and nuzzling her, and he glanced down and saw their fingers intertwined in Farkas’ lap. So Farkas had been a werewolf. He looked for signs of it and saw none, of course, and when he looked down the table at Aela he saw her feeding her daughter tiny bits of soft stewed meat while the baby played with a chunk of bread. He saw no signs there either, and the woman was a full-blooded werewolf, and proud of it. He looked further down the table and felt a twinge of anxiety to see Vilkas staring at him with a sullen expression, then the Harbinger lowered his eyes to his plate and began poking at his food. Ulfric grumbled and took another drink of mead, thinking he should probably eat something as well or he was going to end up drunk at this rate, something he realized wasn’t the best idea right now. He knew himself too well and he’d end up saying something to Vilkas at some point, wanting to know what he had told Farkas outside. Why he had gone outside to begin with. No, getting drunk tonight was not a good idea at all.  
-  
Vilkas came out of the privy, and when he saw Ulfric standing there he shook his head and said in dismay, “No. Oh no. Forget it. Never again.”

Ulfric laughed and said, “Am I not allowed to take a leak, Harbinger?”

“Tell me you didn’t follow me out here!”

“I didn’t follow you out here.”

“You’re lying.”

“Perhaps.”

“You’re also drunk.” Not tipsy; drunk. Full out drunk. Ulfric wasn’t a drinker, and to see him standing there somewhat unsteadily and hear him slurring his words was unsettling to say the least. Vilkas had avoided both him and Bryn for the last two hours, and Bryn had seemed happy to oblige, but Ulfric had been watching him for the last hour of those two hours and putting away increasing large quantities of alcohol, something clearly on his mind, and Vilkas had felt a growing dread over what Ulfric was obviously working himself up to doing.

“Most definitely. It’s your brother’s fault. I never used to drink to excess, but every time I do it’s when he’s around. He’s a terrible influence.” Vilkas stared at him with a flat expression, his eyes cold, and Ulfric couldn’t help laughing. Yes, he was quite drunk, about as drunk as he had ever been. In fact he could say with the utmost certainty that this was the drunkest he had ever been in his life. Or most drunk. Drunkest or most drunk? Well, it really didn’t matter; he was plastered either way. He pointed at Vilkas and said, “Look at you. You’re so…proper. Are you going to--" Vilkas scowled and folded his arms and Ulfric burst into laughter. “That’s exactly what I thought you were going to do!”

Vilkas growled and let his arms fall, angry and completely at a loss as to what to do. He knew Ulfric was going to regret this tomorrow, and he didn’t want to embarrass the older man or Bryn. Bryn was as sober as Vilkas was, though every single other Companion other than the pregnant Lydia and the nursing Aela was also drunk to varying degrees. Bryn wasn’t enjoying herself much at all, though she was putting on a brave face and did seem glad that the Companions were all here. Well Vilkas wasn’t glad to be here. He had considered staying home, afraid that things would turn awkward between him and Bryn with Ulfric around, but Farkas and Mjoll had insisted he go, telling him Bryn would be hurt if he didn’t show up. Maybe so, but that would be better than this. There were different kinds of hurt, and this one was worse.

He said in annoyance, “Fine, you have me here. Say what’s on your mind, what mind you have at the moment, and be done with it.”

“You didn’t tell Farkas I’m going to die, did you?”

“Not this bullshit again!” Vilkas exclaimed. “No I didn’t tell him that, and I never will! He seems to like you, for reasons that still escape me. What I told him was private--"

“Did it have to do with Brynhilde?”

“None of your business!”

“You two should have done it, you realize. Maybe it would have made her happy for a little while.”

His face warming, Vilkas said in a tight voice, “No, it wouldn’t have. It wouldn’t have made either of us happy. You think we can just… You can’t just skirt around certain things, damn it! There is no halfway, or just enough. Such a thing would never be enough! I won’t torture myself, or her, or be a party to betraying someone’s wedding vows.” He made a sound of angry frustration and went on, “I never should’ve come here. It was a mistake. She would have enjoyed herself if I wasn’t around, and instead she has to force herself to smile and joke with her friends while always aware of where I am, and you are, and I’m having to see her and smell her and I’m… _bleeding_ to death inside!”

“I’m sorry,” Ulfric said in a sorrowful tone. “That wasn’t what I wanted.”

“Never ask me to come here again,” he demanded. “She would have been fine if I wasn’t here. How the hell am I going to spend all week here?” Ulfric shook his head, a troubled look on his face. “What the hell did you get so drunk for, anyway? Bryn won’t appreciate having to drag your drunken ass home.”

“Well maybe…I thought…” Ulfric licked his lips and murmured, “If you helped her walk me home, maybe we, ah—“

“Ulfric.” The sharp sound of Bryn’s voice coming out of the shadows startled both men, and as she came into view she slowly shook her head. “No, Ulfric,” she said quietly, trying to keep her voice from breaking. “Don’t.” She had known Ulfric was up to no good when he had gone outside half a minute after Vilkas, after spending the last hour deliberately getting full-out drunk. But she hadn’t imagined anything like this in her worst nightmares. She wished she had stopped him right away instead of eavesdropping in the shadows.

“I would do it. For you.”

“Yes darling, I know you would, and it’s a terrible idea.”

When she got close enough Ulfric grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, saying, “No it isn’t. It’s… it’s the perfect solution.”

“If it was you wouldn’t have had to get completely shitfaced to contemplate it.”

“No, I contemplated it sober. During dinner. I got shitfaced to carry through on it.” He put his arms around her waist, feeling her trembling. “Just think, precious. It would solve everything.”

“It would kill you. You would think it’s a good idea, right up until it’s happening in front of you, and you sure as hell wouldn’t be able to bring yourself to partake.” She heard a choked sound of realization from Vilkas as he finally figured out what Ulfric was getting at. Oh, how she wanted what Ulfric was offering. She wanted that more than anything. But if he couldn’t offer it sober then the offer wasn’t serious.

“I could get used to it. It isn’t as if…well, the thoughts were there, before Elenwen got her claws into me. Maybe that’s why sometimes it wasn’t so terrible, what they did.”

Vilkas stiffened, his eyes widening in horror, and Bryn whispered in dismay, “Ulfric, no. Let’s go home, honey, please. You’ll regret all this tomorrow. You never should have gotten so drunk."

“I had to,” he urged, putting his hand on her cheek. “I would do anything for you, Brynhilde, but this, I didn’t have the courage to do it sober. I want you to be happy and being with him would make you happy.”

“Not this way.”

“But you see, this way I wouldn’t be dead. I know that’s why you grieve, because you want him and you think I have to die for you to have him, but this way I don’t, and it isn’t as if I would get nothing out of it. I’ve thought about it from the start, how beautiful you must have been together--" 

Bryn put her hand over his mouth, and he shook it off then tried to kiss her, while Vilkas stood there completely stunned. He never in his wildest dreams would have imagined Ulfric proposing a three-way. Or would have imagined that the Thalmor had… He shuddered as the word _rape_ whispered through his mind. It had never crossed his mind that Ulfric had experienced that kind of torture back then. It explained things though. Explained why he had taken so very few lovers over the last thirty years, and why once he had Bryn in his bed he would have done anything to keep her, someone who was an agent of the goddesses of love and compassion and could possibly help heal his emotional wounds. There probably were few women who would have been able to competently deal with that kind of trauma in a husband, the kind that Vilkas couldn’t contemplate without his manhood shriveling. He could only imagine that it inflicted its own special kind of damage on a man, especially one who was tall and strong and could use the _thu’um,_ a skilled warrior, a leader of men even when he was young. Vilkas could only guess that the rapes had been not ones of opportunity but ones meant to break Ulfric. Maybe that was what finally had. It made Vilkas want to cry.

Bryn grabbed Ulfric’s arm and pulled on it, saying in a pained voice, “We’re going home, Ulfric.”

“Not without him we’re not,” he countered. “I want to see you two together.”

“Sweet fucking Divines,” Vilkas whispered in fresh dismay and embarrassment, then he gasped as Bryn ducked down and threw Ulfric over her shoulder. “Holy hell, woman!” he cried. Ulfric wasn’t a small man, average height for a Nord male, and not lightly built. Ulfric grunted in disbelief then started laughing hysterically at the situation. Vilkas couldn’t. This entire encounter seemed like something Sheogorath himself would have dreamed up.

As she walked away she said, “There’s a box in the middle chest upstairs. Please have someone bring it by tomorrow. Tell the others goodnight.” She didn’t wait for Vilkas’ response. _Happy goddamn birthday,_ she thought to herself, half angry and half grieving. Ulfric was going to be horrified in the morning. And very hung over. It made Bryn furious with Farkas for once again leading her husband astray, though he had been a willing participant every time. This though, this was unacceptable. She should have kept a better eye on the situation, and should have stopped him when she saw how unsteadily he was walking as he headed outside.

It wasn’t that far to the Palace of Kings, and when she got close enough for the guards to see her they reacted with disbelief. One called out, “My lady, is the Jarl all right?”

“Yes he’s fine,” she said in a tense voice. “He just had too much to drink.” And he was getting extremely heavy. She was ridiculously strong, but even she could only do so much for so long.

“Put me down, Brynhilde,” he demanded. When she ignored him he shouted in a slurred voice, “I am the Jarl of Eastmarch, woman!”

“Shut up!” she hissed, giving him a shake. “This is your own fault!” The guards snickered and she ordered, “Open the door, and please keep this to yourselves.” Maybe from their point of view this was funny, but she was utterly unamused.

The guard on the left hurried to do so, and as he closed it behind the Queen he muttered in admiration, “Damn, now that’s a Nord woman!”

The other said in a lowered voice, “Yeah? My woman can’t sling me over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”

“Well our lady can, so watch it.”  
-  
Ulfric groaned and rolled onto his side, his head throbbing in time with his pulse. “Bloody hell,” he whispered. The bed was empty and cold next to him, and the entirety of what he had done the previous night hit him like a slap in the face. “Damned jackass,” he muttered. He couldn’t remember if Bryn had gone to bed with him or not. He vaguely remembered her undressing him while he tried to get her to sleep with him and her annoyance as she batted his hands away and avoided his kisses; he remembered nothing after his head hit the pillow.

A wave of nausea surged through him, and he rolled out of bed and grabbed up the chamber pot and barely managed to bring it up to his face before he vomited. The horrid smell of sour mead and ale mixed with the remains of dinner made him vomit again, and by time he was done he felt wrung out and weak. He set the pot on the table and went to fall back into bed when he saw Bryn sitting by the fire, staring into it as if she were lost in her own internal world. He made a sound of misery and crawled into the bed and squeezed his eyes shut, his face burning with shame. He had…gods, he couldn’t even bear to think about what he had done and said. He couldn’t bear the thought of facing Vilkas again. Bryn he could face, with some difficulty, but not Vilkas. All he could do was pray that the Harbinger never spoke a word of it to anyone.

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, then another in his hair, letting him know he was forgiven, much too easily to his mind. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. She leaned down and kissed his temple, letting her lips linger there for a moment then she moved away. He heard her moving about then she came back to him, prodding him to sit up as she pressed a bottle into his hands. “Hair of the dog?”

“No, a potion to cure poison,” she murmured. “It will neutralize the alcohol.”

“I deserve to suffer.”

“Spare me.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“A little bit, yes.” 

He snorted in self-derision and hauled himself to a sitting position, avoiding her eyes, then he drank down the potion, gagging a bit as it settled in his stomach. She handed him a mug of water to get the taste out of his mouth, and he felt the nausea recede, though his head still ached. Bryn sat down on the bed next to him and brushed his hair back from his face, then she laid her hand on his head and he felt the gentle warmth of healing flow through him. He set the mug on the dais next to the bed and muttered, “You’re being much too kind.”

“You did and said those things out of love.” And maybe a bit of something else as well, but she wasn’t going to bring it up unless he did.

“Out of stupidity,” he countered angrily. He was angry with himself and no one else. He couldn’t blame Farkas; Farkas hadn’t forced him to drink, and Farkas didn’t know the reasons why Ulfric shouldn’t drink heavily.

“I…appreciate the thought.” Ulfric groaned and leaned over to put his face in his hands, and Bryn put her arm across his back and went on, “You were trying to do something you thought would make me happy.”

“Would it?” She didn’t answer. He lifted his head and repeated insistently, “Would it?”

“Only if it made you happy too.” He stared at her, his brow crinkled as he wrestled with it, then he shook his head and looked away, his face red. She stated, “You know me quite well, darling. You know I wouldn’t turn down that kind of offer, if it was made under different circumstances. I’m only…well.” She was about to say only human, but that would be inaccurate in a couple different ways. “I love you both very much, Ulfric. But you are my husband. I won’t willingly put you in a position that would cause you emotional harm.”

“Would it?” he said for the third time, muttering so quietly that he wasn’t sure Bryn would even hear it.

“You tell me.” He wrinkled his nose then shook his head. “Don’t then, but I would hope you know better than to judge yourself for it. It’s an extremely common thing. It isn’t even a ‘thing’. Human nature, isn’t that what you told me long ago?” Ulfric said nothing and she didn’t press. He was silent for so long that she thought he had nothing more to say on it, when finally he sighed heavily as he stared at the fire. “I love you. This changes nothing.”

“It will for Vilkas.”

“He’ll be gone in a week.” He sighed again, fidgeting.

After nearly a minute he muttered, “What if they sensed it? What if that’s why they did that to me?”

Bryn stated firmly, “I don’t believe that one bit. In fact I would say it would go the opposite way.” She shook her head and went on, “No. They did what they did because a soulless sadist directed them to, and they were soulless sadists themselves. That you had a response forced out of you at times wasn’t your fault or anything to be ashamed of. You have nothing to be ashamed of in any regard, other than getting drunker than Torvar last night.”

“Good gods,” he whispered in horror. He had never been so drunk in his entire life. He was much, much too old for that kind of behavior. And the worst part of all was being carted home over his own wife’s shoulder. If those guards told anyone he would kill them. Personally.

She rubbed his back and said, “You did it to give yourself the courage to suggest something that you thought would help our situation, and I love you for it. Vilkas won’t tell anyone, about any of it. I could tell he was upset for your sake, and he wasn’t offended by your offer, once he realized you were making it. He’s been the focus of male attention most of his life, dearest. He can’t go anywhere without people of both genders staring at him, or Farkas. Sometimes I think they’re prettier than I am.”

“Untrue.”

Bryn shrugged and got up from the bed and went to one of the wardrobes, saying, “Lydia dropped off the box after breakfast.”

“Breakfast? What the hell time is it!”

“Ten or so.” He made a sound of self-disgust. “I opened the box already.” He grunted, and she came back with it and sat down on the bed again. A light wooden box with the lily symbol of Dibella engraved on the top had been inside the wrapping. She opened the lid and inside were two Amulets of Dibella.

Ulfric glanced in the box then frowned. “Two?”

“One for you; one for me. There was a letter with the amulets, from Hamal. She said these two are linked to each other. She’s never done anything like this before, so it took longer than she expected. She said that wearing them together will keep…unpleasant feelings and thoughts away.”

“How?”

“The Blessing of Dibella will flow through me, to you.” Hamal had also said that it would enable Ulfric to draw on Bryn’s emotional strength and healthy sexuality to begin more fully healing his own psyche and sexuality, but she didn’t tell him that, not wanting to add to his guilt or embarrassment. She took out one of the necklaces and moved to put it on but he stopped her.

“Not now.” She laid it back in the box and he added, “Later.”

“All right.”

Ulfric bit his lip then leaned in and kissed her. “Let me get washed a bit and dressed. Will you be spending today with any of the Companions?”

“Aela and Mjoll. The rest of them are going to visit Yngol’s Tomb.” She had cleared it long ago, not that anything would stand a chance against that many Companions. It would be nice to spend time with her older Shield-Sisters and their baby, without any men around to muck things up. After that though… tomorrow all the Companions would head back home except Lydia, Farkas and Vilkas. And then she had no idea what she was going to do. She was truly glad to have her two best friends here with her, but unfortunately Vilkas was part of that bargain.  
-  
The sound of a soft moan woke Bryn, and when she cracked her eyes open she saw rosy sunlight streaming through the eastern windows. She rolled onto her side and pillowed her head on her arm, letting herself gradually wake up, feeling warm and content. She had slept soundly last night, after spending a pleasant day with her Shield-Sisters and Skjorta. The baby had gotten used to her again and had let her carry her about the city in her sling. She hadn’t laid eyes on Vilkas, lightening her mood considerably, though some of what she had discussed with Aela had been hard to bear. By time bedtime had rolled around Ulfric had been more than glad to try the amulets, and when after some highly satisfying lovemaking he had easily let her roll him onto his back and ride him to the end without a fuss, or any anxiety afterwards, she had fallen asleep happy in her husband’s arms, saying fervent prayers of thanks to Dibella for her gift of peace.

A shift in the bed and another moan made Bryn roll over toward the middle of the bed. Ulfric was on his stomach, his face turned away, and the hand close to her was clutching the sheets, squeezing them then letting go again. When he groaned she nearly reached out to wake him, fearing a nightmare, then she heard him mumble and move his groin against the bed. Surprised, she left him alone, unsure if it was a good dream or bad. He wasn’t the restless sleeper she often was and while he did have the occasional nightmare from his past a light nudge was usually enough to get him out of it, and he usually just rolled over and never fully woke.

“Ah, Vilkas, yes…”

Bryn’s eyebrows shot up as her mouth fell open in shock, and when he moved against the sheets again and made a sound of pleasure she realized they were both still wearing the amulets, having fallen asleep with them on. She couldn’t imagine what else would be causing him to have an erotic dream about another man, unless the amulet was simply removing the last thirty-some years of suppressing he had done, leaving his mind free to wander the way it would have if he hadn’t been traumatized. She couldn’t feel bothered in any way by it; at least it wasn’t someone like Ralof or Hadvar. Vilkas wasn’t here the vast majority of the time, and frankly even if by some outrageously slim chance Ulfric did ever agree to letting him into their bed, Vilkas wouldn’t be reciprocating the attraction. Maybe Ulfric’s mind found Vilkas a safe target because Bryn had been with him and wanted him too.

She gently laid her hand on his bare back and he grunted and shifted onto his side, and when he squinted at her she ran her hand down his flank to his hip. “You were dreaming, darling,” she whispered. He frowned as he awakened further, blushing, and she turned onto her side to face away from him, pulling his arm over her. She could feel him warm and hard behind her, and she pressed back against him. Ulfric made a sound of helpless lust and reached down to guide it into her then began thrusting into her, kissing and biting the back of her neck as he kneaded her breast. He quickly came then slid his hand down between her legs to return the favor.

_“Vokul rekdovahi,”_ he whispered. _“Vokul.”_

_“Geh,”_ she said with a giggle. He sighed and held her tightly, his heart beating strong against her back. “I love you, Ulfric Stormcloak.”

He laughed quietly then began kissing and nuzzling her ear. “And I love you, my treasure. I love you and love you.” She said nothing more about his dream, and he appreciated her silence on the matter. He wasn’t about to overthink it, and he didn’t doubt that the linked amulets were responsible. He didn’t fool himself though that they were solely to blame. He wasn’t self-delusional. Perhaps at some point he would tell her about the dream; knowing her she would find it highly stimulating and they would end up rutting over it. It had certainly been…pleasant. Very, very pleasant. In his dream they had been doing just as he had suggested the other night; he had been making love to Bryn with Vilkas lying next to them, and next thing he knew Vilkas was moving behind him and kissing his shoulder, then had gently prepared and taken him, and the three of them had moved in harmony with Ulfric sandwiched between, dizzy with the unbelievable pleasure of it. He felt himself hardening again and he said in dismay, “I have to take his bloody amulet off!”

“Why?” Bryn replied innocently, then she squealed in surprise as he rolled to push her onto her stomach, still inside her, and when he slammed into her she cried out then buried her face in the pillow to muffle her screams. After a few minutes she felt his hardness start to wane and he pulled out of her with a sound of exhaustion and flopped onto the bed next to her, undoing the necklace then tossing it onto her backside, making her lift her head and laugh. “Oh, that’s why.” She lifted herself onto her elbows, and he was staring at the ceiling, a slight frown on his lined face, his hands behind his head. He seemed to be struggling a bit with something, probably his dream. She didn’t push about it, instead sliding close to him to lay her head on his chest and put her arm over him. He put his arm around her, the other hand petting her hair for a moment then he reached under her hair to undo the amulet and pull it off her then set it aside. Well, that was fine. She was sure he was wary of the effects of the amulets, now having a rather good idea of what they could do.

“I’ve been thinking… We should take a small vacation soon. To the tundra and the hot pools, with Rikke and Galmar. Perhaps take a side trip to Darkwater Crossing to do some fishing.” He felt her smile against his chest.

“That sounds wonderful.” She played with the dark blond hair on his stomach and went on, “You and Galmar can sit and fish while Rikke and I take Annekke Crag-Jumper out for a little adventure to Mistwatch. I’m sure the fort needs cleaning out again by now.”

He laughed and kissed the top of her head. “You can’t simply sit and do nothing, can you.”

“No, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right. You women can go off slaying bandits for fun while the men sit and fish and talk about you women.” She laughed and he kissed her head again, feeling content. He was glad that she hadn’t asked about his dream, though he was afraid he might have talked in his sleep, something he rarely did. She had certainly figured out it was erotic from her naughty taking advantage of it. He thought about the dream, too spent to do more than twitch a little over it, and couldn’t quite figure out how he felt about it. It had left him with a warm feeling he couldn’t quite describe. He knew damn well that it would never happen, something he couldn’t help being relieved about. He would never be able to bring himself to invite Vilkas into their bed sober, he was sure of it, and Ulfric was quite aware from the twins’ reputation and Bryn’s statements that Vilkas was as straight as they came. Vilkas had slept his way across Skryim nearly as much as his brother had, in fact it was a wonder the two men didn’t have half a dozen children in as many holds. Still, it had been a nice dream, feeling Bryn beneath him and Vilkas behind him, Vilkas inside him and himself inside Bryn. It had felt…safe. He had felt safe and loved between them.

He nearly snorted a laugh at the thought of what Vilkas would think of the dream. Vilkas would come out of his skin. _Sweet fucking Divines,_ he had whispered, just over the thought that Ulfric wanted to watch him make love to Bryn. If the memory of that night wasn’t so mortifying it would be hilarious, especially what it must have looked like to the guards to see Bryn carrying Ulfric home over her shoulder.

Bryn heard the rumble of her husband's chest under her as he laughed, and she asked, “Care to share, dearest?”

“That night,” he said in a bemused tone. “The other night. I…I had to be carried home over your shoulder. By the Nine, the things I said.”

She couldn’t help a giggle slipping out. “My favorite was when you bellowed, ‘I am the Jarl of Eastmarch, woman!’” Ulfric burst into laughter at that, his entire body shaking with it, and she couldn’t help laughing either. She supposed in hindsight the entire encounter with Vilkas had been slightly hilarious, now that it wasn’t quite so fresh. She also supposed it was safest to find the whole thing absurd, and if it came up with Vilkas she would frame it that way. He would probably still not find it funny at all, though how anyone couldn’t find funny the part about Ulfric being carried home and complaining about the assault on his dignity was beyond her.


	55. Chapter 55

“Wow, these are really beautiful,” Lydia said in appreciation. They were walking through the Snow Quarter, which looked vastly different from the last time she had come through, when Bryn and Ulfric had married. The streets were clean and in good repair, as was the rest of the city, and the roofs were new and solid. But the biggest difference was the banners hanging on the buildings. Before they had been tattered, barely holding together, remnants brought over from Morrowind; now they were fresh and new, their colors vibrant against the gray stone buildings, some of them in abstract patterns that were alien to Lydia’s eyes but lovely all the same, others with the symbols of ancestral houses, others in a strange but attractive hybrid of Dunmer/Nord designs.

“Aren’t they?” Bryn replied. “There are a number of Dunmer here who are textile artists of unmatched skill. Well, you know that from that lovely wedding dress they made me. But the rugs and tapestries though, they’re gorgeous. I invested in some businesses down here. Helped finance looms and supplies, in exchange for a cut of the profits, once they have them. The Dunmer aren’t comfortable with advertising as such, so I’ve commissioned some small rugs and table runners to send as gifts to all the Jarls. I think once people see those word will get out and business will really pick up. I might send some to the Counts in Cyrodiil and the courts of High Rock as well.”

Farkas said, “Yeah, Bretons like those foo-foo things.” The two women laughed on either side of him, their arms through his. It was nice having his two favorite ladies on his arms. “What’s Ulfric think about all this?”

“I’m not sure. He grunted when I told him about the investments.”

“Grunted.”

“Yes, that was it. That it was my own money I used didn’t help much. I thought it would, but…”

“Still slow going, eh?”

“A little, but I can say that it is going. I think eating dinner the other night across from Athis helped immensely. He’s never shared a table with a Dunmer before. And it was his idea to have Luaffyn come sing at my birthday party.”

“Huh. Well, better late than never, I suppose.”

“He’s really changed since I first met him,” Lydia admitted. Though to be honest the first time she had met him was to have him order her to stay downstairs while he went up and walked in on Bryn in her underwear, in Candlehearth Hall. If that hadn’t happened Bryn might have more easily gone back to Vilkas. Having that second option in the back of her mind hadn’t helped matters. Still, Lydia couldn’t deny that overall it had worked out to everyone’s benefit except Bryn’s and Vilkas’. Having Bryn as the Lady of Windhelm had turned the city completely around. Having Ulfric as Bryn’s consort had turned Skyrim around. 

But poor Vilkas. Lydia’s heart ached for her brother-in-law. He had been restless and miserable for days now, ever since Bryn’s birthday party. She had asked Bryn during their day together yesterday just what had happened outside, and when Bryn had explained it to her Lydia had been shocked as hell. She was sure a few parts had been left out, but she couldn’t imagine it being much more embarrassing than that. Ulfric seemed no worse for the experience, in fact he had been rather cheerful this week. Even Bryn had been, for the most part, probably because Vilkas had been making himself scarce. He had spent all day yesterday at Yngol’s tomb again, setting it to rights as best he could with Farkas’ help, finding the condition of the resting place of a son of Ysgramor a disgrace, which hadn’t been helped by Bryn tearing through the place; today he was downstairs in the barracks of the Palace of Kings, having been paid quite well by Galmar to give the guards some training in a variety of weapons and fighting styles. Lydia was sure the guards weren’t enjoying it.

“What the hell…” Farkas muttered, then he pulled both women to a stop and freed his arms. He was fully armed and armored, acting as the Queen’s escort today, and he was glad for it. Two masked people were striding purposefully down the street, people falling out of their way, or being shoved out of their way. Farkas had never seen anything like them; one was shorter and of slighter build than the other, who was a woman by the looks of it, both wore strange leather armor with the right sleeve scaled in metal, and the masks… He had been all over Skyrim and had never seen masks like that. He didn’t even know what they could possibly be. As they approached he pulled his sword and barked, “Stop right there!”

“Our business is not with you, lout,” the male said as they stopped. He pointed at Bryn and said, “You there! Are you the one they call Dragonborn?”

Bryn snorted a laugh of disbelief, her eyes wide, and Lydia said in offense, “She _is_ the Dragonborn. The Greybeards themselves have proclaimed her so.”

Farkas added in a growl, “And she’s the High Queen of Skyrim, so you’d better show some respect.”

The man ignored them and said more forcefully to Bryn, “Do you claim to be Dragonborn, girl?”

“He’s mine,” Farkas whispered furiously, seeing Bryn nod slightly out of the corner of his eye. He motioned with his hand for Lydia to start moving back and his wife did so, just as aware as he was of how limited her ability to defend herself was in her condition. She carried her sword everywhere with her, but she was too heavily pregnant to move properly or quickly in a fight, due within a few weeks. Farkas wasn’t worried about himself and Bryn, but Lydia’s presence here made him sick with anxiety.

“Yes, I am Dragonborn,” Bryn stated in irritation. “Why?”

The man’s voice hardened and he cried, "Your lies fall on deaf ears, deceiver! The True Dragonborn comes and you are but his shadow. When Lord Miraak appears all shall bear witness. None shall stand to oppose him, especially you, impostor!"

The Dunmer in the background either scattered or armed themselves as the two masked strangers called magic to hand, and Farkas went after the male with a roared battle cry that sent more Dunmer fleeing with screams. Bryn targeted the woman and Shouted _“WULD NAH KEST!”_ and barreled into her, sending her flying down the street, and when several Dunmer began to attack she yelled, “Stand back! Don’t kill her!” She glanced back at the sound of lightning striking and saw Farkas fall to his knees, then the stranger was fending off a dozen Dunmer. She couldn’t spare the time to look any further and went after the woman, who was struggling to her feet, dazed.

The woman shook her head to clear it, and seeing Bryn walking towards her with flared nostrils she raised her hands to call a lightning storm, then suddenly found herself flying through the air again with a resounding clap of thunder.

_“FUS RO DAH!”_ The Dunmer gasped or screamed and fled out of Bryn’s way, but she was too angry to do more than vaguely notice. The woman lay in the street groaning, and Bryn strode to her and pulled her mask off, yelling, “Who are you!” The woman was Nord, blond and blue-eyed, young and pretty. She was too injured to answer, and Bryn cast healing on her, after which the woman gasped and tried to get away. Bryn punched her in the ribs and she doubled over, then Bryn grabbed her by the front of her leather armor and swung her around and slammed her into the nearest wall. “Who are you!” Bryn shouted. “Who is Miraak!” Folk cried out as the sound thundered around them.

“True Dragonborn,” the woman whispered. “You…false Dragonborn..”

_“Does this sound false to you?”_ Bryn roared, shaking her so hard her head flopped. _“I am Dragonborn! Zu’u los Dovahkiin, zu’u los fin nunon gein! There is no other!”_

“Lord Miraak…destroy you…”

Bryn growled furiously and slammed the woman into the wall again, making her go limp, then she started dragging her down the street, leaving a trail of blood behind her. The group around the other dead stranger scattered in terror, and she glanced down at the man as she passed, seeing he was Dunmer, cleaved nearly in half by Farkas’ sword, burnt by fire magic. She barely took note of Farkas, only enough to see that he was completely healed, probably by one of the Dunmer citizens, and heard the jingle of his armor as he ran to catch up with her.

“Bryn,” he said with worry. The look on her face was terrifying. Blood splattered her fine tunic and pants, and there was a fine spray of it on her face, all of it the Nord woman’s. The stranger hung limply from Bryn’s grasp, her booted feet bumping along the cobblestones. There was something so horrifying about it all that he couldn’t put it into words. “Bryn, I think she’s dead.” Yellow magic swirled around the woman and she began struggling weakly. He fell back, shaking his head, deeply concerned about his friend’s state of mind. Lydia ran to him with the Dunmer’s mask in her hands and he put his arm around her, reassuring her that he was fine, and he led her along, following Bryn at a distance as she hauled her captive toward the Palace of the Kings.

Ulfric met them halfway, the entire city having heard the Queen. He was followed by Galmar and Rikke and a dozen guards, and when Bryn threw the groaning woman onto the ground he asked, “What happ—”

“They called me an imposter!” Bryn yelled furiously. “False Dragonborn! They say there is another, but I am the only one! _Zu’u los nunon Dovahkiin!”_ She grabbed the woman by the neck and hauled her to her feet and shook her, roaring in her face, _“Hon thu’umi? Zu’u lost dovahsos! Zu’u los kiir se Akatosh! Zu’u los briinah se Talos! Zu’u los fin nunon gein!”_

Ulfric shuddered as the woman whimpered in terror, wetting herself, and Bryn roared so loud that the surrounding buildings trembled then she threw the woman like a doll against the nearest wall. His wife went after the woman again, her hands glowing with healing magic, and he knew with sick dread that she was going to keep this going until her rage was spent. And such rage, the kind that he couldn’t begin to understand, and he was intimately familiar with rage. “Brynhilde, stop,” he demanded. He heard more feet running up and glanced behind him to see Vilkas with another dozen guards, the Harbinger pale, having no doubt heard Bryn’s furious roaring. He shook his head and went after his wife, no one else daring to get anywhere near her, everyone terrified. Well, so was he. He really didn’t know what she would do even to him in this state, one he had never really seen her in before. When she reached down to pick up the woman with glowing hands he yelled, “Brynhilde, that is enough!” She ignored him, and he silently asked Kynareth’s forgiveness and shouted at his wife, _“FUS RO!”_

Bryn was shoved into the wall, though she kept her feet, and she stared in shock at her husband, who advanced on her with his fists clenched. “You dare, _ahmul!”_ she cried.

“Yes I dare, when you attempt torture in the streets of my city!” She gaped at him then growled in heated offense. “You think to heal then abuse her over and over, and for what, to feed your own rage? I know torture when I see it, do not insult me by saying I don’t know it when I see it! I of all people know it!” That set her back, and she made a hissing, snarling sound of fury and let the magic in her hands die. He went closer to her and demanded, “Back away from her.”

_“Rek los dii!”_

_“Nid._ You are done with her.” Bryn’s teeth bared as she growled furiously, and he felt a shiver of fear go through him as the aura of a golden dragon appeared around her, her eyes glowing with rage, and he knew from the cries and gasps behind them that he wasn’t the only one who saw it. “Back away, Brynhilde.” She hesitated, clenching her fists, and he stated, “Do it or I will use all three words of Unrelenting Force, and even you cannot stand against that.” Seeing he meant it, and he did, Bryn stepped back slowly, shaking with anger. He knelt down and felt the woman’s neck, bent at an unnatural angle, and there was no pulse, her breathing stopped; she had probably died the moment she hit the wall. He stood and looked back at the crowd, and he saw Farkas had signs of battle on him. “What happened?” he asked the other man.

Farkas came over with the mask in his hands, saying quietly, “Two of them came at us in the Snow Quarter. Man and woman. Asking if Bryn was the one they called Dragonborn. Said something about her being an impostor and Lord something or other being the true Dragonborn.” He glanced at Bryn but she was rubbing her temples, her eyes closed, trying to collect herself. He saw Lydia going to her and nearly barked at his wife to stay away from her. He caught himself in time, telling himself Bryn wouldn’t hurt her best friend. If she hadn’t hurt Ulfric when he was confronting her, she surely wouldn’t harm Lydia. He handed Ulfric the mask. “They were both wearing these. The Dunmer helped take them down and healed me up after.”

“Is the body still down there?”

“Should be.”

Galmar motioned for several guards to go fetch it then came over to join them, saying gruffly, “Did you see where they came from?”

Farkas shrugged helplessly. “Could’ve come from anywhere.”

Galmar knelt down and began searching the woman’s body, and it didn’t take long to find a folded note in one of her belt pouches. He stood, unfolding it, and read:

_Board the vessel Northern Maiden docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn known as Brynhilde before she reaches Solstheim. Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased._

“What the hell,” the housecarl growled. He handed it to Ulfric then turned to the guards and said, “Two of you, down to the docks. If there is a ship called Northern Maiden there, make sure it doesn’t go anywhere.” Two of them took off at a run. He saw Ulfric crumple the note in one hand as he examined the mask in the other. “What do you think, Ulfric? Never seen the like.”

Ulfric ran his hand over the mask then knocked on it. “Dragon bone,” he stated.

Galmar grunted and reached down to pick up the woman’s right arm to show the Jarl the dragon head on the shoulder. “Think they’re some kind of dragon cultists? Alduin could’ve raised up plenty of dragons over there.”

“Over where?” Bryn demanded. Galmar grimaced, and she pried Lydia’s hand off her arm and held her hand out to her husband. “I want the note.” He hesitated, and she asked Galmar, “Where did Northern Maiden come from?”

Galmar glanced at Ulfric, caught between his Queen and his Jarl, then Ulfric sighed heavily and handed his wife the note. She quickly read it then threw it on the ground and walked away toward the Palace at a brisk pace. “Shit,” Ulfric muttered, seeing Rikke run after Bryn.

Lydia went to Ulfric and Galmar, asking with worry, “Where is she going, my Jarl?”

“Solstheim, I would imagine.”

“Oh no,” she whispered, running to catch up with Rikke as best she could, which wasn’t very well at all.

“She can’t go alone,” Farkas stated in a grave tone. “What if there really is another Dragonborn?”

“How can there be?” Galmar said. “The Queen is the last Dragonborn.”

“Yeah, but she wasn’t the first.” Everyone stared at him with stunned expressions, and he grumbled and said, “Anyway, someone has to go with her. I can’t. I can’t be away from Lydia right now.”

Ulfric stated, “Ralof and Hadvar aren’t due back for another eight or nine days, and she will not wait that long. Even I won’t be able to keep her here, and…I can’t go with her. Her going to Solstheim alone might not be seen as a provocation to the Dunmer government there, but if I went with her it would most certainly be.”

Galmar saw Farkas’ confusion and explained, “They’re touchy about the island. Some Nords have talked about taking it back from the Dunmer. If Ulfric went with the Queen it would seem too much like they were scoping it out, for an invasion or something. There are native Nords still living there, Skaal, and for the most part they all get along and leave each other alone, but this…this could cause problems. I agree though, the Queen can’t go alone.”

Vilkas stiffened as Farkas and Ulfric turned to him, and he said in a bleak tone, “No. Forget it.”

Galmar quietly said, “Ulfric, bad idea.” Very bad idea. Galmar knew there were things going on between Ulfric, Bryn and Vilkas that he wasn’t privy to, and he hadn’t pushed the issue with his Jarl and best friend, yet, but he knew this was a disaster in the making. It gave him that same feeling of dread and foreboding that he had felt the morning after Bryn had spent her first night with Ulfric. He loved the Queen like a daughter and believed whole-heartedly that she had been good for Ulfric, had saved not only his life but his heart and soul, but Galmar knew that Vilkas going to Solstheim with Bryn was going to be the catalyst for something bad. There was no way it couldn’t be. Bryn and Vilkas would do their best to honor her wedding vows, but honor only took you so far when you were alone on the road together and both parties suffered from an unsatisfied longing.

“We have no other choice,” he replied just as quietly, and when Vilkas walked away towards the Valunstrad district, shaking his head, Ulfric went after him. He caught up with the Harbinger near the Temple of Talos, calling, “Vilkas, wait.”

Vilkas turned on him, his fists clenched, and he said in a fierce whisper, “What are you trying to do, kill me!”

“There is no one else who can do it,” he said in a pleading tone. “You don’t understand: I _cannot_ go with her to Solstheim. It could provoke an incident. As part of the Empire we don’t have open relations with Morrowind.”

Vilkas said in a sour voice, “And then there’s the simple fact of it being you.”

Ulfric frowned at him for a moment and admitted, “Yes, I would not be well-received there. Brynhilde might, as she is seen as a champion of the Dunmer in Skyrim, and you might as a Companion and the Shield-Brother of a Dark Elf.” Vilkas grumbled and rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes. Ulfric quietly stated, “I…ah, I am sorry. About the other night. I was incredibly drunk. I behaved in an appalling manner. I put you and Brynhilde in a…difficult position.”

He opened his eyes and was surprised to see Ulfric blushing slightly, but the older man didn’t look away. “And yet here you are now, putting us in yet another difficult position. An impossible one!”

“I know that. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry!” Vilkas spat. “You’re sorry. I can’t _do_ this, damn it. I’d be with her all the time. _All the time._ I can’t do it!”

The break in Vilkas’ voice and the torment in his expression made Ulfric writhe with guilt. “What would you have me do? Farkas can’t go with his wife heavily pregnant. I can’t go. The lads aren’t here and Brynhilde won’t wait for them to return. The other Companions left days ago. There’s a mercenary that lives at the inn but who knows how good he is or what his scruples are. Galmar and Rikke aren’t young and wouldn’t keep up with her long, hell, neither would I. There is no one else but you.” Vilkas groaned and turned away for a moment then turned back again, shaking his head, his pale gray eyes glistening. “I…ah…” He licked his lips then whispered, “If it happens, it happens.”

Vilkas’ eyes widened and he cried, “Are you out of your fucking mind!”

“Not that I’m aware of, and I mean it. I…” He made a sound of embarrassment and went on in a lowered voice, “I even meant it the other night. I was drunk, but I meant it.” There, he had said it. He had been thinking about it for most of the week, and he had come to the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, he could bring himself to do it, if he and Bryn were wearing the amulets. It would take a lot more time and consideration though. A lot more. He couldn’t just leave the matter alone though. Not after seeing the look of agony on Vilkas’ face.

“Sanguine’s balls,” Vilkas whispered in bewilderment.

“I can hope that nothing will happen between you, but if it does I wouldn’t be angry.”

“No, just wounded.”

“I would get over it easily enough. I would do anything for her. I meant that as well when I said it. I detest the thought of her traveling in your company, always wanting. The dragon blood…it doesn’t take well to that. As you saw today, once stirred the dragon does not yield easily, on the battlefield or in the bedroom.”

“Yes, so she said,” Vilkas muttered. _“Dovah smoliin uznahgaar,_ is that it?” Ulfric looked shocked. “We were arguing, when she came to Whiterun. She told me of your offer. I asked her what the hell she did to you on the way back from Riften to make you agree to it. I only thought to comfort her, to hold her, and she told me I couldn’t put my hands on her and expect nothing to happen, that I couldn’t rile the dragon and heat her blood then just walk away.”

“And that is what she said? _Dovah smoliin uznahgaar?” Dragon passion unbridled._ It made him sadly wonder if some part of her was always bridled with him, in ways she hadn’t been with Vilkas. And it made him guiltily wonder if by time she was with Vilkas again if she was going to be inhibited in some way because of her time with Ulfric, dealing with his emotional wounds. He didn’t want to believe he was ruining her, as he had feared he would when they first got together.

“Yes. And other things. _Nid drem._ No peace.” He had made a point of remembering what she said in the dragon tongue, for all the good it did. He had been wondering off and on all week if he should try to learn it, as Farkas had suggested. He had refused to consider it at first, not wanting to look like he was trying to horn in on something that was special between Ulfric and Bryn, but the more he thought about it the more he thought it might be a good idea. After hearing Bryn roaring today he was convinced he needed to learn, if only to understand what she was saying. It wasn’t as if he needed to speak it himself.

“And that is why I said what I did. I live with it every day, her lack of peace, even on her good days. I know the nature of dov better than any but the Greybeards, no, I do know it better, because I live with a dragon. Usually that isn’t a bad thing, but as you saw today she can be something terrible, though I must say that today was the worst she has ever been. Dragons do not take well to challenges. They can’t resist them. Frankly I’m amazed that another dragon didn’t hear her and come to investigate.” Odahviing flew over Windhelm at times, looking for her, or perhaps checking on her, then flew off again when she didn’t call. One of these days he was going to have to ask her to call the dragon down, if only to look at it and talk to it. 

“They no doubt heard and realized she was in no mood to chat.”

“Did you see it? The dragon aura?” Vilkas nodded, frowning. “So? Will you go?” Vilkas hesitated, and he added wryly, “She told me you’ve killed one of everything in Skyrim. Perhaps you will find something new in Solstheim to challenge you, Harbinger.”

“The only challenge will be to my sense of honor.”

“Why? She’s your mate, is she not?”

His face warming, he muttered, “She never should have told you that.”

“She had her reasons for it, and they were good ones, mostly. Once I got past the…unsavory nature of it, it helped me see you in a more sympathetic light.”

“Whatever. I will not sully my honor by helping her betray her marital vows. She entered into a contract with you when she wed you.”

“A contract entered into under false terms is invalid.”

Frustrated, Vilkas exclaimed, “What in Oblivion are you trying to do to me!” He huffed and threw his hands in the air and stalked away, heading for Hjerim. “I will go, but in return you will see to my brother and his wife.” He couldn’t even begin to guess how long this was going to take. The island was a full two days’ sail from Skyrim’s coast. This could take weeks. Weeks of being in close proximity to Bryn. It was going to be pure hell, and the only reason he was going was because she did need a shield-sibling. There was someone over there who was either an actual Dragonborn or powerful enough to think he was one, and either way it was bad news.

“As if they were my own kin,” Ulfric promised. “I will see them home safely if I must do it myself.”

“Fine.” Vilkas grumbled, feeling stressed and angry, hating Ulfric slightly at the moment. For all his talk of doing anything for Bryn, Ulfric’s motives weren’t entirely pure. Vilkas remembered every word the older man had said the other night, and he quite clearly remembered Ulfric saying _I want to see you two together. I’ve thought about it from the start, how beautiful you must have been together._ It sent shudders down Vilkas’ spine to think that Ulfric might be attracted to him in any way. He hadn’t ever sensed it, and it was probably unfair to take anything he had said while drunk at face value. Still, Ulfric had just stated that he had meant what he said, and he hadn’t clarified which parts he had meant, so Vilkas had to assume he’d meant it all.

When he reached Hjerim he saw a cluster of worried citizens including Calder close by, being reassured by city guards, and he ducked inside the house before they saw him. No doubt Bryn had been heard for a mile around, as had Ulfric’s Shout. Vilkas had to admit it had been impressive to see the Jarl use the _thu’um,_ something he had only seen Bryn do. He personally couldn’t understand why the Greybeards were so stingy with its use and only taught the skill to those who were slated to join the monks. Bryn couldn’t train anyone in it, its use coming instinctively to her, inborn, and Ulfric knew only the single Shout. If the Nord legions had been able to use the _thu’um_ it might have made all the difference in the Great War.

He pulled off the casual clothing he had been wearing and folded it and stowed it in his pack then put on the black doublet and pants that went under his ebony armor, and when he heard someone come in he recognized his twin’s heavy footsteps. As he strapped his armor on he said, “I could use some help with this.”

“Sure.” Farkas helped him situate the heavy armor and fasten the buckles. “I appreciate you doing this. I know Ulfric really does.”

“Bryn will not, and I’m going to be completely miserable.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed. “I’m sorry, but there really is no one else that can go.”

“That’s the only reason I am doing this.”

Trying to find the silver lining, Farkas said, “Well maybe you’ll see something you’ve never seen before.”

“Ulfric tried that line. But yes, I’m certain I will.” He would have been thrilled by this opportunity if he was going with anyone else, or he and Bryn were still a couple, but all he could think about was how the hell he was going to keep his hands off her. If she came on to him again while they were alone on the road he would be lost. And so would her marriage, no matter what Ulfric said to the contrary.

“Just…be careful. The idea of another Dragonborn out there gives me the creeps, especially if he’s sending hit squads. Bryn wouldn’t do that.” She would just go herself, the way she was doing now, if she thought another Dragonborn was a danger, but she would never try to wipe out another unless they were.

“Frankly I don’t know what the hell she’s capable of,” Vilkas said with worry. “She killed that woman with her bare hands.”

“She was angry. But yeah, she scared me. You didn’t actually see what she did to her or you’d be scared too. I uh, I didn’t realize she was that strong. I mean, she picked her up by the neck with one hand and threw her twenty feet away.” Vilkas stared at him with a horrified expression, and he said, “I’m not kidding. Just…just be careful, okay? She isn’t what she used to be. She’s been different ever since she read those Scrolls. It’s like they made her more a dragon than she was before.”

“I plan on being careful. With her.” Because that was exactly what Farkas meant. Well, Vilkas was a little scared too. Apprehensive probably was a better word for it. He supposed he was going to find out very quickly what Bryn was capable of now. “Ulfric will make sure you and Lydia get home safely. I would have you stay here in Windhelm until I return, but this might take a while, and Lydia is too close to her time.”

“Sure.”

“As always, Vignar is nominally in charge, but I want Mjoll on top of things.” The old man was still spry and sharp, but he tired easily and had a tendency to nod off unexpectedly. Mjoll had a big mouth, but she was assertive and skilled, highly intelligent; she would keep Jorrvaskr running fine until he got back.

“Sure,” Farkas repeated.

His twin left to go find his wife, and when Vilkas reached the docks Bryn wasn’t yet there, though Galmar and a contingent of guards were. The Argonians were clustered together at one end of the docks, staring at the housecarl and his men with resentment, or what Vilkas thought might be resentment, as inexpressive as the lizard folk often were. When Galmar saw him coming the older man looked at him with mixed worry and irritation, and Vilkas had to resist the urge to confront him about it. It wasn’t as if Vilkas wanted to go.

When Vilkas got there Galmar quietly said, “The boat captain is refusing to return to the island.”

Vilkas snorted and glanced at the handsome blond Captain, who sat in a chair on the deck rubbing oil into a leather coat and casting occasional anxious glares at their group. “I think the Queen might be able to persuade him,” he stated.

“That’s what I would rather not have happen. I don’t like to think what kind of ‘persuading’ she’s in the mood for right now.”

“Rikke and Lydia went after her. They’ll calm her down.”

“Let’s hope so or you’re in for hell.”

_I am regardless!_ he nearly snapped, but settled for a nod instead. They waited in awkward silence for a few minutes and Vilkas took the time to go over his gear once more. He had the basics that he would carry for any job, figuring whatever else they needed Bryn would have, or they would be able to buy or find on Solstheim. He was about as prepared at this point as he was going to get, as far as his kit went. Mentally and emotionally was another matter.

Bryn arrived within five minutes of Vilkas, dressed in her dragonscale armor, armed with Chillrend, Dawnbreaker, the Blade of Woe and Auriel’s Bow. She didn’t seem surprised to see him, and Ulfric followed her with Rikke on her heels as well; the Jarl had no doubt told her Vilkas was going. She still looked angry, but it had turned cold, which Vilkas found preferable to her rage. There was control in the coldness, and he didn’t have the means himself to stop her if she turned again. Maybe once he had, but no more.

Bryn stepped onto the boat and went to the Captain, Gjalund Salt-Sage, who rose from his seat, shaking his head as he said, “I’m sorry my lady, but if you’re looking for passage to Solstheim, too bad. I’m not going back there anymore.”

“What happened?” she asked shortly. “Why won’t you go back?”

Gjalund grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s ah, hard to explain… I remember those people with the masks coming on board, then…” He swallowed. “Next thing I remember, I was here and they were gone. That’s not right, my lady, losing whole days like that!” Bryn nodded. “There’s been something strange going on there for a while, the island I mean, but after this… No, I’m done. I’m not going back to Solstheim.”

“Yes, you are,” Bryn stated firmly. “You’re taking _me_ to Solstheim.”

He shuddered and said in dismay, “Have you been listening to me? I’m not going back there!” Vilkas stepped onto the ship, and he took a step back and said, “What, going to have one of your thugs rough me up?”

Vilkas said in offense, “I am the Harbinger of the Companions. I do not rough people up.” He had done plenty of it when young, but those types of jobs stopped when one joined the Circle.

Gjalund quailed then stammered, “H-Harbinger, my apologies. I should have realized.” Not many men were that tall or dressed in ebony armor, even here in Skyrim, even if he had never laid eyes on the man.

“No harm done.” The Captain relaxed slightly, though he was still anxious. “Those masked people you brought here tried to assassinate the Queen.” The Captain paled at that, glancing nervously at Bryn. “They failed but there will be more. We have to find where they came from.”

He haltingly said, “You uh, have a point, Harbinger. I suppose taking you back to find out who sent them is the least I can do. Besides, maybe you can put a stop to whatever’s going on over there. But I have expenses. I have to provision the ship.”

Bryn held out a leather pouch. “500 gold,” she stated. “Half in septims, the other half in cut and polished gems.”

His eyes widened and he took the pouch as he whispered, “That’s….generous. Very generous, my lady. Thank you!”

“How long will it take to provision the ship?”

“Half an hour at most, my lady.”

Bryn nodded and turned away from him, stepping off the ship, hearing Vilkas’ heavy booted feet behind her silent ones and the Captain yelling orders at his people. She saw Galmar looking between the two of them with such naked worry that she nearly barked at him for having so little faith in her. She walked past him and all the others to the far end of the dock, leaning her arms on the low stone wall to look down the river and out to sea. As she expected, she heard her husband’s familiar footsteps coming up behind her. “This was your worst idea yet,” she stated.

“I beg to differ, however I won’t debate it with you,” Ulfric stated. “I will not have us part with you angry with me.”

“I’m not angry with you. You stopped me from doing something…atrocious. I’m just angry.” She heard him let out a quiet sigh of relief. “How… _dare_ whoever that beast is attack me in my own city, calling me the False Dragonborn! Has he not heard of everything I’ve done? Where the hell has he been!” He felt Ulfric’s hand on the small of her back and she put her fingertips to her forehead, trying to calm the fresh rage she felt bubbling up inside her.

“It’s possible he’s simply insane. The people following him seem to be. Their masks and armor trouble me though. The masks were dragon bone, and their right sleeves emulated dragon scales and a dragon’s head. The dragon cult ruled Solstheim at one point, just as it did here. Perhaps it is only a resurgence of such. Alduin could have easily raised dragons there. A dragon could fly to the island much more quickly than a ship can sail there.”

“I should have taken Odahviing,” she muttered. “I should have gone alone.”

“No, and no. You riding into Raven Rock on a dragon would upset the locals a great deal. The Dunmer might even see it as an attack. You will also need someone at your side, someone to watch your back. Vilkas is one of the greatest warriors of his generation, and extremely intelligent and observant. You are entering alien territory, Brynhilde. You cannot afford missteps.”

“And so you send someone who will be a constant distraction to me, and me to him.”

“There was no one else. Farkas would have gone if Lydia was not so heavily pregnant, but who knows, with his former nature, if he would even be able to bring himself to be gone from her for any length of time regardless.”

“And who knows, with Vilkas’ former nature, if he isn’t going to be mentally unstable by time we get back.”

The biting tone to her words made him sigh, and he quietly stated, “I am going to tell you what I told him when I asked him to go: if it happens, it happens.”

She turned on him and hissed, “Stop making things harder, damn you!” Ulfric stared at her with pursed lips. “How can you say that, when you nearly wept with relief when I didn’t do it before? You can’t imagine how glad I was that he and I didn’t cave in to temptation, when I saw the fear and hurt in your eyes, and yet here you are practically throwing us at each other!”

“That is not at all what I am doing. There is no one else who can go, and like it or not you are the High Queen of Skyrim and cannot be seen running around alone, either here or in another land. You believe yourself nearly invincible at this point, I’m sure, but if there is possibly another Dragonborn in existence you cannot risk facing him and his followers alone. I know this is going to be hellish for you both, especially him, but there is no one else!”

“I know there’s no one else, damn it,” she growled. “I can’t wait for Ralof and Hadvar to get back, and you can’t go because of the politics. There is no one else, but that isn’t what I resent. It’s you telling him not to fuss if it happens, and Divines know what else you told him!”

“I told him I meant what I said the other night.”

Bryn stiffened in shock, staring at him with her mouth open, and then she snapped it shut and glanced sideways, to see Vilkas openly watching them, his arms folded, too far away to hear a word they said but more than able to see them arguing. She pulled her gaze away from his dark, brooding presence, feeling a shiver of mixed anxiety and reluctant lust go through her. By Dibella the man was gorgeous in that armor! “Why?” she whispered.

“Because…” He swallowed, his face growing warm. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since that night. Since the dream I had. It was…I felt…”

Bryn closed her eyes for a moment, her anger draining out of her. Yes, something had changed the slightest bit since that dream, one he still hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell her about. Something had changed since the amulets. He had been more relaxed. More cheerful. She opened her eyes and put her gloved hand on his cheek, not caring that Vilkas was watching. All he had to do was turn away if he couldn’t take it. “Ulfric darling,” she murmured, “he doesn’t go that way. Not even a little.”

“I know that. I am well aware of that. I expect nothing, I…” He sighed heavily. “This is not the time or the place.”

She shook her head, seeing he was deeply embarrassed at the moment. “I wish you would stop encouraging him. All it does it torture him. He considers it a test of his honor and he finds it incredibly painful.”

“Yes, I could see how much it tormented him, and that’s part of why I said what I did. I don’t enjoy seeing that look on another person’s face. Suffering. I’m intimately familiar with suffering and I don’t like seeing it in others. I could have ignored it much better if you hadn’t told me about his nature, if I thought he was simply being self-absorbed and obsessive. I wouldn’t keep saying what I do to you both if I didn’t know that someday—“ 

She put her fingers to his lips to silence him, shaking her head again. When her hand fell and he stayed silent she quietly stated, _“You_ are my husband, Ulfric. The most time I ever spent with Vilkas was the month after Kodlak died. Not quite four weeks. That’s the longest stretch we ever spent around each other.”

“Yes, and look how you still love him.”

“I love you more.” His expression softened in surprise, and those mournful sea-colored eyes of his broke her heart. “Yes, I love you more than I love him. After the last four months with you… yes, I do love you more. It doesn’t make me love him any less, but I love you more. I refuse to do anything that would wound you.”

“My treasure. _Umriidi,”_ he whispered painfully, taking her hand in both his and holding it to his chest. He had never thought to hear those words out of her mouth.

“I know it isn’t your intent to make things hard on me, or Vilkas. I know that. But it does. Even if we did give in while we were away, we would have to come back and go our separate ways again, and it would hurt, and hurt him most of all. It’s going to hurt like hell as it is, spending that much time together then having to part afterward, even if nothing is going to happen.” She didn’t dare let it happen. She didn’t dare put them in any kind of situation that could possibly lead to that kind of temptation. She knew herself too well. Her blood ran hotter than it used to, ever since reading the Dragon Scroll, and if she was put in a situation with Vilkas where either of them started getting aroused then that would be the end of it, and there would be no half measures taken either.

Seeing and hearing her hurt, Ulfric licked his lips and looked sideways at Vilkas. The Harbinger was now pacing the stone docks, clenching his fists then shaking them out, more restless in spirit than Bryn was. It never ceased to amaze Ulfric how utterly different from each other Vilkas and Farkas were, considering they were identical twins. Bryn had told him the tragic reason why, but it was still startling. He quietly murmured, “Then perhaps when you get back…maybe, the three of us should try to work something out.”

“Good grief, Ulfric,” Bryn said in exasperation. “No more, please.” He didn’t reply, still watching Vilkas, and Bryn followed his gaze. The two of them watched him prowl for nearly a minute until he noticed their regard and stopped in his tracks, and he stared back for a few seconds then scowled and turned his back on them, going some distance away to sit on the edge of the docks and hunker in on himself.

“Well then, have a good trip,” Ulfric said dryly, making her snort a sad laugh.

“He’ll be fine once we get going. Well, once we get to the island. If the circumstances were any different he would be thrilled to go on this little adventure. He’ll enjoy seeing new things and new places.”

“He’ll see plenty of new things and places if we go to war next year.” Bryn nodded, frowning. The two of them hadn’t talked much about it lately, both of them finding the prospect troubling, though they were eager to get it over with. It was unnerving, how quiet the Aldmeri Dominion had been. “Will you fill him in on everything while you’re gone?”

“Yes, I think he should know.”

“I meant…hm. If you want to tell him certain things, about my past…I wouldn’t be averse to it.”

“Only if I think he needs to know.”

“I wasn’t particularly discreet the other night when I was drunk, precious. He already knows. I would rather he isn’t left with whatever the hell he is thinking of me. I don’t want his pity. His understanding, yes, but not his pity.”

“I’ll make sure of that at least, beloved.” She sighed unhappily and mumbled, “I will miss you, _kodaavi.”_

He pulled her close and put his arms around her, her body hard and unyielding in the dragonscale armor, though her expression was tender. “I will miss you every second of every day,” he replied. “You will be victorious in this, as you are in everything, I know it, but…I hope I don’t greet two miserable, hurting souls when you return.” She kissed him, not giving him any reassurances. Well, he wouldn’t have believed her even if she had. He would cherish her words though while she was away, her vow that she loved him more than she loved Vilkas. As of this moment it was true. Ulfric feared that by time she returned it no longer would be.


	56. Chapter 56

“You shouldn’t stand so close to the edge.” Vilkas grunted at the sound of Bryn’s voice, and she went on in warning, “You will sink like a stone in that armor, I guarantee it.” Since they hit the open sea she had watched him for the last hour as he stood at the bow of the ship, watching it cut through the waves. The weather for sailing was good, the sea not too rough, but he was making her incredibly nervous standing by the railing like that. Even the Captain had muttered to her that if Vilkas fell in there would be no saving him. No matter how strong a swimmer he might be, the full suit of armor he was wearing weighed close to a hundred pounds.

“This is not the first time I’ve been on a ship, thank you,” he replied in clipped tones. When she didn’t reply he didn’t turn to look at her. He hadn’t looked at her even once since the ship set sail.

When after nearly two minutes of stubborn silence he still didn’t turn to look at her, she stated, “I’m sorry you had to do this. I should have called Odahviing and gone alone.”

“No, you should not have.”

“Yes, I should have. This is ridiculous. It isn’t my fault you’re here.”

“I never said it was.”

“Maybe when we get to Raven Rock you should consider staying there.” He slowly turned around to look at her, his eyes blazing coldly inside the openings of his helmet. “I am _sorry,”_ she said intently. “I never wanted you to come along. I only agreed to it because I knew there was no one else. Maybe I could have taken Calder, but I don’t know what his capabilities are.” He kept glaring at her, and she said in aggravation, “What do you want me to do! I don’t know how to make this any easier!”

“Because there is no way to.”

“Not acting like a petulant child would be a good start.” His eyes narrowed as he made a growling sound of anger, yanking his helmet off. “You say there’s no way to make it any easier, so why make it harder? You’re making this harder on me.” Vilkas opened his mouth then snapped it shut again, no doubt nearly saying something snide. He was upset about being here and she was the only one to take it out on. Just like old, old times. She took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry you’re angry about being forced into this. It’s just a shitty, shitty mess all around and I’m sorry.” He looked taken aback by her language. Well, he was going to find out very quickly that she wasn’t quite the girl he remembered. “I know Ulfric hasn’t helped matters. He’s been…” She trailed off, not sure how to put it. “Struggling with some things,” she finally said. “Working on them, rather. Our meeting with the Emperor last month was extremely stressful for him and it brought some things to the surface that he’s spent the last thirty years trying to forget, or ignore. I’ve been trying very hard to help him during the time we’ve been together. Considering how long he’s carried around his demons, and the extent of them, I think he’s done rather well. I wasn’t any less shocked than you were by his behavior the night of my birthday.”

Vilkas grimaced as he stared at her for a long moment, then he shook his head and looked away. “So the Thalmor,” he muttered. “They really did…” He couldn’t even bring himself to say it.

“They didn’t. They had others do it, at their direction. Elenwen oversaw that little project. It was an actual project, can you imagine? To see if they could create what they called ‘dormant assets’. And because Ulfric was a Jarl’s son, the son of a very powerful and influential Jarl, he got Elenwen’s special attention. She watched and directed it all, hence my delivering her to Ulfric to execute.” Vilkas shuddered, looking pale and ill. “I still don’t know the full extent of what was done to him, by both genders, but it left him so traumatized that he couldn’t sleep with anyone for years afterwards, and when he finally did he threw up. He can count on two hands the number of encounters he's had over the last thirty years. Tullius said that many of the people it happened to, especially the men, killed themselves within five years of being set free. Instead of turning in on himself, Ulfric turned the anger outward, which was exactly what the Thalmor intended, and I suppose what kept him alive. That he isn’t mentally unstable in any way and was able to admit he was wrong, that he has been so good to me and has tried so hard to be a good husband, is a testament to what a strong person he is, and what a good man he is. That he has been so… accommodating, I suppose, of our particular problem, is a testament to what a loving man he is. He loves me more than his own life, and he can’t tolerate seeing either of us suffer. As he said, he’s intimately familiar with torture and suffering, and he can’t tolerate it.”

Vilkas listened to all this with a gradually growing lump in his throat, and when it seemed Bryn was done he made a sound of grief. “I had no idea.”

“Very, very few do. I told him about your former nature to give him some insight, and some sympathy. I’m telling you all this with the same intent. I’m sorry he embarrassed you, and I regret some of the things he has said to you, but he’s…grappling with certain issues. That he told you what he did should flatter you, Vilkas. Not just the attention, but the trust. It’s only because I’m standing in the middle and making it safe that he could ever bring himself to say it, and I wish he hadn’t, but it can’t be taken back.”

He said with difficulty, “I’m not offended, it’s…shocking, that is all.”

“I’m just as shocked as you are. I saw no signs whatsoever until the night of my birthday. Not the slightest. I suppose that’s just how deeply he had it buried, because of what they did to him. He never knew which it was going to be, or how, so he couldn’t even mentally prepare himself to deal with it beforehand. Control has always been an extremely important thing for him. He’s always had to be the one to control how and when he finished. But he’s trying, very hard. He still breaks my heart, how hard he tries. He’s given me everything he has, everything he is. And that is why I will do everything in my power to make sure absolutely nothing happens between us on this trip.”

Vilkas slowly nodded, feeling an almost giddy relief go through him. He could be strong as long as she was. “Good,” he whispered. Her expression softened and she gave him a small smile. “I was afraid when I saw you two talking and looking at me that he was telling you again to just do it.”

“Well, yes, he was, and I told him to stop it. And at the end, when you turned away, he told me that when we got back that maybe we could work something out between the three of us. Dibella only knows what he meant by that, but I told him to just leave it alone.”

“The _three_ of us!” he said in dismay. “Surely you told him. That I don’t go that way. I don’t have any problem with any man who does, and I think no less of him for it, but…I can’t. I’m sorry for what he’s been through but that only goes so far!” Bryn bit her lip, then a snort escaped, and he exclaimed, “It isn’t funny, damn it!”

“I just find your level of response to the matter amusing, that’s all. He expects nothing of you. He really doesn’t. And I did tell him quite clearly that you would have no interest. He understood that.”

“So, he just wants to sit back and watch instead.” Bryn had the decency look rather embarrassed by the idea. He was glad. He was finding this entire conversation and her attitude towards it troubling. She had always been a bit shy when it came to talking about sex, but then the last time they had been together was a year ago. Many things could change in that time, and this trip was probably going to prove just how much had. The prospect worried him, while alternately giving him a touch of hope. Maybe she would be so different that his need for her would fade to manageable levels. He really couldn’t say that he knew her anymore. Exchanging a few letters and talking once in a while wasn’t the same as basically living with a person and fighting at their side. This trip would show the true her, the woman she was now. In a way it would be like getting to know her all over again.

She quietly said, “It isn’t as if he would sit in a chair and observe, Vilkas. It wouldn’t be like that at all. It would be… Well, I don’t know. Probably nothing, I would imagine, seeing as how it isn’t going to happen. I honestly don’t see how such a thing could work. It would be nice if it could, but… oh well.”

“You would be fine with that,” he said with wariness and a touch of confusion in his voice. She pursed her lips and folded her arms and looked out over the sea. He could just barely see Skyrim behind her, hazy and indistinct but there. How beautiful she still was, though her features were just a touch harder, her build just slightly heavier, but still so fair.

Bryn thought for a moment, then she finally muttered, “I’m not who I was, beloved. The moment I get used to one thing, something else changes, and eventually I get used to that, and then there is inevitably something else. Dealing with the vampires and Serana, what I went through to get the bow, the two trips through the Soul Cairn, dealing with Ulfric’s internal wounds, the damned Elder Scrolls most of all, and then the meetings with the Emperor and Tullius to top it all off…oh, and Alduin and Sovngarde. Yes, that, mustn’t forget that. Then there are the dragon souls. So very, very many souls.” She sighed heavily, still staring out to sea. She softly went on, “I didn’t really realize until I met with the Emperor how much of a problem it was. The dragon souls. Sometimes, when I’m angry, or frustrated…it almost feels like my skin is going to split, or my head is going to explode. Like I’m carrying too much inside. I wonder, is that what the beastblood felt like? Am I a weredragon now, and if I completely let go I’ll turn into a dragon the way poor Martin Septim did?”

“Gods, love,” Vilkas whispered, grieved. He didn’t know what else to say. Yes, the Blood had felt like that, and it had been horrible to live with. How cruelly ironic that she finally understood what he had carried around for so long, and because of her draconic nature, not the beastblood.

“And so you see, yes, I would be fine with the three of us together. I try to feel appalled by the notion, and really, I can’t. I love you both. If it wasn’t you it would never be a consideration. I’ve never looked at any man but you two. It isn’t as if I would ever consider it with anyone else, and Ulfric knows that. He’s…” She missed him so intensely at the moment that it nearly brought tears to her eyes. She had let him know quite clearly that nothing would be going on between her and Vilkas. She had also looked at Galmar and slowly shaken her head, letting him know without words that she was disappointed in his lack of faith. He’d seemed a bit ashamed of himself, thankfully. Rikke had tried to stay out of it entirely, very good at keeping her thoughts off her face.

He stated with regret, “Perhaps I’ve misjudged him.”

“Most people do. He doesn’t let many people close. Again, another reason you should be flattered by his efforts. He’s willing to let you in and trust you, in ways he has only trusted me. Even Galmar doesn’t know some of the things you know now. I think the only way Ulfric was able to get even this far is because the two of us were together once upon a time, and he knows we might be again some day.”

“Might.”

She laughed sadly, still not looking at him. “You may decide after this trip that a future with me is not to your liking, mating bond or not. And after all, being with me to begin with wasn’t exactly your choice, was it? You never wanted anything permanent. You wanted Kodlak’s chair and no woman and children to tie you down. Farkas wanted a wife and family but you never did. Your nature tricked you into staying with me after that first time. Your nature is the only reason we ever got together at all, and maybe mine.”

“That is untrue,” Vilkas choked.

“Is it? Maybe the reason you could never bring yourself to marry me was because somewhere deep down inside you never wanted even what we had. You never wanted a relationship. You were always clear about that before I came along.”

“Aela,” he hissed angrily. “You’ve been talking to Aela?”

“I wanted to go straight to the source--" She gasped as he moved close and yanked on her arm to turn her to face him.

Ignoring the sudden attention and warning glares from the Captain and his crew, he said intently, “Do not even _dream_ of talking yourself out of anything, woman. It doesn’t matter why we got together, only that we did.” The thing was, he feared Aela was right, and he had thought the same thing himself at one point: he didn’t want to marry Bryn because some part of him resented being mated against his will. He remembered quite clearly their first time together, how he couldn’t get enough of her smell and the feel of her skin, her taste. He had started imprinting on her then and there, when he realized she loved him and realized how desperately she wanted to be with him. And then that morning before returning to Whiterun he had felt that helpless, melting _something,_ and there had been no turning back. Maybe the bond had been etched in stone, right then and there. She had gotten under his skin at first sight, and maybe at first scent, and maybe it was because his wolf could taste her nature on the air and had found it exotic and enticing, when he himself couldn’t admit it. 

Seeing the sudden heat in his eyes and hearing the change in his breathing, Bryn murmured, “Unhand me, Harbinger.” Vilkas let go of her and stepped back, getting the message, hurt in his eyes. She shivered and folded her arms. “As I was saying, this little adventure might change things for you. You might decide you don’t want your future tied to mine. It’s one thing to be the consort of the High Queen of Skyrim. It’s another entirely to be an Empress’ consort. Titus Mede is making me his heir. We might go to war next year.” Vilkas quailed at that. He had already known that she might become Empress, but not that war might come so soon. “I ended up liking him a great deal. He’s a good man, I can tell. He made some choices that too many people ended up paying for, but I don’t feel that should doom him forever any more than it did Ulfric. Poor Ulfric though…he couldn’t do more than tolerate the man, even after everything I told him. It didn’t help that the Emperor ribbed him about ruining his chances at marrying me.”

Vilkas made a sound of offense and said, “That was in poor taste.”

“Yes, it was, though it was a joke, mostly. Marrying him would have made things easier, politically. I would jump from a mountain before I got into bed with that old man though. Ugh. And he can’t father children, so—” The roar of a dragon made both of them jump and the crew of the Northern Maiden cry out in fear, and when Bryn spun around she saw a dragon flying towards the ship at full speed.

“Not now,” Vilkas muttered, reaching to pull his bow from his back. He saw Bryn do the same, then she frowned and put the bow back, motioning for him to do the same. She walked toward the middle of the ship and he followed, and he realized then that the dragon was red: Odahviing. He reluctantly put the bow back, feeling mixed delight and fear over the thought that he would get to see a dragon up close again.

Bryn called out to the Captain and crew, “The dragon isn’t hostile. Do not attack it in any way. Don’t even look it in the eye.”

“But my lady, what does it want!” Gjalund cried.

“I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we.” Odahviing circled the ship, which was not as large as the Thalmor ship had been, and when he came in to land she yelled, “Everyone hold on to something!” The sailors cried out in fear and grabbed on to whatever they could, while Vilkas and Bryn grabbed onto the handholds on the mast. The dragon came down, fluttering as he tried to land on the bow, the draft from his wings buffeting everyone.

_“Vopruzah, rinik mal veysun!”_ Odahviing complained as the ship rocked wildly under his weight. This was not good at all. This ship was much too small!

_“Geh, krosis, zeymah,”_ Bryn replied as she went to him, letting out the fullness of her Voice. “What brings you here?”

“Why do you leave _Keizaal?_ Where are you going?”

“Solstheim.”

_“Nid! Vonmindoraan!_ You cannot go there!”

“Why?”

_“Krasaar_ …there is a sickness there, a…wrongness,” the dragon stated with agitation.

“Does it have to do with Miraak?”

The dragon reared up with a roar, making the ship rock and the sailors cry out in terror. “Miraak! _Tahrodiis sonaan, saraan dovahkiin!”_

Vilkas felt a shiver of dread go through him as Bryn stiffened, and he whispered, “What! What is it!” The dragon settled again and lowered its head, its eye fixing on him with an uncanny intelligence that made his blood run cold.

“You,” Odahviing said thoughtfully. His nostrils flared as he breathed deeply. _“Zu’u mindok daar joor._ I remember you, mortal.”

He quickly lowered his eyes, remembering Bryn’s warning, then he bowed and kept his voice steady as he stated, “I am Vilkas.”

“Hm. Is this one _ahmul_ now?” he asked Bryn.

_“Nid,”_ she replied shortly. “How can there be another Dragonborn? If he was the first how is he still alive?”

“Is he? I do not know that he is. I only know the name _nol kruziik sulle,_ from ancient days, and it is cursed.” The dragon rotated its neck then extended it out to her, and when she came forward he nudged her with the blunt end of his snout. “You do not call me, _briinah._ You rarely leave the _hofkah_ of the _kodaav kulaan_ these days. But I heard your Voice today. Many of the _dov_ heard it and trembled, but I did not.”

“Because you are _zok sahrot, zeymah,”_ she said. “Odahviing _los kulaansedov,_ a prince among dragons.”

The beast chuckled. “You flatter me, Dovahkiin. What could you want of me, hm?”

“Your wings, _zeymah._ Perhaps when I return to _Keizaal,_ I could call you, and we could take to the skies together?”

“That would be acceptable. I have missed the sound of your _thu’um._ Your Voice is greatest among the _dov._ It makes my bones sing.” She nodded and tentatively reached out to touch his snout, and he allowed it. He went on, “The world has grown quiet, _briinah,_ as if holding its breath. Do you feel it? The _Vennesetiid_ have gone still, as the eye of a storm.”

She quietly said, “It is difficult for me to feel it as the _dov_ do. _Zu’u los joor.”_

_“Nid._ You do not feel it because you are the storm. _Strundu’ul.”_ She didn’t deny it, and when she ran her gloved hands over his brow ridges he rumbled and closed his eyes. “Ahh, _briinah._ You undo me. _Zu’u mindok drem ahst hin haal.”_

_“Pruzah, zok brit zeymah._ I give what I cannot take for myself.”

Odahviing grunted, and at that Bryn moved away. “You will call me when you return, Dovahkiin. We will take flight as only the _dov_ can, and in the air you will know peace.”

_“Geh. Zu’u vaat. Kogaan,_ Odahviing.”

“If you have need of me in Solstheim, I will not be able to answer.”

“If my need is that great I will call Durnehviir.”

Odahviing growled and reared up, rocking the ship. “Foul creature, _diildovah,_ an abomination!”

“Still, I gave him my word.”

He bared his teeth in a grimace. “The word of a _dovah_ is his bond. Or hers. So be it. I take my leave.” He spread his wings and said, “Be wary on the island, Dovahkiin. There are _dov_ there who in their ignorance do not acknowledge the mastery of your _thu’um.”_

“They will quickly learn it.”

“One may hope so, if Miraak is still dead. If he is not, it is good that you have a servant with you to watch your back.”

Bryn tried not to laugh at the smothered sound of offense from Vilkas. “He is a mighty warrior, and _dovahkriid_ in his own right. _Rok los norok ved grohiik.”_

Odahviing eyed Vilkas, who quickly lowered his eyes again but couldn’t help them returning to the red dragon’s gaze. Odahviing grunted then began flapping his wings and slowly lifted off from the deck of the ship, making it rock again. Bryn kept her feet and grabbed onto the mast next to him, and he felt a wave of awe as the dragon roared, making his skull vibrate unpleasantly, but ah, what a sight it was! As they watched Odahviing circle up into the air to get height he quietly said to her, “I want to learn the dragon tongue.” He had caught a few words though: _grohiik, zeymah, briinah, nid, tahrodiis, ahmul, kodaav._

“I’ll teach you, _grohiiki,”_ she answered just as quietly, not taking her eyes off Odahviing, who once he reached enough altitude began flying back towards Skyrim.

“ _Grohiik_ …wolf, so…”

“You add an i to a word to make it possessive. _Norok ved grohiiki_ …my fierce black wolf.” She glanced at him and he was still watching the dragon, though he had a pained expression on his face. “Ulfric calls me _rekdovahi,_ his she-dragon.”

“What is the word for love?”

_“Lokal,_ however I doubt a dragon could feel it.”

He frowned and tore his eyes away from the rapidly shrinking form of the dragon. “They don’t feel love?” She shrugged and shook her head. “It seems fond of you, though. I didn’t think they could show affection.”

“It’s…hm. Kinship. _Faad_ …warmth.” Bryn nibbled at her bottom lip, looking troubled. “He said _Zu’u mindok drem ahst hin haal:_ I know peace at your hand. I never expected to hear those words from a dragon’s mouth.”

“Maybe it is your Voice, as he said.” Her eyebrows rose then she nodded. She leaned her head against the mast and stared with distant eyes in the direction Odahviing had gone, an expression of longing on her face, and it made his heart ache for her. _I give what I cannot take for myself,_ she had said, when Odahviing had spoken of feeling peaceful under her touch. _“Nid drem,”_ he whispered. No peace.

_“Geh._ Yes,” she sighed. “Oh well.” She took a deep breath and stood away from the mast. The Captain and crew were still staring, half at her and half behind the ship, as if terrified the dragon would return. She gestured to Gjalund and he shook himself, calling to his crew to get back to work, which they did with something like relief that everything was returning to normal.

Vilkas quietly laughed, still leaning against the mast. “They will have a story to tell, eh? Maybe someone will even believe it.” She laughed, and he sighed with the brief contentment he felt. He would have plenty of stories of his own when this was done. Perhaps he would even find some way during all this to manage being around Bryn gracefully enough to enjoy the adventure, and return to Skyrim with his sanity intact.  
-  
“Ah, will you look at that,” Vilkas breathed in wonder. "Never have I seen such a sight."

“Fantastic,” Bryn agreed with wide eyes. They stood on the Bulwark that surrounded Raven Rock, staring at the horrifying yet wondrous sight of Red Mountain spewing ash into the air. The air stank of it, when she thought about it, though after nearly two hours on Solstheim she was already getting used to it. Everything was dusty, tinged with gray, but it was magnificent here. She was well used to Dunmer and their demeanor, so their standoffish and suspicious natures didn’t offend her, and Councilor Morvayn had been quite pleasant and willing to be of help in whatever way she deemed necessary, once she had assured him that she was here as Dragonborn only, not the High Queen of Skyrim. Adril Arano however had been a bit abrasive, letting her know quite clearly that she and Vilkas were subject to Redoran authority and Morrowind law while they were on Solstheim. That was fine. She was just glad to be here, where she wasn’t Queen, where she was just herself, and where she had her beloved with her.

The rest of the trip on the Northern Maiden had been fine, and the ship was staying docked for the time being as some issue regarding East Empire cargo was sorted out. She and Vilkas had bunked on opposite sides of the quarters that were reserved for them, without any privacy issues cropping up, and they had gotten some good talking done, without much awkwardness or angst there. The last bits of his resentment over being forced to come along had vanished once the island had come into view, and when they had stepped onto the dock his face had lit up and he had smiled beautifully at her, his eyes shining with joy at being somewhere new and exotic. The way they were shining right now.

Vilkas felt her attention and looked at her, seeing her smiling at him, and he eagerly asked, “Do you think we’ll run into any of those ash spawn the guards told us about?”

She laughed, “Oh, I guarantee it. And a number of other weird things, I’m sure.” She didn't think she had ever seen him so purely happy as he was at this moment. His expression in that vision, as he gazed at his newborn daughter, had been close.

“Good, good.” 

He let out a happy sigh and looked at the mountain again, and in the fading daylight a slight glow was becoming apparent at the rim. Bryn’s smile faded as she stared at him, feeling a sudden overwhelming love for him that took her breath away. It was unfair how handsome he was, doubly so when he was smiling with such perfect contentment. She bit her lip and turned back to the mountain, mentally kicking herself for finding some way to sully the moment. She wouldn’t ruin it for him though, and she cleared her expression as best she could. She wouldn’t make things hard. She swore she wouldn’t. She wanted Vilkas to return to Whiterun with happy memories and fantastic stories to tell in Jorrvaskr’s mead hall. She had to make sure that happened.

“I love you.”

Bryn glanced at him in surprise, and he was still smiling as he stared at the mountain, though it was a softer smile. She murmured, “I love you too, _grohiiki._ I’m…glad, that you’re here.”

“As am I, truly. How do you say Red Mountain in the dragon tongue?”

_“Sahqo Strunmah.”_ Vilkas repeated it to himself a few times, turning his gaze back to the mountain. She had no doubt that he would pick up the language quite quickly, as intellectually gifted as he was. It was touching that he wanted to learn it, the reasons for it obvious, but she asked anyway, “Why do you want to learn it?”

He looked at her in surprise and countered, “Isn’t it obvious?” She waited, and he said, “I want to understand what you’re saying, when you lapse into it. I want to know what a dragon is saying, if one comes again. And…I want to be able to speak it to our children.” She looked stunned at that, staring at him with wide eyes, then she swallowed and looked away. He quietly asked, “They would be Dragonborn, wouldn’t they? All of them?”

“So I’ve been told,” she whispered. _“Dovahkiirre._ Dragon children. _Dovahsos,_ dragon blood. Just as the Septims were.”

“Have you thought about a surname to take?” The vast majority of Nords didn’t have them, only a few ancient clans passing along family names. Ulfric’s own surname wasn’t even a true one, one he had taken on after the Markarth Incident, when it had been bestowed on him mockingly. Elves were sticklers for bloodlines and Houses; Nords took pride in their heritage as well, but in a much less formal way. If Bryn was to become Empress some day and found a dynasty she would eventually have to choose a name.

“Yes.”

When nothing more was forthcoming he prodded, “Well?”

“Stormcrown. _Strundu’ul._ I joked about it once, to the Blades, when I was angry with them, but…it stuck in my mind.” In her peripheral vision she saw him nod slowly. She haltingly said, “It means a great deal to me that you want to learn it. The dragon tongue.”

“I decided against it, at first. Farkas actually suggested it, but I thought I would be infringing on Ulfric’s territory if I did.”

“Territory,” she said with a faint laugh.

Vilkas said in a sly tone, “Come now love, we both know that is how he got you into bed in the first place.” Her mouth fell open as she looked at him, shocked, her cheeks turning pinker in the already red light that the setting sun cast through the ashy air. He laughed at her reaction, one he was glad she still had. “Well, you tell me that silky smooth voice of his speaking in the dragon tongue wasn’t what sealed it for you.”

“You’re shameless!”

“Oh, I’m the shameless one,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Yes, I believe that after the things you two said a few days ago.”

“So have you made up your mind?” It was his turn to look appalled, making her break into laughter of her own. He shook his head and folded his arms. “I’m just joking, beloved. I’d really rather not think about it.”

“Likewise,” he muttered.

She nudged him and said, “Let’s go to the Cornerclub and get some dinner and a couple rooms.”

He winced and said, “I’m not particularly eager to eat anything from a place that has ‘retching’ in the name.”

Bryn laughed merrily and said, “Well I’m sure there’s a good story behind it.”

“There always is.” As they started walking he asked, “Do you really think it’s a good idea to room separately?”

“Yes, and no, but rooming together will only cause problems, _grohiiki._ And make people talk.”

He sighed and said, “Yes, I suppose so.” They walked down the length of the Bulwark and down the stairs, passing by what looked to be a temple, though to who or what it was anyone’s guess. Back on the main level of town Vilkas asked, “What’s first on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“I want to spend tomorrow morning in town, getting a feel for things and talking to people,” Bryn stated. “The few we’ve talked to have me worried. They all know the name Miraak but little more than that. I want to see how many others are having the dreams. It almost feels like the trouble in Dawnstar that Erandur and I took care of, but more than that. There has to be more to it than that.” She shook her head and said, “In the dragon tongue there’s a word that’s close, _miiraak,_ that means portal, and there’s _mir aak,_ allegiance guide. Either choice seems to have meaning. Or it could be coincidence and have no meaning at all. So tomorrow morning we’re canvassing the town.”

Vilkas hesitated then said, “Did you ah, bring some coin?” He had maybe a hundred septims to his name at the moment, something he was rather embarrassed to realize at this late point. He didn’t think it would be difficult to earn money here, but he really had no actual experience in adventuring, and they would need coin. He also wanted to buy a journal and pencils before they went anywhere; he wasn’t going to risk forgetting one single moment of the entire experience.

“Yes, a great deal of it, about half of it in gems that we can sell if need be. No worries there. I didn’t have time though to stop by Oengul’s and stock up on arrows, so I’ll need to see the smith first thing. I’ve only got a few dozen.” He made a sound of assent. She looked over his gear and said, “You should let me improve your armor and weapons. Make you a better sword.” Skyforge steel was fine, the finest steel you could buy anywhere in Tamriel, but still, it was only steel.

“You would break the old man’s heart if he found out.”

“I could make you a sword like Ralof’s.”

That was tempting, highly tempting, but the thought of how Eorlund would react made him hesitate. Ralof’s dragonbone greatsword had made Vilkas nearly drool with greed though. He could still feel the legendary weapon in his hands, perfectly balanced and cutting through the air in a silky sweep. “I’ll think about it.” Bryn nodded and let the matter go. They wouldn’t have time here for her to do any smithing other than what was needed to maintain their arms and armor. He hoped they did have reason to spend some time here though. He knew once they left Solstheim they would probably never get the chance to return, with Bryn’s responsibilities only growing by the year, and if they went to war next year anything could happen. He put that thought out of mind, unable to deal with it. Better to focus on the here and now, and at the moment the here and now was good. Very good.  
\--  
“Hmph.”

Bryn watched Neloth walk away with narrowed eyes then she looked up at the Earth Stone. The thing made Vilkas’ skin crawl, glowing with a sickly green magic. He stayed put as Bryn slowly circled the Stone, observing the enthralled folk working on the shrine. Today had not been anywhere near as pleasant as last night had been, though it would have been more pleasant if he had spent it in Bryn’s bed. The Dunmer food had actually been delicious, if exotic, and the proprietor Geldis Sadri absolutely thrilled that the famous Dragonborn was in _his_ inn, of all places, as he was cousin to the owner of Sadri’s Used Wares in Windhelm and well aware of what Bryn had done for the Dunmer of the Snow Quarter. It was a small world indeed. The world had gotten smaller still when Bryn met an alchemist who had studied with Lami of Morthal, an early teacher of Bryn’s. It hadn’t taken them long to question nearly everyone in town, with the exception of the Temple; Bryn was avoiding that for now, after finding out that it was dedicated to Daedra.

The world had then gotten extremely, uncomfortably small when the town smith had realized who she was and had started screaming that he was going to slit her throat for murdering his family; Glover Mallory was brother and father to two of the members of the Thieves Guild that Bryn had wiped out with Mjoll. Bryn had stood there silently with her arms crossed while the man ranted and raved, the Redoran guards watching from a distance, and when he finally ran out of venom she had quietly asked him if he was also a member of the Thieves Guild, upon which he had paled and stared at her hatefully for a moment before slowly shaking his head. Of course he probably was, or had been when it actually existed. Bryn had advised him in just as quiet and ominous a voice as before that he would continue to live as long as he kept his mouth shut and adequately performed his duties as a smith and merchant, and he had silently nodded. She had purchased a bundle of ebony arrows from him as well as ones made from something called stalhrim and had gone on her way. 

Vilkas had been glad to get out of town as quickly as possible after that encounter, but what they were facing here was even worse. Bryn circled back around to stand in front of him, staring at the Stone and listening to the mindless chant of the workers, the words of which when put together sent chills over his skin:

_Here in his shrine that they have forgotten_  
 _Here do we toil that we might remember_  
 _By night we reclaim what by day was stolen_  
 _Far from ourselves he grows ever near to us_  
 _Our eyes once were blinded; now through him do we see_  
 _Our hands once were idle; now through them does he speak_  
 _And when the world shall listen and when the world shall see_  
 _And when the world remembers that world shall cease to be_

“A dead Dragonborn,” Bryn murmured. “Is he trying to come back, do you think? Did Alduin’s return wake him somehow? Or is he even dead at all?”

Vilkas didn’t answer right way, sensing she was talking to herself more than anyone, and when she suddenly reached out and touched the Stone he made a choking sound of dismay and moved to stop her.

Neloth raised his voice and said in warning, “That seems... inadvisable.”

Vilkas watched in horror as Bryn’s eyes went blank and she woodenly walked over to a stone arch and picked up a hammer and chisel and began working on it. “Do something!” he shouted at the wizard.

"Certainly not!” Neloth countered. “Doing so would interfere with whatever is going on, and I would be unable to see how this all turns out." Vilkas went after Bryn and moved to touch her when the Dunmer clucked his tongue. “Highly inadvisable, Nord. You could get pulled in as well.”

“She is the Dragonborn, damn it! She is the High Queen of Skyrim!”

“Well then, she should be able to…there, you see?” He went to Bryn where she stood shaking her head and blinking. He looked her over and said, "Ah, so you appear to be able to resist the effect by exerting your will. Fascinating! I would not advise touching the stone again, however. The effects of repeated contact could be... Hm. Unless of course you'd like to contribute to my investigation. It could be very enlightening to observe you."

“Forget it,” Vilkas spat, taking Bryn’s arm and leading her away from the area and down to the beach. Once they were down by the water he let go of her and cried, “What the hell were you thinking!”

“I heard his voice,” she murmured. “He’s influencing these people somehow. The ones in town who said they dreamt of him…they must be coming out here at night to work on the shrine and don’t remember it.” She wasn’t about to enlighten them, either. For now there was nothing anyone could do to stop it, and it would only upset everyone, though she wished that pompous ass Neloth would at least try to help. If resisting the call of the Stone was a matter of will, it was no wonder the Telvanni wizard was immune; even those with no interest in magic knew of the skill and power of Telvanni mages. Bryn couldn’t help but wonder if her friend Brelyna Maryon at the College of Winterhold was related to Neloth, and wasn’t about to ask the jerk.

Making a concerted effort to calm himself now that it seemed she was fine, he asked, “So what now?”

“Now we go find that temple, _grohiiki.”_

Vilkas nodded in relief. “All right. Let’s go then.”

“Lead the way.”

They headed back through town and up into the hills behind it, the two mostly silent as they walked. Bryn was delighted by the find of two small veins of emerald, which she forced Vilkas to stop for while she took out a small rock hammer and worked free a handful of precious stones. He found it charming to watch the High Queen of Skyrim cracking rocks with such glee, though the dead miner nearby wasn’t a happy find, crushed by his own wagon of ore; they did the proper thing and buried him, hoping it wasn’t against Dunmer custom. Bryn stuffed the chunks of gold in Vilkas’ pack and he took it without complaint; they would need to pay their own way here without Bryn’s seemingly inexhaustible resources back on Skyrim, and you couldn’t tell who was friend or foe here. 

That became very apparent as they searched for a place to stop for the night, neither of them familiar with the lay of the land at all. The glow of a campfire under an overhang of rock nearby drew their attention and Vilkas steered them that direction; it was either bandits that could be dealt with and the dubious comforts of their camp taken, or they would be friendly and willing to share a fire.

As they approached a Nord woman stood from near the fire and shouted, “Hold traveler! You have no business here. Be on your way.”

“Who is it, Rakel?” a large man asked.

“Strangers, Majni.”

Vilkas said, “We were only looking for a warm fire to sleep by. We mean no harm.”

Majni stood and said in a menacing tone, “You have no business with our pack, stranger. Begone.”

His heart pounding, Vilkas quickly backed away and pulled Bryn with him. He lowered his eyes and said, “We will leave you in peace, hunter.” _Werewolves,_ he thought in a panic. Ah gods, he did not want to fight werewolves. It was one thing to fight lone shapeshifters in the wilds, but this was a fully formed pack. A family, in werewolf terms. Bryn clearly understood what they were dealing with as well, skirting around the encampment with him.

“What are you?” Majni asked in irritated confusion, raising his nose to the breeze. The two strangers kept backing away, and he walked towards them and demanded, “What are you, woman? Why do you smell like that?” She was a revolting mix of female musk intertwined with sulfur and metal with hints of lavender and… something else. Something he had never smelled before.

“I am Dragonborn, and I don’t want to hurt you,” Bryn stated quietly.

“Dragonborn!” he growled. “I have heard of you, Brynhilde. It is you that destroyed the Jorrvaskr pack! You who cheated our Lord Hircine of three strong hunters! Is that one of them at your side, one who gave up our Lord’s blessing so he could spend an eternity drinking and singing with a dead god?”

“Shit!” Vilkas hissed, pulling out his sword as Majni roared in rage and began to twist and transform. 

Bryn pulled out her two swords and went straight for the alpha male, shouting _“YOL TOOR SHUL!”_ as she ran. The werewolf fell to his knees with a shriek of agony and she ran past him, lopping off his head. By time she took out a female Vilkas had dispatched the girl and another male. She cleaned off Dawnbreaker and Chillrend on Majni’s singed fur and glanced at the Harbinger, who had a look of sorrow on his face, though it wasn’t as great as expected. She would have rather not killed them either, but she had no sympathy for what they were. It was a life they had chosen, and unlike the Circle these creatures had little control and were a danger to any who came across them. Well, no longer.

Vilkas finally heaved a sigh of regret then muttered to Bryn, “I can’t take you anywhere.”

She snorted a sad laugh and said, “I’m sorry. I never realized the world was so terribly small. How could they know, all the way out here?”

“The Lord of the Hunt, perhaps. He has always held a strong sway over this island. He no doubt felt that we three betrayed him, Farkas, Kodlak and me.” He huffed and went on, “Let’s get the bodies dealt with so we can sleep.”

“All right.”

He watched out of the corner of his eye as she went to Majni’s huge form and lifted it around the waist with appalling ease then tossed it with no more effort than if it had been a child’s body. Seeing her breathe fire like a dragon had certainly been a sight as well, something he had never seen her do before. The last time he had adventured with her had been the dragon hunt in Eastmarch, after obtaining the Gildergreen sapling. She had still been so new to it all then. He really had no idea what she was capable of anymore. Farkas’ words about her throwing that cultist twenty feet really didn’t seem like an exaggeration now.

They quickly got the camp cleaned up and their own bedrolls set under shelter, close enough to feel the warmth of the fire, all of it in complete silence. It wasn’t until Bryn yawned, covering her mouth, that Vilkas finally asked, “Hungry?”

“A little.”

“We should eat something before we go to sleep.” Bryn nodded, and he got up and looked over a wooden platter of fresh meat. Seeing her dismay, he shook his head and said, “It’s safe. Just game. Mostly rabbit and pheasant.”

“Ah.” As he found a metal spit and began putting the meat on it, she quietly asked, “Do you ever miss it?”

“The beastblood? No. Never.”

“Good.”

“When you told me how happy Kodlak was in Sovngarde, told me about Ysgramor, and all the Nord heroes and warriors, even the mages, I knew without a doubt that we did the right thing in getting rid of the curse. I want to drink and sing and tell stories in the Hall of Valor, not run endlessly after game at some Daedra’s direction, never tiring but never resting either.” He shook his head, squatting by the fire to look through his pack for the small box of salt he had bought this morning from the alchemist. “No, I have not missed it. I miss the feeling of pack, the bond that was between the five of us for so many years, but there is still the feeling of family. Aela is still my sister, Blood or not.” He glanced at Bryn and she was staring at the fire, sitting on her bedroll. “What you told me on the ship a few days ago, about carrying too many dragon souls, about feeling like your skin will split at any moment…that is exactly what the beastblood felt like, when it was acting up. At least for me.”

“It isn’t all the time. Just when I’m angry, or upset.”

“Well…I’m glad of that.”

“Aela’s lonely.”

Vilkas sighed at the unexpected statement, nodding as he salted the spitted meat to season it. “Yes, I know. I regret that, but it cannot be helped. One day she will be reunited with Skjor, and be able to tell him about their daughter, and never be without a pack ever again, for an eternity.” Bryn nodded and said nothing more, seeming tired and distracted. He let her be, turning the meat on the spit then handing her several rabbit haunches when they were done. He ate his pheasant breast in silence, and when Bryn rolled herself into her bedroll with another smothered yawn he stayed quiet, surprised by her fatigue, and let her go to sleep. She was out quickly, and he shrugged and stayed awake a bit longer, staring out into the night, the ominous bulk of Red Mountain in the distance, glowing and smoking. _“Sahqo Strunmah,”_ he murmured. _“Yol.”_ Fire, he remembered that. He had certainly seen fire tonight. _“Rekdovah,”_ he whispered. The only she-dragon that existed, until their daughter was born somewhere down the road.

Feeling melancholy, Vilkas decided to go to sleep as well. There was no telling what tomorrow would bring. Hopefully no more werewolves.

At some point in the middle of the night Vilkas awoke, disoriented, but he quickly came awake, sensing something amiss. He heard the crunch of booted feet on snow, and in the dim starlight he saw Bryn walking away from camp. For a moment he thought she was going to relieve herself, but when he saw that she was completely unarmed and walking much too far he called out, “Hey! Where are you going!” She ignored him, and something about her walk seemed wrong to him. Stiff. He scrambled out of his bedroll and ran after her, calling her name, and got no response, and when he pulled on her arm she shrugged him off in a distracted manner. A manner just like the one he had seen around the Earth Stone yesterday.

Vilkas ran around in front of her, pushing on her shoulders, but she swatted him aside, making him stumble. “Holy shit,” he muttered in amazement. He shook it off and tried again, and once more she knocked him aside as if he were no stronger than a child. He grimaced in dread then went far out in front of her, quickly checking once more that she had no blades on her that would impale either of them, then he said, “Sorry love,” and ran full bore toward her, slamming his shoulder into her chest and knocking her off her feet. She cried out in shock beneath him, breathing hard, her eyes focusing, and he said breathlessly, “I’m sorry, you were leaving camp, I had to do it.”

“I…heard him. Calling me.”

“You never should have touched that Stone, damn it!” He climbed off her then helped her to her feet, and when she clutched at her chest and coughed he said in dismay, “I’m sorry! I couldn’t stop you any other way!” She shook her head and healed herself, but he still felt terrible. He knew there was no other way, but he felt like a monster for having to basically attack her. If he hadn’t stopped her she might have kept walking all the way back to Raven Rock. It terrified him that she was susceptible to Miraak’s call. As Dragonborn it seemed she should have been immune. Maybe she would have been if she hadn’t touched the Earth Stone. He petted her hair back and asked, “Are you all right?” 

She nodded, but she then looked up at him fearfully, asking, “What if it happens again! How am I supposed to sleep?”

“By me,” he said firmly. He took her by the hand and led her back to camp then quickly looked around. “I saw some…ah.” He fetched some long, thin leather strips from near the tanning racks. “We’ll tie our wrists together.” Bryn let out a breath of relief and smiled slightly at him, and he smiled back and kissed her forehead. Well then, there would be no more separate rooms. That would complicate things. Not hopelessly; he had managed well enough so far, the adventure more enticing to him for now than Bryn. He just hoped that held until they were done.


	57. Chapter 57

“This can’t be good,” Vilkas whispered, feeling nervous sweat trickle down his back. The pathway up to the temple was strewn with three dragon skeletons. Then four. Five. Six skeletons. And they were whole, an odd sight he couldn't fathom. As they went up the stairs they heard the same pounding as around the Earth Stone, and more mindless mutterings of the workers. He motioned to the skeletons, which now that he was looking around littered the entire hill. It was an odd sight; when Bryn took a dragon's soul there was usually little left of the beast afterward, the skeleton crumbling into fragments except for the skull and a few bones and scales. “How old do you think these are?” Bryn shook her head with wide eyes, seeming to find the sight of so many dead dragons in one place utterly horrifying. The number of them only seemed to grow as they neared the top of the stairs. The chanting here was the same as it had been at the Earth Stone, and again the workers were nearly all Dunmer, but at the top of the stairs they heard a Nord voice. The coherent, rational voice of a woman, and it made them both break into a run.

“Oslaf, please! We must leave this place! Ysra, can you hear me?”

They saw a pretty blond Nord woman begging two others of her kind to stop working and answer her, to no avail. _Skaal,_ Bryn reminded herself. She supposed after so many generations of separation the Skaal were no more Nord than Reachmen were Breton. Her armor was impressive though, not primitive in the least. She was pretty, and young, in her mid-twenties, and well-armed.

The woman turned around at the sound of Vilkas’ footsteps and gaped at them in amazement. “You’re not affected like the others,” she said in confusion. As they neared she studied them quickly, seeing no threat in their gaze. The two were much like her people, maybe from the mainland, very tall and fair-skinned, though the man’s hair was nearly black as her folk’s never was, and the woman’s eyes…they weren’t human eyes. They weren’t even Elf eyes, though to be fair the only Elf eyes she had ever seen had been red. She asked suspiciously, “Who are you? What brings you to this place? Why are you here?”

Bryn said, “I am Brynhilde, and my companion is Vilkas. We’re from Skyrim. We’re here to investigate the Temple. And you?”

“I am Frea of the Skaal. I am here to either save my people or avenge them.” By the All-Maker, the woman’s voice was odd too. Echoey. Resonant. It made Frea wonder if the woman was even human.

“Then our goals are aligned,” Vilkas stated, and the woman gave a single nod and relaxed. He nodded with his chin towards the Stone behind them. “What do you think is happening?”

“I am unsure. Something has taken control of most of the people of Solstheim. It makes them forget themselves and work on these horrible creations that corrupt the Stones, the very land itself. My father Storn, our Shaman, says Miraak has returned to Solstheim, but that is impossible.”

Bryn said, “Maybe not. Miraak tried to have me killed. He sent his cultists to Skyrim and attacked me in my own city.”

“That is strange. Do you know why? How does he know of you?”

When Bryn hesitated, Vilkas proudly stated, “She is the High Queen of Skyrim, and Dragonborn.”

Frea’s fair eyebrows rose. “Dragonborn,” she whispered. So that was why the other woman was so strange. “We have heard there was a new Dragonborn. We have seen dragons on Solstheim for the last two years, but my father is a powerful shaman and my folk are strong, so we have been able to drive them away. They have left us alone for the most part in the last year. As you have seen from the many skeletons on the hill, most of the dragons that once lived here were killed long ago.” She smiled briefly at Bryn and went on, “My people know nothing of Kings and Queens, but if your heart is true and your intentions pure, then I welcome your help. Perhaps it will take a Dragonborn to stop Miraak.” Perhaps it was this Dragonborn’s existence or something she had done that had awakened Miraak and started all this, but Frea couldn’t place any blame on the other woman for existing. “So, we both have good reason to see what lies beneath us. There is nothing more I can do up here. The Tree Stone and my kinfolk are beyond my help for now. We need to find a way into the temple below.”

Vilkas said, “First, what do you know about Miraak? We were unable to gather much information in Raven Rock.”

“Well, his story is as old as Solstheim itself. He served the dragons before their fall from power, as most did. A priest in their order. But unlike most, he turned against them. He made his own path, and his actions cost him dearly. The stories say he sought to claim Solstheim for himself, and the dragons destroyed him for it. I have to wonder though, was he destroyed, or did he hide himself somewhere?”

“Yes, we have wondered the same. Are you here alone? Is your entire village enthralled like this?”

“There are few of us left unaffected by this curse. My father Storn, the shaman, protects them in the village. His magic is powerful, but--” She was cut off by the grinding of stone, and at the sound of booted feet she pulled out two hand axes, seeing the strangers pull out weapons of their own.

“Finally,” Vilkas said with glee at the sight of two cultists, then he shouted in pain as he was fried with lightning. One cultist went down with an arrow in his chest, and Vilkas went after the one who had blasted him with a roar. “I’ll cut you to pieces!” he yelled, and when the mage raised his hands again, crackling with lightning, Vilkas brought his greatsword down and cleaved the man from his shoulder down to the bottom of his ribcage. He stood there with his bones aching and watched as the young woman brought her axes down and finished off the cultist Bryn had knocked down with her bow.

Frea wiped her axes on the mage’s robes then stood up, sliding them back into her belt, and when she turned and saw what Vilkas had done her mouth fell open slightly. His pale eyes met hers, eyes she had never seen the like of before, so pale a gray they were nearly silver, ringed with darker gray. “I have never seen such a thing,” she said in amazement. “You are truly a great warrior.” He smiled at her, the first smile she had seen from him, and it was like the moons coming out from behind the clouds. It made her stomach do a little flutter that she hadn’t felt since she was a young, confused girl. Well, there was no confusing this.

“I thank you. I have trained since I was a small boy. Do you know of the Companions?” She shook her head and he was a bit taken aback. He had never met anyone who hadn’t heard of the Companions. Well, Bryn hadn’t at first either he supposed, until she had met Aela, Farkas and Ria outside Whiterun on that fateful day.

“Our village is quite isolated. We trade little with outsiders and don’t hear much in the way of news. We heard that a Dragonborn had come again, about a year ago, when Tharstan came to our village, but not much since.” She motioned for the two to follow, and when she heard only one set of footsteps she glanced back. The Dragonborn walked in complete silence. Like a ghost. Frea continued on down the ramp, feeling a superstitious shiver come over her. She didn’t at all like the feeling that there was only one person behind her but there were actually two. Well, if the creature could deal with Miraak then Frea would be grateful to her, whatever she was.

Frea pushed through the doors and heard a sound of satisfaction from Bryn, and when she turned she asked, “You have seen these places before?”

“Yes, many many times,” Bryn stated as she walked past her, Auriel’s Bow still in her hand. “Burial crypts, and temples, from the days of the dragon cult. We will encounter draugr down here.”

“The undead,” Frea whispered.

“Yes. Stay behind me. Do not walk in front of me no matter what. I may need to use the _thu’um._ And if you get hit by an arrow from this bow you _will_ die, instantly.”

Frea nodded obediently, and as they began to walk she whispered, “It is a magnificent bow. What is it made of?”

“Hm…it can be tempered with moonstone, but I’m not entirely sure what it’s made of. It’s an Elven design, but it really can’t be defined by our standards. It was created and wielded by a god.”

“Ach, by the All-Maker, that is terrifying,” she whispered. The All-Maker was the only god they worshiped, but it didn’t make other peoples’ gods any less real. Bryn didn’t offer the bow to look at, and if she had Frea wouldn’t have taken it. Some things simply were not meant to be touched by ordinary mortals.

Bryn motioned for silence and the girl fell quiet. She wasn’t in any mood to chit chat, unsure of what they were going to find down here. Under any other circumstances she would have left some opponents for Vilkas, but she just wanted this over with. As they descended down through the levels she pocketed some of the more easily accessible gold and gems, handing them over to Vilkas so that he would have funds if they somehow ended up separated on the island. She pointed out the numerous traps and led the other two around them, gritting her teeth at the noise they made. Even without enchanted boots she was able to walk silently. Vilkas at least had some grace in his movements, but the girl wasn’t even trying to be quiet. She sounded like a horker crawling over a gravel beach.

As they descended to yet another level, Vilkas could tell Bryn was getting aggravated, no longer searching fallen enemies for coin, simply yanking out her ebony arrows and shoving them back in her quiver. She did so with the latest two cultists, and he said in a wry tone, “Not one?”

“What are you talking about?” she replied in a mutter.

“I can’t have even one little draugr to fight?”

The wheedling tone to his voice made her pause at the top of yet another set of stairs going down, and when she saw him smirking she sighed, taking off her circlet to rub her forehead then sliding it back on. “I’m getting sick of this,” she said in annoyance. “I’ve never been in a ruin like this before. It feels like it’s never going to end. I can’t even guess at how deep underground we are at this point.”

“Then let’s stop for a bit. Have a bite to eat and sit for a minute.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “But only for a minute.”

Frea looked appalled and said, “Tell me you are not going to eat in a place of the dead!”

“Yes, we are.”

When she was offered a strip of venison jerkey Frea wrinkled her nose and said, “No thank you.” Bryn shrugged and handed it to Vilkas then the two of them passed a canteen back and forth, sitting close to each other in a way that suggested intimacy, or at least long familiarity. Feeling a keen disappointment, she watched them for a few minutes then summoned up the courage to ask, “If I may…are you together? A couple?” The two of them looked at each other, and the pain there was poorly hidden, though it seemed they tried to hide it.

Bryn quietly stated, “No. We were, once. I’m married to someone else. The Jarl of Windhelm. Vilkas is my Shield-Brother.” The girl made a sound of interest, and when Bryn glanced at Frea she was gazing at Vilkas with obvious interest in her eyes. Hope. Bryn turned away, feeling a sudden hot surge of jealousy and possessiveness. It wasn’t as if Frea could help finding Vilkas attractive; he was. She came from a small village where she knew everyone and the men were familiar, and some tall, exotic, handsome stranger was probably irresistible, and rightly so. Well, the attraction would go nowhere. Vilkas couldn’t return it, if he was even aware of it, which he didn’t seem to be. Yet.

“We do not have Jarls here. We never have. Is your Jarl powerful?”

“Yes, very,” she said in clipped tones. “He can use the _thu’um,_ and he wields a great deal of political power.”

“So it was a political match then? I have heard of such things.”

“No it was not.”

Sensing Bryn’s growing anger, Vilkas said to Frea, “Ulfric is a great man. He nearly became High King of Skyrim himself. He and Brynhilde love each other very much.” When he glanced at the young woman she was looking at him with an expression he found all too familiar, and it made his heart sink. It certainly explained Bryn’s mood, if she had seen it.

“And you, warrior,” Frea said. “Are you similarly taken?”

Bryn surged to her feet and barked, _“Rok los dii!”_ The other two looked at her in shock, and she made a hissing sound of aggravation and started down the stairs again.

Frea blinked and whispered, “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. I don’t speak the dragon tongue. I’m still learning it.” Bryn passed through the doorway below and he quietly stated as he stood, “I am not married. But I have sworn myself to…eh, the Queen’s service. I am not free to engage in relationships as of now.”

“Oh, that is all right. I know you will return to the mainland when you are done here, but in the meantime I would enjoy your company. Perhaps with luck a child would even come of it. The new blood would strengthen our tribe.” He stared at her blankly, and she laughed at his expression. “We follow the old ways, ways that are as ancient as the world. We do not marry as the Elves and other outlanders do. We do not shy away from bedroom matters, or the gift of children. Children come when the All-Maker gives them, and we accept them gladly no matter where they came from, or when. We could use fresh blood in our village, and I would be honored to be the one who brings it, and I would be especially honored if it was your blood I could gift to my people, if you are willing.”

Hoping the warmth in his cheeks wasn’t visible in the low light, he said, “I am flattered, Frea. You are quite lovely, truly, however…I really am not free. To engage in any kind of relationship. At all.” If he had been, he would have taken what she offered, freely. She was a pretty girl, and strong, no delicate maiden at all. He had always preferred warrior women, or barring that, assertive women, and Frea certainly fit the bill. Once upon a time he wouldn’t have even blinked at leaving behind a child in the manner she suggested. Now the thought of fathering a babe he would never see again horrified him.

Frea frowned. “Does the Dragonborn own you? Is she your lover?”

“No, she is not my lover, at the moment, but she does own me. It was not by anyone’s choice, but that is exactly how it is. As long as she lives I can take no other, want no other.”

“That sounds terrible.” Vilkas sighed heavily, not confirming or denying that it was. She smiled at him with disappointment and said, “Ah well then. I appreciate your honesty.”

“You really are very pretty. I wish…well.” She smiled more fully at him and he sighed with regret. She looked much as he imagined Rikke must have as a young woman. He motioned with his head toward the stairs; the longer they kept Bryn waiting the worse her mood would get. Frea nodded and walked down the stairs next to him.

“Ugh, how much deeper can this be? I had been told that Miraak’s power was great, but to have built so large a temple…”

“This is quite large for one of these places. Even in Skryim we have none quite like this. We…” He whistled in amazement as they reached the bottom of of the stairs. A dragon skeleton hung from the ceiling, strung up by wires and chains. He had to wonder again why the skeletons here on Solstheim were whole. It made little sense to him. 

Frea said in a voice of wonder, “I had heard Miraak had turned against the Dragon Cult, but to display the remains in such a manner as this! It seems so…barbaric.”

Vilkas grimaced, thinking about the dragon skull he had mounted in his quarters back home, then he felt an uneasy shiver go over his skin, the tell-tale feeling of dark yet inaccessible power that came only from a word wall. He glanced to the left and saw Bryn standing in front of it, the glow of the word long gone. She leaned her forehead against the wall, tapping her fingers against it in a slow rhythm, as if trying to collect herself. He went to her, hesitating before laying a hand on her shoulder. “What word did you find?” he softly asked.

“ _Mul._ Strength. As if I need more.”

The brusque tone to her voice told him she was still upset, and he glanced sideways to see Frea still studying the skeleton, though it seemed she was deliberately doing so, to avoid looking at them. He whispered to Bryn, “You are the only one for me, love. You know that.”

“Only because you have no choice.” She felt a slight shudder from him, and she wondered if he had told the girl what the situation was, as best he could. She had heard them quietly talking and had been unable to make out the words, though she had heard the regret in his voice. Well, the girl was pretty, and a fighter, the kind of woman that the twins had always preferred. If he had been able to do it she would have tried to set aside her own selfishness and tell him to give Frea what she wanted, as long as what she wanted was temporary. There was then a sudden rumble that made both of them look up.

“Something feels wrong,” Frea stated with worry, pulling an axe and readying magic in her left hand. There was the familiar sound of lids popping off sarcophagi, and she cried, “Brace yourselves!”

Bryn stood back, pulling her bow, and let Vilkas wade in and have his fun fighting draugr, only stepping in when a death overlord turned its glowing evil gaze on her. She angled herself to avoid catching Frea and Vilkas and Shouted _“FUS RO DAH!”_ at the creature, blowing it across the room to slam into a wall. She stayed where she was, watching the two finish off the enemies in the room, Frea business-like and grim, Vilkas grinning. She supposed she had been remiss in giving him something to do, remembering how useless he had felt in Shroud Hearth Barrow, when they had first come together. It was beautiful how he moved when he fought, with the finesse and skill Farkas didn’t quite have, though the other twin made up for in in raw power.

She healed her companions then helped search the draugr for the key to the door, and when they came to another set of stairs winding down she growled in fresh irritation. “When is this going to end!” she cried.

“I don’t think it will be much longer,” Frea assured her.

 _And how the hell do you know that,_ she nearly snapped, but held her tongue when Vilkas looked at her with a pleading expression. They made their way through another area then found themselves at the base of a truly impressive set of stairs…going up. Vilkas looked at her warily and she clamped her lips shut, her eyes narrowed. “Stay behind me,” she said tightly, and the two nodded. She moved off to the right, not about to take the open and obvious route, her bow at the ready, and when they neared the top half a dozen draugr and a few skeletons appeared. She fired in quick succession and within fifteen seconds had the stairs cleared. She glanced behind her and Frea was staring at her with wide eyes, while Vilkas was smiling at her.

“Boring,” he said dryly, and she laughed quietly and put up her bow, moving to gather up her arrows. Aela would have been proud of such a demonstration. He didn’t think he had ever seen anyone fire so quickly and wondered if the bow had something to do with it, on top of her archery skill. He headed for the top of the stairs then slowed, hearing a hiss from Frea. When he reached her he saw a revolting creature there rendered in stone, something completely out of place in a temple of the dragon cult.

“Herma-Mora!” she said in disgust. “Vile being!”

Bryn looked up, and she frowned as she came to join them, saying, “This makes no sense. Why would he be involved in this?”

Vilkas asked, “Have you had dealings with this one?” She had with so many other Daedric Princes that he wouldn’t be surprised.

“We’re acquainted,” she muttered.

Frea wrinkled her nose and said to Bryn, “Tell me you haven’t actually consorted with the demon!”

“Consorted is a strong word. I did a favor for someone. A researcher, a mage who once belonged to the College of Winterhold. I needed his help to obtain an Elder Scroll. He was quite mad, but I agreed to help him with his project if he helped with mine. I finally met with him again several months ago, to deliver on my end of the bargain. He ended up getting zapped into a pile of ash by Hermaeus Mora, Herma-Mora I guess your people call him. He offered to make me his Champion and I told him no, in very choice terms. There’s more to it than that, but that’s all I’m going to say.”

“No good comes from dealing with demons!”

Bryn’s eyes narrowed as she said, “They are Daedra, and not all are evil. Where do you think I got this sword from?” She patted Dawnbreaker. “My dealings with them have mostly not been by choice.”

“Still, one would think that a being such as you would know better.”

She turned away from the girl and moved on, snapping, “I don’t live in your simple world.” She heard a sound of offense from Frea and ignored it. She didn’t have the luxury of having such a straightforward view of things. That the Skaal worshiped a single all-purpose deity that seemed to do everything for them told her how simply they lived. 

Bryn pulled the chain and went through the passageway behind the door that opened, which seemed interminable. It finally opened onto a chamber, and she looked around in confusion. It seemed an important space, but all that was there were odd niches lining the walls and a single black book.

“There are dark magics at work here,” Frea whispered.

Vilkas replied, “Of that there is no doubt,” when Bryn ignored the young woman. Bryn moved to the book, a foul-looking thing with a cover that looked more like skin than leather, touching a finger to it then picking it up.

Frea shook her head. “That book…it seems wrong somehow. Here, yet…not. Perhaps this is what we seek? Surely it has something to do with Miraak.”

“Let’s find out,” Bryn murmured. She cracked open the cover.

Vilkas gasped in horror as green tentacles reached out of the book and wrapped around Bryn, and he half expected her to get pulled inside and the cover to slam shut. Instead she went transparent, green, frozen in place. He flexed his fingers, nearly reaching out for her, and knew better than to do so. When she returned to herself several minutes later she slammed the book shut with a cry, her body stiffening before she fell to her hands and knees, dropping the book. “What happened!” he yelled, going down on one knee next to her. She crouched there, shuddering violently, gasping for breath. He put his hand on her back, worried sick.

“I saw him,” she whispered. “Miraak, and…things. Repulsive, tentacled things, but they had human hands. Oh gods, the hands…” She made a sound of horror at the memory of the creatures’ arms and hands, something about them more dreadful than the tentacles themselves. As if they had once been human, or mer. “Stacks of books, everywhere. He was in Hermaeus Mora’s realm. Apocrypha. That’s where he’s been all this time. And there was a dragon, but it was _hideous,_ with a head like a snake. He mounted it and flew away, and the things sent me back. He knew I was Dragonborn. He could tell I slew Alduin, and said he could have done it himself, in this tone of…ugh, _uznahgaar pahlok! Bein dovahkiin, bein sivaas!”_

The last words rose into a roar that made Vilkas and Frea clamp their hands over their ears, and when she surged to her feet Vilkas went with her, grabbing her by the shoulders. Her golden eyes burned with fury, and he gently shook her and said, “No, do not let him enrage you!”

 _“MUL!”_ Vilkas gasped and let go of her, and she felt a breathtaking surge of strength rush into her. She held out her arms and saw them sheathed in spectral dragon scales, glowing without heat. So this was what Miraak had done, and all three Shouts had covered him completely in the aspect of a dragon. The other two words were no doubt somewhere on the island. Well, she would find them, and whatever other words she came upon. Then he would understand exactly what kind of power she wielded, a much greater power than playing mind tricks on helpless people.

“What is that?” Vilkas asked in a tight voice. He was not at all happy that she had Shouted right in his face, and a new Shout at that, not knowing exactly what it would do. It could have blown his head off for all she knew!

“I saw him Shout, and his entire body was covered like this. I need the other two words of power.” She looked at her hands, flexing them experimentally, then she murmured, “He had a dragon’s Voice when he spoke, like mine, but he didn’t speak the dragon tongue. He looked strong. Wore a mask, so I couldn’t see his face. I wonder if he thought I was pretty, or if he considers himself above such things.” Vilkas gasped and stepped backwards as Bryn pulled back her fist then smashed it into the stone pedestal that had held the book. The stone fractured, and she shook her hand out and looked at it, feeling only a slight ache, but there was no damage. “Interesting,” she murmured. She laughed softly and added, “He wants to return to the world, to rule Solstheim. What a charmingly quaint ambition.”

Bryn picked up the book then walked towards a tunnel leading out of the room, seeming lost in thought, and Vilkas followed in her wake, trying to stop the shiver of nerves going through him. He heard Frea come after them, her breathing uneven, probably terrified of what she had just seen. He wasn’t afraid of Bryn, knowing she wouldn’t harm anyone without reason, and it seemed her anger had cooled, but her display of strength, _mul,_ had been impressive. She would need all the strength she could get, but it was a bit frightening to think of what all three words of the Shout would make her capable of.  
-  
When Vilkas returned to the Great Hall from the sauna house he didn’t at first see Bryn. He warmed himself by the fire, glad to be truly clean, finding the Skaal practice a true pleasure; he had bathed then one of the men had taken him to a small enclosed room that smelled of cedar and was uncomfortably warm at first, then he had poured hot water over even hotter rocks to create steam, explained how to keep it going to Vilkas, had cautioned him to leave the room if he started feeling faint, then had left him there. Vilkas had sat in confusion for a few minutes, wearing nothing as he sat on a wood bench in a steamy wooden box, then he had felt such complete relaxation come over him that he had laid down on the bench and simply…rested. He hadn’t thought about anything, his mind completely quiet for once in his life. By time he had forced himself out of the room he had felt so serene that it had seemed that nothing could bother him. Of course that wasn’t true, but it had been nice while it lasted. Well, he was going to get a good look at how the sauna worked before they left Solstheim, and he was going to build one at Jorrvaskr. It would be a fabulous way to unwind after a job, or a hard day of training.

“How did you like it?”

He located Bryn’s voice at the back of the hall, and he wandered back there to see her sitting at a desk, intently focused on a book. Her hair was still slightly damp at the roots, and she was wearing a clean night dress that must have been borrowed from someone. “It was marvelous,” he said honestly. “I think I am going to build one at Jorrvaskr.” She looked up in surprise, and he felt his relaxation ebb as he bit back a sigh of longing. Her hair was loose around her face, as it so rarely was, and that face…the way the candles lit it was magical. Her look altogether was soft, extremely feminine, entirely different from her demeanor earlier in Miraak’s temple.

“Really? What a great idea. Let me know if it works and I’ll try it in Windhelm.” She wiggled her eyebrows and added, “It might make for a lucrative new business arrangement.”

Vilkas laughed at that. “Still looking for ways to line your pockets, I see.”

“I believe in fostering opportunity. I’ll have to tell you about my investments at some point. My wealth grows ever more obscene.” He laughed again. She showed him the cover of the book she was reading, nearly done with it. “Guess who this is about.”

 _“The Guardian and the Traitor,”_ he murmured. “No, who?”

“Miraak. Seduced by Hermaeus Mora. What a fool.”

“Yes, Dragonborn should know better than to consort with demons.” Bryn rolled her eyes, making him laugh, then she picked up a book and tossed it to him. “What is this? _Ahzidal’s Descent…the tale of a powerful enchanter’s descent into madness._ I have never heard of these books,” he said in fascination.

“That one mentions Ysgramor. I thought it would make some nice bedtime reading for you.” He nodded, tucking the book under his arm with a happy expression. She turned back to her own book and said, “There’s only one bed. I’ll arm wrestle you for it.”

He laughed again, more loudly this time. “Oh, yes, anyone would be quick to try that after what I saw earlier. I like my arms in one piece, thank you. You can have the bed.” He paused then added, “Or we could share. I promise to behave myself.”

“Unfortunately I can’t make the same promise, beloved,” she murmured. He said nothing, and she kept her eyes on the page, though she couldn’t focus on the words. “I’m sorry I reacted as I did to Frea’s interest in you. It was innocent on her part. Perhaps I should apologize to her in the morning before we go.”

“I think that would mean a great deal to her.” Bryn nodded, and though she looked at the book he could tell she wasn’t really reading it. He sighed and knelt at her side, setting the book on the desk. She snapped hers shut, and he stroked the hair back from her face and quietly said, “I tried to explain to her, as best I could, why it couldn’t happen. I told her I belong to you and that is simply how it is.”

“Only because you have no choice.”

“That again,” he said in annoyance. “You still doubt yourself, after all this time. Ulfric chose you freely, knowing what you are. Why wouldn’t I? And forget Aela’s counsel. The bond between us, it only…” He gnawed at his lips, not knowing how to put it without unwittingly hurting her further. The bond only kept him faithful; it didn’t make him keep loving her. “If we had not come together, if you had continued to follow your path with the Companions and I had not bedded you, I still would have sought the cure, and with my mind clear I know I would have ended up loving you, in a completely human way. Frea, she is pretty, but…”

Bryn couldn’t look at him, his nearness and his hand on her hair almost too much to bear as it was. She quietly said in a grieved tone, “I would have tried to ignore it. I would have told you to just do it.”

He clucked his tongue and replied, “And the entire time I would imagine you here burrowed under the covers of the bed sobbing your eyes out. No, even without the bond there I could not have done it, and what she wanted was more than… No.”

“She wanted you to stay?”

Vilkas grimaced and said, “A piece of me. She, ah, she wanted me to…bring fresh blood into the tribe.” At that Bryn looked at him, her nostrils flaring as her eyes widened. He cupped her face in his other hand and soothed, “It is nothing. They have different ways than ours, older ways. Even if I were not yours I could never leave a child behind, not at this point in my life.” He often worried that he or his brother had unwittingly fathered a child on some woman somewhere in their randy youth but as far as he knew it had never happened. Most women didn’t want a fatherless child to raise alone and would have come after either of them, for coin at least. He took her hand and stood, giving it a tug. “Come, bring your book and we will lie in bed reading together, the way we used to. I have to stay close to you, in case the shaman’s spell falters. I don’t want to wake in the morning to find you down at the Wind Stone working away in your pajamas.”

Bryn nodded and he led her upstairs, their books in hand, and it made his heart ache with mixed pleasure and grief as he cursed himself once more for being a stubborn fool and not marrying her. This trip had only proven to him how compatible they still were, with their shared love of knowledge and adventure, their similar sense of humor. When they climbed into the borrowed bed and cracked their books open to read it nearly brought tears to his eyes. It made it feel as if they were married. He forced himself to focus on the book and not send himself into a downward spiral of obsessing on the future. Better to live in the here and now, as nearly impossible as that was.

When Bryn yawned and set aside her finished book, he sighed in contentment and did the same. They snuffed out their candles, and as they slid down under the covers he murmured, “So, continue my education. What did you say about Miraak, after coming back? _Uznahgaar pahlok…uznahgaar_ means unbridled, I remember that.”

 _“Pahlok_ …arrogance,” she mumbled. She rolled onto her side to face him, seeing his profile in the faint light from the firepit and braziers downstairs. This house was so much like one back home that it was eerie, though comforting. She felt odd sleeping in the Skaal chieftain’s bed, but the poor woman was one of those chipping away mindlessly down at the Wind Stone.

_“Bein?”_

“Foul. _Bein sivaas,_ foul beast.”

“Ah. _Rok los dii?”_ She didn’t answer, and he rolled over to face her. “Was it something you shouldn’t have said to her?”

“Yes,” she muttered in embarrassment.

“Well?”

“He is mine.”

“Oh.” Her possessiveness warmed him, though he had to be glad that Frea hadn’t understood it. The situation was too complicated to explain any further. He moved his hand across the bed toward her and felt hers, and he took it, feeling her grip tighten on his, though not uncomfortably. He kissed her knuckles and murmured, “Brynhilde _los dii.”_

“By Dibella, don’t do that,” she whispered in a panic.

He laughed and said with mock curiosity, “So, I was right then? Ulfric wooed you with the dragon tongue, didn’t he?” She huffed, not denying it. “Is he better in bed than me?” She growled and started to pull away, and he pulled her back and said, “All right, all right, I’ll stop.”

“You had better, or we will both end up in trouble. You said you would behave.”

“All right. I’m sorry.”

It was quiet for nearly a minute, and she quietly said, “It’s just…you have to understand, for _dov,_ Voice is everything. It’s all about the Voice. Voices, the sound of someone’s voice, the power in their voice. Ulfric has a beautiful voice. And Miraak’s…I can’t get it out of my head. It sounded like mine, but male. Such power, _suleyk._ I can’t help wondering what he looks like, what…” What it would be like to mate with another Dragonborn. Gods, how she couldn’t get that thought out of her head suddenly. Miraak had to be as strong as her. Would it be like a battle, the two of them struggling for dominance, until one of them literally came out on top and took the other?

Vilkas let her go when she pulled away and rolled out of bed, huffing in frustration, and he heard her go outside into the snow. He didn’t go after her, knowing his presence wouldn’t help. It was difficult not to pity her, knowing all too well the frustrations she was dealing with. It wouldn’t have been an issue if he could just sleep with her. The dragon would be satisfied, at least temporarily. All she could ever do, the rest of her life, was feed it or soothe it. It wasn’t even a curse, as the beastblood had been for him; this was her nature, what she was, not some separate thing in her. He was actually surprised that meeting Miraak hadn’t inflamed her more than it had, but her talk of wondering what he looked like troubled Vilkas. There was no reason to wonder that he could think of, other than one, and she had gotten up and left in frustration after that. Two true Dragonborn had never existed at once; the Septim and Reman bloodlines didn’t count, since none of them had been Dragonborn in the sense Miraak and Bryn were, directly gifted by Akatosh. Vilkas didn’t want to picture what would be involved in two Dragonborn…mating. That was the only term he could put on it, distasteful as it was. Whatever you called it, he could only imagine violence being involved.  
-  
Creeping up next to Bryn, Vilkas whispered in dismay, “What the hell is that thing!”

“One of those snake dragons. Like the one Miraak was riding. Revolting, isn’t it.”

“Why do they look like that, do you think?” She shrugged, then she shuddered and rubbed her eyes. He hissed in fresh worry and anger, “You never should have opened that book, damn you!” They had found a barrow on their way to Saering’s Watch, and Vilkas had been willing to explore it with her, knowing such places often contained word walls. This one had, and a number of other horrors, the memory of which still turned Vilkas’ stomach. The spiders within would have sent Farkas screaming for the exit like a little girl. Vilkas had never pitied bandits before, but seeing the poor souls being controlled by the spiders on their necks was horrifying. The dragon priest guarding the word wall had been interesting to fight, the first Vilkas had ever seen, and yes, Bryn had learned an entirely new Shout, but there had been a Black Book waiting there as well, The Sallow Regent. 

Bryn had been unable to resist reading it, and she had been out much longer this time, nearly half an hour. When she had come back to herself she had seemed fine, and when she had opened her pack and showed him the things she had somehow brought back he had demanded she burn the books she found in Apocrypha, no matter how harmless they seemed. Thankfully she had realized the sense in that and had done so. He had lectured her for a good ten minutes and she had willingly taken it. The last thing she needed was to be seduced by the Daedra’s forbidden knowledge as Miraak had been. Hermaeus Mora had called her Champion, and it raised his hackles; it wouldn’t be beyond the Daedra to have tired of Miraak and want Bryn to take his place. He could tolerate her carrying Dawnbreaker and Azura’s Star, gifts of the two most benevolent Daedra, but that was it, and he had told her that. Then she had told him about the Oghma Infinium and he had just about strangled her.

The serpentine dragon roared and dove, attacking the draugr guarding the ruins, and Bryn readied her bow, as did Vilkas, and she said to him, “Ready to be a true _dovahkiir,_ beloved?”

“Dragonslayer? Hell yes!” She grinned at him and crept forward, Vilkas right after her. He had hoped since landing on the island that they would run into a dragon. The trip so far had been a wonder, but this truly was the icing on the sweetroll. He was going to have to sketch a rough picture of this new kind of dragon so he could show Farkas and the others. He was actually getting rather good at drawing, something he had loved as a child but hadn’t done in a good twenty years.

The dragon was so involved in its battle with the draugr that Bryn was able to use Dragonrend to bring it down before it knew what was happening. She fired a sunhallowed Elven arrow at the hazy sun, figuring this would be a good first outdoor test of the arrows now that Serana wasn’t around, and when it began raining down sunfire on the draugr and the dragon she whooped in delight. It seemed to operate like a shorter duration, sun-based version of Storm Call, and didn’t harm Vilkas. There was also no limit to how much she could use it, if she had enough arrows, and she was determined next time she was in the west to visit and get more sunhallowed arrows from Gelebor, as many as she and Ralof and Hadvar could carry. They seemed especially damaging to the draugr but would damage any enemy. Truly impressive. She stayed out of the way with her bow at the ready as Vilkas fought the creature with his usual powerful grace and skill. There was something revolting about the dragon’s smooth skin and head, and when Vilkas struck the final blow she rushed forward to yank her glove off and touch it before it burst into flame. It was dry, and it was scaled, though the scales were fine and small for the most part.

“Fantastic!” Vilkas cried, bent over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “What a battle!” Bryn smiled happily at him, her eyes shining, then she squeezed them shut as the dragon burst into cold flame and its soul rushed out of the deteriorating carcass into her.

“Vilkas _los dovahkriid,”_ she murmured. She felt the soul join the dozen or so floating unanchored inside her. Then she felt Vilkas’ hands on either side of her head and the press of his lips on her forehead, then her mouth, all too briefly.

“How I love you,” Vilkas said fiercely, still breathless. “My magnificent woman.”

She sighed with bittersweet pleasure as he pulled her close and held her, their armor clanking together in a rather unromantic fashion. If only she was his woman, and they could move into the shelter of the ruins and have a quick encounter then be on their way again. This entire trip would have been entirely different if they had been able to make love. Sleeping side by side every night would have been less of a frustration, though it was a necessary one; she awakened nightly trying to find the nearest All-Maker Stone and didn’t dare sleep without being tethered to Vilkas. They had settled on Vilkas pricking her with the tip of his knife, and the tiny sharp pain instantly awoke her and kept her from going anywhere.

He let go of her and said, “Let’s go find that Shout the shaman mentioned, then we can get back to their village and see if he knows anything more about Miraak.” Bryn nodded and went to the dragon skeleton, bending down to study it for a moment, especially the bizarrely-shaped skull. Interestingly enough, the skeleton was disintegrating, as they always did for her. It made him wonder if there was something different about how Bryn took the souls, from how Miraak once had. When she began gathering bones and the sheets of fine scales he said, “Tell me you aren’t going to lug that all over the island then home again.” 

“No, you are.”

“Right,” he laughed, then he realized she was serious. He sighed, “I am sworn to carry your burdens.” Bryn laughed merrily at that, and hearing that sound was enough to make being her pack animal more than worth it. She had laughed so easily during this entire trip, seemed happy for the most part. He had to wonder how much was being with him and how much was being away from her duties, and Ulfric. He knew she adored Ulfric, truly and deeply loved him, but it had to be hard having that constant knowledge in the back of her mind that he was doomed. He realized with a jolt that she hadn’t mentioned him even once in days. Maybe it was easier for her to just forget about him while she was away, pretend that she was just an adventurer. He didn’t want to think of what it was going to feel like to leave Solstheim and head home. It was even harder to think of actually reaching home and going their separate ways. He couldn’t bear the thought of that at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not big on fanfics having 'soundtracks', however I listened to Led Zeppelin's 'Ten Years Gone' obsessively while writing the last chapter and this one, as I really feel it perfectly describes Vilkas' feeling about their relationship. Yes, he loves her more than anything, but he knows (better than she does!) that their breakup was absolutely necessary for both of them to grow. Look up the lyrics, give it a listen and you'll see. I'm dating myself though with it, aren't I?


	58. Chapter 58

“Enough! Get out!”

Galmar’s eyebrows rose as he and Jorleif glanced at each other, and when a red-faced Ralof came out of the sitting room and stomped out of the Palace of Kings he blew out a breath and ventured into the other room. Ulfric was leaning against the wall next to the frosted windows, his arms folded and a scowl on his face. His mood hadn’t been the best the last two weeks since his wife had left Skyrim, but this was the first time Galmar had heard him blow up, and he could well guess what had finally made him do it. Ralof and Hadvar had returned to Windhelm a week ago, having rushed back home when word had started circulating around the country that the Queen had gone to Solstheim, and both young men had immediately offered to go after their lady. Ulfric had assured them that Vilkas was a more than capable traveling companion, that a more skilled guard could not be found anywhere in Skyrim, and Ralof hadn’t been unable to stop himself from saying in a sarcastic tone that no one could deny the Harbinger’s devotion to her. That had been the lad’s first mistake. He had made a few more similar comments during the last week, each time earning a greater level of irritation from Ulfric, and today the Jarl had clearly reached his limit.

The housecarl said gruffly, “The lad thinks he’s helping.”

“He is not,” Ulfric answered in a biting tone. “He is not helping one bit.”

“What did he say this time?”

“He had the audacity to suggest that it would be much too easy for the two of them to not come back.”

“Idiot boy,” Galmar growled. “No one believes that, Ulfric. That he would even suggest it… I don’t want the Queen to have to rethink who watches her back. The thought never should've crossed Ralof’s mind.” Plenty of thoughts had crossed Galmar’s mind, but that hadn’t been one of them. Ralof’s loyalty should be firmly with Bryn by this point, and that Ralof had dared to imply that the High Queen of Skyrim might elope with the Harbinger of the Companions made Galmar seriously question the lad’s judgment, and loyalties.

“It took a great deal of time and effort for her to deal with the vampires. She is potentially dealing with another Dragonborn. I do not expect a quick or easy resolution, or a quick return.” Galmar grunted and nodded, leaning against the wall on the other side of the windows. Ulfric sighed and leaned his head against the stones, murmuring, “I miss her. I miss her a thousand times more than before. I enjoy having Rikke here, hearing a woman’s voice and laughter, but it isn’t the same as having Brynhilde here.” His wife’s presence was so large, so intense, that everything the last two weeks had been dull and slightly gloomy without her around. Food had less taste, the rare sunny days were less bright, and sleeping…impossible. The bed seemed immense and empty, cold, and he found himself wandering around their quarters at bedtime looking at her clothes and the treasures she had displayed, just to reassure himself that she did indeed exist and he hadn’t just imagined the last eight months of their relationship.

“No, it is not,” Galmar agreed. He loved the Queen like a daughter, something he felt she encouraged, having never had a father of her own. She even tended to treat Rikke in a sort of motherly fashion, which the two of them in private found both endearing and terribly sad. “It’s a shame there isn’t more traffic between here and there. A letter would help.”

“Yes, I would give much to know how she’s doing. What sights they’ve seen. I hope…hm.” Hoped they had gotten along all right. Hoped they were enjoying at least the adventure. Mara help him, but he hoped they weren’t enjoying any more than that, no matter what he had told them. It was one thing to consider them coming together with him there, where he was still on Bryn’s mind and could touch and kiss her, share in it with her as much as possible; it killed him to think they were simply forgetting all about him and going at it like two sabre cats. Two lithe, strong, tall, beautiful sabre cats. The biggest part of him, the noble part of him, knew they never would, that their honor and Bryn’s love for him wouldn’t allow it, but when he was alone at night in a cold and much too large bed it was impossible to believe that they were sleeping side by side out in the wilds and not at least fooling around a little.

Galmar said in an awkward tone, “Look Ulfric, I ah…how to say this…”

“You could try just saying it, and it had better not be a variant of what Ralof said to me.”

He growled, “Damn you, you know me better than that. I live with you two, damn it. I see every day how she loves you and what you mean to her. Bryn would never be unfaithful to you. I have no doubts in that regard. I just wish you would tell me what the hell is going on. Something has been going on ever since you two came back from reading the Scrolls in that cave. Something changed then, and I don’t mean her reading that she might take over the Empire.” Vilkas knew what it was too, was involved somehow. That Vilkas knew but Galmar didn't hurt a bit.

Ulfric sighed and gazed at his friend sadly, debating whether to tell him. In a way it would destroy Galmar worse than it would Bryn. Galmar would completely come apart at the seams and would never let him out of his sight after that. But he had to give his oldest and dearest friend something, so that maybe it wasn’t such a shock when it did happen. He settled for saying, “She saw herself with Vilkas, off in the future. Vilkas saw it too, in a dream, at the same time.” Galmar made a choking sound, a look of disbelief and grief on his face, and he shrugged and said, “I’m twenty-two years older than her, my friend. Everyone knew that when I married her.”

“But…when?”

“I don’t know. Neither do they.” It wasn’t a lie, really. It was hard to say when it would happen, but Ulfric didn’t give himself more than another five years at most. Bryn had admitted to him that Vilkas hadn’t looked any older than he did now. “It has haunted her ever since. Then came that trip to Riften and her finding out about the letter.”

“Well shit.”

“Yes, finding that out nearly destroyed our marriage, as you well remember. It made her wish she had never gotten in bed with me or ended up loving me, because if she hadn’t then she wouldn’t lose me, because she never would have had me to begin with. And Vilkas…the poor man never got over her. He never could, and then seeing that…well, I did something rather foolish, as I tend to do when it comes to my wife, and told them both that if they wanted to see each other at times I wouldn’t fuss over it.”

Galmar made a sound of anger and spun away to go close the door to the main hall, slamming it shut. He rounded on his friend and barked, “What the hell were you thinking!”

“I wasn’t.”

“That was why you were at your wits’ end when you knew she was in Whiterun.”

“Yes, and she did nothing. He did nothing. They’re doing nothing now, I know that. I _know_ it, Galmar. But sometimes, late at night, when I can’t sleep…I worry. The Dragonborn, they have certain appetites. She would try to be faithful, but I fear it will be too hard for her, especially if she is under stress, and with Vilkas there, well, you’ve seen the man.”

“She won’t do it,” Galmar insisted. “I worried when I knew he was going, but I never doubted she would stay faithful. I worried this was going to cause problems in your marriage, yes, or cause her heartache, but I’ve never doubted her fidelity. It bothers me that you do.”

“Because I kept telling them to not worry about it while they were away.”

Galmar’s eyes widened then narrowed, and he said with quiet menace, “I should punch you.” Ulfric shrugged and nodded, agreeing with him. “All that did was make things more difficult on them both. You know that. You…ugh! You need to start clearing this shit with me, damn you. Sometimes I think you still don’t know what the fuck you’re doing in a marriage.”

“I think I’ve done rather well, considering.” Galmar grunted and nodded, his expression darkening. Ulfric hesitated, seeing the old grief on his friend’s face, and he decided to press on. It would hurt Galmar to hear it, but it would mean something to him as well. “Tullius talked to Brynhilde, before her ‘brunch’ with Mede. That Thalmor ship she ransacked…it had Elenwen’s personal files. Documentation on her prisoners. Her methods. One of them mentioned me.” The housecarl bit his lip but didn’t say anything or look away, waiting. “It seems what Elenwen had done to me wasn’t particularly successful, isn’t that interesting?”

“H-how so?” Galmar whispered. He couldn’t get out more than that. So Ulfric was finally going to talk about it. Now, after all these years. Thirty-odd years. It made the breakfast in his stomach turn sour, wondering what he was going to hear. He had tried for years after they had come home to get his friend to talk, seeing how broken he was, and other than that first ill-fated encounter Ulfric had refused to talk about it. Maybe after nearly eight months of marriage to an Agent of Mara and Dibella he was finally at a point where he could.

“Most of them--us--died. Not in her keeping, no. She would never let that happen. Tullius said that most of the men it happened to, and some of the women, were dead within five years by their own hand. They couldn’t live with what had been done to them, and until recently neither could I. The shame of it.”

“Shame?” he growled. “How the hell could there be any shame!”

“Because she made sure that sometimes I enjoyed it. And of course she always ridiculed me for it. Told me I was no better than an animal for it.”

“Merciful Dibella,” Galmar whispered, tears rising in his eyes. The look on Ulfric’s face as he continued staring out the frosted windows at the indistinct shapes outside broke his heart. All of this did. Dead within five years. Ulfric had wept that he wished he was dead after that first encounter with the girl his father had arranged for him. Galmar had taken that seriously, extremely seriously, had made sure the old bear Fjonnar had too, and he knew with a sick certainty now that if he hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t listened to Ulfric and talked him down from his panic, if he hadn’t shadowed him nonstop for months afterward, that his friend would have done it.

“I’m sorry. I never wanted…” Galmar went to him and roughly kissed both his cheeks then pulled him into a hug, and Ulfric sighed and patted his old friend on the back. Of course Galmar was there for him, just as he had been all the way back then. Just as he had always been.

“Never be sorry, damn you,” the housecarl whispered roughly. “Never! And when your wife gets back I’m going to bless her name, and so will you.” She had won Galmar over after that first night she had spent with Ulfric, when he had seen his friend so happy and at peace, for the first time since the war. She had continued to win Galmar over every time he saw Ulfric smile, every time he heard Ulfric laugh, and she certainly did so every time he heard them together, or heard her rather. And the last four months Ulfric had been especially happy. Bryn had brought peace and love to a house that had lived off war and hate for much too long. And yet, Galmar knew that was what had kept Ulfric going for so many decades. Given him purpose. Given him a reason to live, until the girl had come along and changed everything.

“You’re right, you’re right,” he murmured painfully. “Ah, my Brynhilde. She’s been so patient with me, and then I do that to her and Vilkas.” Galmar let him go but kept his hands on Ulfric’s shoulders. He was more than glad to let him. He didn’t like seeing tears in his friend’s eyes, having seen them much too often over the years, but Galmar could take it. “You can’t imagine the things she has done for me, Galmar. All the praying, the carefulness. She made a special trip to Markarth, when she was finishing up with the vampires. To consult with the head priestess there and ask her help. And it’s working. I was skeptical but...so much of the time now I feel…normal. Most of the time when I’m with her I forget that it ever happened. The memories of that time have been so dulled by her efforts that I can almost imagine how I might have been if it hadn’t happened.”

“Good,” Galmar whispered with a curt nod. Ah, but he was going to land the biggest kiss in the world on the girl when she got back. He hadn’t imagined she had done all that for Ulfric. “You see? She isn’t going to go to all this effort then turn around and fall into another man’s bed.”

“But it’s _that_ man, Galmar. I have never once seen her look at another man since we’ve been together, but Vilkas… She can’t help how she looks at him.” He snorted a laugh and went on, “I suppose even I can’t help it, now. An unexpected side effect of what she has done for me, it seems.” Galmar frowned at him in confusion then made a sound of understanding, not seeming surprised by the admission. Ulfric had hoped for at least a little surprise. “Well, it can’t go anywhere, not for me, but I want it for Brynhilde. I want _him_ for Brynhilde.”

Galmar said tiredly, “Did you not listen to a single word I said? No. I don’t know where the hell you get your ideas. How would you being there make it any less wrong?” He shook his head and patted Ulfric on the shoulders. “Look, this thing you’re trying to do…you see it as a kindness. You think you’re giving your wife a gift, showing your love for her, and maybe you’re even doing it as some hare-brained kind of charity to Vilkas, but it’s _wrong._ It’s all wrong. They both know it’s wrong and that’s why they haven’t taken you up on it, and why they won’t take you up on it. But having that knowledge in the back of their heads is only making it hard on them.” Seeing how Bryn and Vilkas looked at each other, Galmar frankly thought it was a form of torture to dangle that temptation in front of them, but he wasn’t about to tell Ulfric that. “So let’s say you let him into your bed. How often do you think would be enough to keep them happy? You can’t just hand it to them once as a gift then think that would be the end of it.”

“What would you have me do, then?” Galmar didn’t answer right away. “It wasn’t a rhetorical question, my friend. How do I make this easier on them? Time won’t change how they feel. It can’t. So what do I do?”

“When they get back and you see that nothing happened, you’re going to apologize to them both and tell them you will never bring it up ever again.” Ulfric sighed and nodded, relieving Galmar. “There needs to be distance there, Ulfric. They can’t be around each other. They can’t be friends. You know they can’t.”

“I know,” he murmured.

“It may seem cruel to separate them, but it’s what needs doing. By time they get back, they will have spent way too much time together, fighting, exploring…whatever the hell it is that adventurers do, but they’ve been doing it in close quarters, day and night. I trust that they will honor Brynhilde’s marriage vows, but…it’s going to be hard, Ulfric. There will be a bond there that wasn’t there before. For them to part and go their separate ways after that is going to be like peeling off a bandage that’s gotten stuck to a wound.” A look of anguish crossed his Jarl’s face. “But once it comes off, it has to stay off, or it will keep getting peeled over and over, and the wound will keep bleeding, over and over.”

Ulfric whispered, “I know that, but... I’ve been trying to heal that wound in her, the way she has healed mine, and I can’t. I can’t bring her the peace that she has brought me.”

“No one can, but what you’ve been doing hasn’t made it any easier for her, or him. She made her choice—”

“She married me under false pretenses!”

“Yeah, well she decided to stay with you when she found out. That was when she made her real choice. She made it and by Mara she has to live with it, and so do you. That it makes you sick with worry that she might be screwing around with him tells you what a shitty idea it was to tell them what you did.” He grabbed the fur around Ulfric’s shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. “So, when she gets back that’s the end of it. You tell her that what you tried to do for them was wrong and a violation of your wedding vows. You tell her you don’t want her visiting or even writing to Vilkas anymore. They have to be _dead_ to each other after this, you get me?”

Ulfric said in dismay, “By the Nine, is that really necessary?”

“Watch them when they get back and you tell me. Watch them try to walk away from each other after what they’ve been through.” Ulfric grimaced, and he warned, “I’ll do it if you don’t. I’ll tell her everything I just told you, and she’ll see that it’s the right thing to do.”

“Maybe you should, Galmar. I don’t think I have the heart to do it.”

Galmar grumbled and nodded. Well, he had offered. Ulfric really didn’t have the heart to do it. Maybe once he could have, but not after the last eight months of Bryn tenderly removing the callouses around his heart. As a young man Ulfric had been a gentle soul, no matter how talented a warrior and commander he had been. Even when they were children Ulfric had been the quiet one, the thoughtful and empathetic one. Galmar had empathy for the situation, but he was removed enough from it to see what needed doing, and he was a father and knew when it was necessary to be hard, to benefit those he loved in the long run. Bryn was the same way. She’d had the strength to walk away from Vilkas once, when she knew it was necessary. She had to have the strength to do it again, and Galmar knew she had it. She wouldn’t be Queen of the Nords if she didn’t.  
-  
“Pompous ass,” Bryn muttered as she sat down on the rock next to Vilkas.

“I would imagine that is the norm for most Telvanni wizards,” he said in a distracted tone. He had stayed outside the mushroom building, having no interest in dealing with an arrogant Dunmer mage. He had also taken one look at the magical conveyance, said “Hell no,” and turned around and left. Forget that. No way was he going to set a foot in that thing. His feelings on that were justified when he heard a squeal of alarm from Bryn behind him as it sucked her upstairs.

“He said we need to head next to some Dwemer ruins nearby.” Vilkas nodded. Bryn leaned close to see what he was drawing, careful not to jostle him. He was sketching Tel Mithryn, somehow managing to capture the look of the settlement, the essence of it, with simple lines. “You’re getting quite good,” she said in amazement. Each drawing seemed to come more easily to him and turned out just a bit better.

“Thank you. I think it will be helpful when I tell the others about our travels.”

“Careful now, wouldn’t want them getting any ideas about setting off on their own. Companions are not adventurers, you know.”

He snorted a laugh. “I did say that once, didn’t I.” He sighed and went on, “I understand now the lure of this life. Always seeing new and fascinating things, always something to fight, the riches.” He had made sure that he had written down and sketched every single new or odd thing he had seen or fought. He wanted to remember every moment of this trip, to carry him through when they returned to Windhelm and went their separate ways again. The thought tore him to shreds inside, but they had no choice. No honorable choice. For just over three weeks they had been in each other’s company non-stop, and the love he had for her now was unbearable. He knew more than ever that he didn’t dare touch her or he would end up losing his mind when they separated. And so they hadn’t. Nothing more than a kiss on the cheek, or an arm around each other. And absolutely no seeing each other in even a partial state of undress.

“I did miss it, but…”

The silence between them stretched out for over a minute as Vilkas finished his sketch, then he closed the journal and tied it shut. As he bent over to stow it in his pack he quietly stated, “You haven’t said a word about him in two weeks, love.” She stood, not answering, and walked away. He stood as well, slinging his gear on his back, and saw her staring out over the water towards a sunken Dwemer ruin in the distance, probably their objective. He went to her and put his hand on her shoulder, then he pulled off his gauntlet and wiped a smudge of ash from her cheek with his thumb, probably from the ash spawn they had fought that morning. “We do have to go back eventually,” he murmured.

“Yes.”

“I think he would like to see my journal.”

“Yes.”

“Are you angry with him?” She hadn’t seemed to be.

“No, I’m angry with myself.”

Vilkas muttered, “Not this again. It is no use obsessing on what might have been. _This_ is what we have, and I’m sorry but this is how things needed to be. It has been torture for you and me, and I hate it, but what would have happened if we stayed together? You might have been forced to kill Ulfric, and Galmar, perhaps by your own hand. At least we know that we will be together again someday. After all that we’ve been through the last few weeks, I love you more than I ever thought possible, but at least now I know, truly know, what I am waiting for.” She made a sound of pain and closed her eyes. “I know it means losing Ulfric, but you have seen Sovngarde with your own eyes and know where he is going. In the meantime, you will be good to your husband. He was willing to do anything to make you happy, at the cost of his own happiness. Surely you can focus on him and your marriage until the time comes.”

“I’m not so sure I can,” she whispered. “It was hard before, and now…”

“How hard was it during the four months we went without seeing each other?” She opened her eyes and continued looking toward the sunken Dwemer city. The sun gleamed off the metal roofs, or gleamed as much as the ashy air would allow anyway. Her eyes gleamed more though, seeming to have their own inner light, even though he knew that wasn’t the case.

Bryn murmured, “Bearable, I suppose. Except when I got your letters. But that was before all this.”

Vilkas was silent for a moment then said with sorrowful regret, “Then you know what we have to do, when we get back.” She nodded slowly, the muscles along her jaw tense. “It’s the only way either of us is going to be able to function, love. You know that’s how it has to be.”

“Yes.” She felt ready to face Miraak, at least as ready as she thought she was going to get. She had found several new Shouts, had gained some extremely useful powers from the Black Books, had cleansed all the All-Maker Stones but the Tree Stone, which stubbornly refused to bend to her will, perhaps because it was the one most closely tied to Miraak. Once she dealt with the other Dragonborn and tied up a few loose ends, things she had promised people, they would be free to go home. Free… Well, she never would be. She was starting to come to terms with that. Her nature wouldn’t allow it. All she could do was ‘try to have some goddamn dignity’ about it, as Vilkas had wryly told her Farkas had once said to him. She couldn’t have both Ulfric and Vilkas, and she had made the choice to stay devoted to her marriage, so once she returned to Windhelm she would simply have to completely let Vilkas go. No visits. No letters.

“It will be easier this way. More manageable.” Bryn nodded again, seeming quietly resigned to it. “Ulfric deserves this, love. No matter what he said, he is no doubt just as worried sick this time as he was before, if not more.” And he deserved to enjoy what remained of his life without any competition for his wife’s attention and affections.

“If he had faith in me he wouldn’t be.”

He said in a seductive tone, “Perhaps he is simply very aware of my animal magnetism.” Bryn let out a guffaw before she smothered it, and he laughed in relief. “It’s too bad he will never have the opportunity to get off on watching us together.”

“Shameless,” she said in amusement, while trying to ignore the sudden, deep carnal ache that his words gave her. She folded her arms and tried not to shiver at his nearness, finding it hard to bear all over again. She had no idea how she was going to manage once he left. She was so used to his presence, his voice, even his scent, that she was going to be completely bereft when he headed home. And poor Ulfric… he would have to watch them say goodbye to each other, something that would no doubt involve a great deal of blubbering on her part. Perhaps it would be better to avoid that, maybe call Odahviing a day out from Windhelm and just…fly away. Yes, that sounded nice: to get up in the air, above everything and everyone, go somewhere cold and distant for a little while, just a day or two. Maybe the Throat of the World. 

“Brynhilde.” She blinked and came back from wherever her head was, and when he motioned behind them she turned and saw Neloth walking by, with nary a word to either of them. She rolled her eyes and they headed after the wizard, who had seemingly nothing in the way of gear or supplies but an ebony dagger. As they followed at a distance Vilkas murmured in a wry tone, “He travels light.”

“Everything he needs is in his own two hands.”

“Is he really that powerful?”

“Yes, he is. I read a great deal about Morrowind, during my time at the College of Winterhold, and during my recent visits, and…well, she’d kill me for telling anyone, but one of my Dunmer friends at the College is a member of House Telvanni, though barely more than a child. A Telvanni wizard is never to be trifled with, but Neloth is probably the greatest wizard the House currently has. He might even be the most powerful mage in Morrowind. Some Telvanni wizards have been known to live for thousands of years, so great is their power.” She smirked at Vilkas and said, “He’s a Master Enchanter. I can’t wait to show him the double enchanting technique and see how he reacts.”

Vilkas said in derision, “No doubt he will consider it some kind of trickery.” She snorted and nodded. “What were you thinking earlier?”

She frowned, hesitating before answering, “I don’t want to take my leave of you in front of Ulfric.”

“Ah. No, I would imagine you wouldn’t. I don’t want that either.”

“I think I’ll do it on the ship, when we get close enough to Skyrim to call Odahviing. I’ll leave most of my gear and loot on the ship and have Gjalund’s crew offload it in Windhelm. I want to fly somewhere with _zeymahi_ for a little while. Just a day or two. Give myself time alone before going home.”

“That seems fair,” he said softly, his heart aching. He heard the deep, rolling call of the silt strider nearby, and he whispered, “What a haunting sound. The poor creature.” Dusty, as she was called, was slowly dying, of old age or poor health her keeper had never said. “I have heard that whales sound similar, but I have never heard one. I have seen them at a distance, in the Sea of Ghosts, surfacing among the icebergs to take a breath. Kodlak heard them in his youth, along the shores of Hammerfell. He told us stories about them when we were young. And dolphins. I would like to see dolphins. He said they enjoyed chasing ships, riding in their wake, jumping out of the water and chattering and squealing.”

“I wish he had written more about his past. I feel I barely knew him.”

“Perhaps I will start a journal for him. Ask the others to tell me any tales he might have told them. Vignar especially, while he’s still with us. I see the same signs in him I saw in Tilma near the end. The tiredness, the frailty.”

“He is very old,” she said with sympathy. Older than Tilma had been when she died, but Vignar had been a warrior his entire life, had always gotten ample exercise and sunlight, so he was nowhere near as frail as the old woman had always been. Bryn felt he still had several years left in him, at least.

“Still, when he goes, that will truly be the end of an age,” he said sadly. “In five to ten years Farkas will have his mastery of the forge and one day replace Eorlund… I simply can’t imagine.”

“Skjorta and the other children, even Erik, will think it’s always been that way, with you as Harbinger and Farkas at the Skyforge… I wonder if Lydia has had her baby yet?”

“She’s not due for another week, I think. But she will have it by time we get back. Him, her.”

“It would be nice if it’s a girl, so she could be friends with Skjorta.”

Vilkas laughed and said, “Farkas thinks it’s a boy and already has them betrothed to each other.”

“Do you mind?” Neloth called back tartly. “The chit chat. It’s really quite enough.”

“We are not your hirelings, mage,” he replied sternly. “Unless you would like to manage the ruins alone, we will chit chat.”

“I assure you, I can handle whatever Nchardak could possibly throw at me quite competently, thank you. I’ve already cleared the ruins once, and they are no doubt occupied again, however the Dragonborn is along only as an assistant in obtaining the cubes. I can only be in one place at a time.”

“Is that so. One would think you Telvanni wizards have that all figured out by now.” He heard a quiet laugh next to him from Bryn.

“Oh, it’s been done, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Most people like their mind in one piece.” He glanced back at Bryn, adding in a wry tone, “Though you seem determined to fracture yours. How many of the Black Books have you read now, three? And the Oghma Infinium? You seem remarkably sane.”

Bryn replied, “Four black books, and the Oghma Infinium. And three Elder Scrolls. In fact I have one of them in my pack right now.” The wizard came to a complete stop and turned to look at her, his red eyes narrowed, and when she smiled coolly at him he sniffed and turned and kept walking.

“Of course you do,” he drawled.

“Would you like to see it?”

“We have no time for such nonsense.”

Bryn smirked at his back, and Vilkas stayed silent, feeling sudden worry flood him. How _was_ she sane after all this? What would it take to break her mind, permanently, if all this hadn’t? He hoped it couldn’t be broken, that her nature would protect her from lasting harm, but there was only so much even she could take. She had seemed very strong and resilient through all this though. He liked to think it was because he had been with her, though he hoped that wasn’t the entire reason. He wasn’t always going to be with her. They had at most another couple weeks together and then it would be time to go home. He missed his brother and the others, wished there was some way to get a letter back to the mainland, but the Northern Maiden wasn’t heading back until they were, and the other small ship that had been at dock had headed for Blacklight to let the ruling council know that Raven Rock mine had been reopened and huge new deposits of ebony found.

Vilkas had to admit that after several weeks in the company of mostly Dunmer that he could see what Bryn liked about the people. They took some getting used to, closed-off and suspicious at first, but once you earned their trust they were friendly in a somewhat gruff way. He was so used to Dunmer voices, clothing and architecture that the Skaal village felt strange when they visited, at least for a few minutes until he got used to it again. Skyrim was going to feel strange when they got home. He was going to feel strange, and he wondered how long it would take for him to get comfortable again in his old life. It was amazing how quickly experiences could change a person, forever, and he knew this trip had changed him irrevocably, all in good ways. How he was going to miss Bryn though. He hadn’t really bargained for how it had been between them during this trip. Comfortable. It had been more comfortable and intimate in many ways than when they were together. There were no subjects danced around, no real tension between them other than the inability to sleep together. They seemed in tune with each other no matter what they were doing, whether it was fighting or sharing a joke or figuring out a puzzle in a ruin or how to get past a trap. It had been perfect, and he had no idea how he was going to keep the grief off his face if he saw Ulfric at the docks. Well, maybe he shouldn’t try to hide it. Ulfric had kept trying to push them together, so the least he could do was accept what the trip had done to Vilkas and Bryn. Vilkas was sure he would. He would have to.  
-  
Hearing the lift return, Vilkas moved away from his position guarding the front door of Nchardak and went to Bryn and Neloth. The pair had been gone for close to two hours, and as he neared them he reared back and covered his nose. “By the gods, what have you been doing?” he said in dismay. “You smell like you crawled through a privy.” Whatever they had done had obviously worked however; the machinery in the room here had started working a few minutes ago, startling him.

“Close enough,” Bryn said in irritation. She felt thoroughly soiled after swimming through dirty water and slogging through mud, and her armor was going to need some serious cleaning and reconditioning when they got back to Raven Rock. To his credit, Neloth had been right there beside her, his complaints about the conditions fairly mild, and he hadn’t snapped at her too often while they figured out how to get the boilers running again. Gods, she felt filthy though. She absolutely reeked.

Neloth moved past her, looking around the room with a pleased expression. “Yes, it worked!” he said with satisfaction. “The steam is flowing. Now it should be as simple as…” He went to the pedestal and pressed a glowing blue button. Light began streaming down from a blue gem suspended above, hitting the four green receptors in the floor. The glass case slid open and the book began to rise. “At last. I hope it was worth it.” He motioned to Bryn and said in a sly tone, “Please, be my guest. You deserve the first look.” As they walked over to it he added, “Besides, it could be very dangerous. These books are known to drive many people insane.” He frowned at her and muttered in confusion, “And just why aren’t you insane?”

“Do you want her to be?” Vilkas retorted.

“A truly insane Dragonborn? Gracious, no. Only a fool would want that. We’ve already seen the results of one power-mad Dragonborn. No need to add another into the mix.” Bryn picked up the book, and Neloth gestured for her to go ahead. She glanced at her bodyguard, lover, whatever the brute was, and when she opened the cover and began to read she was suddenly enveloped in bright green tentacles. “Oh good!” Neloth said in delight. “Do be sure to say hello to Hermaeus Mora for me if you see him.” The girl didn’t hear, her expression going blank as her body went transparent. “Truly fascinating,” the wizard murmured, leaning close to peer at her face without actually touching her. He took a sniff and repeated, “Fascinating.”

“How so?” Vilkas asked in a tense voice. By the Nine, he hated the Black Books with a passion. The first had been the hardest on her, the others not seeming to affect her much. Maybe her draconic nature really did fully protect her against madness. He could only hope that was the case.

“There is no longer a smell.”

“Not from her, anyway.”

Neloth rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, but one must occasionally tolerate such indignities in the line of research.” He put his finger on his chin for a moment then wagged it at Bryn. “She is no longer truly here. It’s as if only an image of her is left behind.”

“I could have told you that. When she returns from that realm she has treasure with her that she didn’t before. She brought back books once, regular books. I made her burn them.”

“As if that is enough to stave off Daedric influence. Pah! Still, she seems quite resistant to their lures. I see Meridia’s sword there, so clearly she has dealt with the Princes.”

“Yes, many of them, when it has been useful to her to do so. It is the Dragonborn’s place to lead, not follow.”

Neloth nodded slowly. “True. Perhaps that is why Miraak now desires to escape Apocrypha. How it must have grated on him to spend the last thousand years in servitude. I certainly would not have tolerated it, but then I know better than to make such bargains to begin with.”

Vilkas had to admit the wizard knew what he was talking about. Gods only knew how old the mer was or the things he had seen and done. Bryn had mentioned on the way here, after letting Neloth walk ahead, that he had known the Nerevarine, so he was at least three hundred years old. Vilkas couldn’t help wondering again why the Nerevarine had left his people and gone off on his own. Maybe he had foreseen their impending doom and had been helpless to stop it. Maybe he had gotten sick of doing everything for everyone. Bryn didn’t seem to have gotten to that point yet. She took great happiness from helping others, and seeing how folk reacted to her help, and his own, showed Vilkas what she enjoyed about it.

Fifteen seemingly interminable minutes later Bryn came back to herself with a gasp, and the wizard perked up and returned to her, asking intently, “What happened? What did you see? Different people have very different experiences when reading these—“ He made a sound of disgust and backed away as she fell to her knees and vomited. That certainly wasn’t going to help the smell in here.

Vilkas knelt by her as she shuddered on her hands and knees, her eyes wild, and when she sat up and wiped her mouth he whispered, “What happened?” She looked pale and ill, the green glow in the room not helping any.

“I saw him,” she whispered, shuddering again. “Up close.”

Neloth said with interest, “Hermaeus Mora? What did he look like? Descriptions vary.”

“Oily, black. Tentacles, but the eyes…so many eyes, moving and opening and closing, too many eyes…wet, bubbly eyes...”

“You’re still acting surprisingly sane, too. What did he have to say?”

“He taught me the second word of the Shout to Bend Will. And I gained greater power in Unrelenting Force.”

The wizard nodded slowly, saying, “Ah, no wonder the Dwemer were so interested in that book. It was indeed one that Miraak used to advance his power as Dragonborn.” He paused then added, “But I assume there’s some bad news. It would be unlike Hermaeus Mora to allow anyone to gain such knowledge without exacting a price.”

She climbed to her feet, Vilkas standing with her. “He wants the ‘secrets of the Skaal’ in exchange for teaching me the third word.”

Neloth sputtered in derision. “Hmph. What secrets could they have worth keeping from old Mora? Sounds like a bargain to me. He learns some fascinating new ways to skin a horker, and you become the second most powerful Dragonborn that ever lived.”

“Second?” she spat, rounding on him. He drew himself up, though he was about four inches shorter than her. “Who is more powerful than me? Miraak? If he was so powerful he wouldn’t have run and hidden in Apocrypha!”

“I was thinking of Tiber Septim, actually—“

_“Nid!”_ she stated in thunder. “I am the most powerful Dragonborn who has ever lived!”

Neloth stared at her for a moment, his red eyes unblinking, then he slowly stated, “Of course you are.”

“You had better not be patronizing me, _Vulfahliil lahzey.”_

“I would not dream of it, Dragonborn.” She glared at him for a moment with those bizarre gold eyes then made a rumbling sound that made his skull rattle and turned away to gather her gear. He glanced at the warrior and the man was watching her with concern, then he gathered his gear as well. Neloth wasn’t about to be cowed by the Dragonborn, any more than he had let the Nerevarine intimidate him. Still, he knew when to be careful around dangerous creatures. He didn’t fool himself that she couldn’t kill him, if she caught him unawares, and he felt she could still prove useful with some tasks he had in mind. He said to her, “Well, this gives me a lot to think about. I need to get back to Tel Mithryn. I have some ideas about how to locate the last of these Black Books.”

“Fine.” She was more than willing to leave this place. It was a long haul back to Raven Rock. The Skaal village wasn’t any closer, and she wasn’t eager to return there and tell Storn what the price would be to defeat Miraak. She hoped the shaman knew of some way around it. The knowledge he held obviously meant a great deal to him if he and his predecessors had held it close for so many generations.

The roar of a dragon greeted them as they left the building, and as Vilkas and Bryn pulled out their bows the mage muttered sourly, “Wonderful. More delays.”

The dragon landed on a nearby roof and called out, _“Zu’u los Krosulhah!_ Miraak has commanded your death, Dovahkiin! So it shall be!”

“I would spare you, _zeymah,”_ she replied in the fullness of her _thu’um._ “I will not bend the will of my brothers as he has done. Does he even recognize you as brother, or are you only prey?” Krosulhah responded with a blast of frost breath, and she pulled out an arrow and muttered, “Prey then.” The battle with the dragon was over so quickly between the three of them that she felt an aching guilt for the first time ever. As the dragon’s carcass slid over the ledge into the water she swallowed down the lump in her throat, and as Krosulhah’s soul entered her she whispered, “This isn’t right.” Vilkas waited until the light died away then touched the top of her head, the only part of her that wasn’t completely filthy. “It isn’t right,” she repeated. “He has no right to command them against their will.”

Vilkas stated with regret, “He is one of those for whom might makes right. He does it simply because he can.”

“I’m glad I didn’t bring Odahviing here. Who knows what that beast would have commanded him to do.”

He realized Neloth was already down one of the ramps, heading back to Tel Mithryn. “Good riddance,” he muttered. He went to the edge and looked down at the murky water. “I don’t think we will be hauling those bones and scales back to the Netch.” Bryn paid for their room a week at a time, plus more than a little extra, to keep a room always available and have somewhere secure to store their ever-increasing cache of loot. The room had become home of a sort, and the two of them had fallen asleep many a time in their bed reading one of the books they had found. By Mara, he was going to miss her!

“No, I imagine not.” She closed her eyes and whispered, _“Krosis, zeymah. Zu’u volk hin sil mahfaeraak.”_ She would carry his soul with the dozens of others that filled her to bursting, until the day she died, whenever that would be. Knowing her lousy luck, she would probably live much too long.

Vilkas kissed her temple and softly said against it, _“Ni hin tozein, lokali.”_ He had become fluent enough over the last few weeks that he could at least get the gist of most of what she said in the dragon tongue. He wished there was some sort of reference book he could simply read to teach himself; he feared that after they went their separate ways that he would start to forget what he had learned. Not that he ever forgot much of anything. Fortunately, or unfortunately at times, his brain simply didn’t work that way.


	59. Chapter 59

“Bryn.” When she didn’t answer Vilkas sighed and leaned against the curved wall, feeling his heart ache as he watched his beloved hone a sword at the grindstone. He knew damn well she could hear him, even over the sound of the wheel. He saw magic sparkling around her as she worked on the stalhrim greatsword that she insisted he keep, a beauty that he had taken off a draugr death overlord in Kolbjorn Barrow two days ago. The blade was absolutely magnificent, and Eorlund was going to have to live with Vilkas using it from now on. He had told Bryn not to enchant it and she had reluctantly agreed, though he sometimes worried he was going to wake up in the middle of the night and find her gone from their bed, secretly enchanting everything he owned. He briefly wondered if they should start sleeping in separate beds now that they had the house and just as quickly dismissed the notion, as he had every night since she had gotten the key.

He sighed again with a heavy heart as he folded his arms, suddenly feeling close to tears. Less than a week they had lived in this house together, between adventures, and it already felt like home. Their home. A month in her constant company and it felt like they were married, and this house only added to it. He had never imagined a Dunmer house being so spacious or comfortable, but Severin Manor was both. He and Bryn were now honorary members of House Redoran, and Bryn a member of House Telvanni. He thought Athis might get a kick out of that. Ulfric would probably look ill at the thought of it.

“There, perfect,” Bryn said in satisfaction as she stood, holding the blade up to look at it as the magic around her died. She smiled and turned to look at Vilkas, holding the sword out to him. “Here, _grohiiki._ A weapon worthy of you.”

“Gorgeous,” he breathed in appreciation as he took it from her. He stepped back and gave it a few swings, amazed by the balance in the ancient weapon. Bryn had replaced the brittle old leather on the grip with new, supple netch leather as well. The purple tone to the leather was odd, but it looked beautiful with the sky-blue blade.

“It may not fit in your old scabbard. I’ll make you a new one tomorrow.”

“Bryn,” he said in a careful tone, his smile fading. This was why he had sought her out. “Bryn, love…we have to finish this and go home.”

“Home.”

“Windhelm. Whiterun. Our homes.” She looked away, her eyes starting to glisten as she looked around the Manor, and he said with grief, “Yes, this feels like home. I’ve loved it here, with you. If I had my way we would stay.” And marry, and have children, though the idea of raising children in the ash was a hard one. Well, he knew damn well that if they did stay eventually they would get homesick; they simply hadn’t had the downtime yet for that to happen.

She started down the hall, saying bitterly, “Well, we both know we don’t often get our ways.”

“We have responsibilities,” he said as he followed her.

“Well aware, beloved.”

“I know, I’m sorry. But I’ve never in my life been away from Jorrvaskr and my brother this long. I’m sure Mjoll and Vignar have everything in hand, but…Lydia has to have had the baby by now. And Ulfric is no doubt worried sick.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed to take her house boots off. “He knows I’m still alive.”

“How?”

“If I died the dragons would know, and all of Skyrim would hear them grieving.” She heard him grunt in surprise. He set the sword on the empty rack next to his armor then walked out of the room, giving her privacy to change of out of her smithing gear, and she nearly called him back, nearly said to hell with the consequences and her marriage. Somehow during all this they had never gotten anywhere close to violating her wedding vows; they slept in separate bedrolls on the road, and never changed or bathed in front of each other. When they shared a bed, they slept in two separate sets of bedding; they awoke often enough spooning, but the extra bulk of blankets between them kept it from going anywhere. How she wanted to have him though, just once. She supposed she could be melodramatic and beg him to do it in case she died when she faced Miraak, but she knew she wouldn’t die, and Vilkas knew it too. Vilkas was now quite, quite aware of her capabilities. She had called the full force of a storm for him once, when they had run into a large encampment of reavers, after she had been granted the power to avoid damaging her companions in battle. He had been both terrified and thrilled when he saw what it could do. What she could do. She supposed Ulfric would be pleased with the news; it could make a difference when facing the Aldmeri Dominion, when the time came.

Vilkas returned ten minutes later with warm water and a washcloth, and she took it from him without meeting his eyes. As she washed her hands and face he asked, “When do you think you’ll be ready?”

“I’ve been ready since that demon killed Storn.” And for what? _How to talk to the wind, how to listen to the earth: these are our secrets. Nothing of power or mastery,_ Storn had said. Nothing worth killing anyone over. Gentle secrets. But still, they had been secrets, and Hermaeus Mora couldn’t tolerate secrets. That was a guilt that Bryn would be a long time in getting over, the old shaman’s death. How the Skaal didn’t blame Bryn for it was beyond her. Vilkas sat down on his side of the bed, turned to see her, waiting, and she whispered, “Tomorrow then.” She had done everything she needed to do here on the island. She knew she probably wasn’t coming back. Not as long as Ulfric lived. Maybe never. And she knew that a large part of her love for Raven Rock and Solstheim was tied up in Vilkas being here with her.

“All right.”

“But not here. Not in town.”

“The abandoned lodge? Where we found Baldor the smith?” Bryn nodded in acceptance. Divines only knew what kind of shape she was going to be in when she came back from the reading, or if Hermaeus Mora would cause some kind of grief. Better to be away from a population center yet still have a secure place he could care for her if need be. She climbed into bed then blew out the candle on her side, and he did the same with his then slid close to her, feeling blankets bunched between them as he put his arm over her from behind. He quietly prompted, “Tell me you miss him, Bryn. Surely you do.”

She hesitated, pondering the question, then replied, “I’ve been able to not think about him much.” It had been harder in the Skaal village, the folk there predominantly blond, but it had been doable. She felt Vilkas shake his head. “I’ve missed him before, when I was dealing with the vampires, but you weren’t around. I can’t miss him when you’re here. You, I’ve never stopped missing no matter what.” He kissed the back of her head, and she felt a surge of grief that made her start crying silently, trying not to shake, but when Vilkas clucked his tongue and twined his fingers with hers she knew he had felt it. Well, she had warned Ulfric this would happen, that she and Vilkas would basically fall in love all over again during this trip. He had accepted that, and he would have to accept whatever he got when she returned.  
-  
“Hail, _Thuri._ Your _thu’um_ has the mastery. Climb aboard and I will carry you to Miraak.”

Bryn cautiously approached the serpentine dragon, still finding their faces revolting, but ahh, the Voice was there. It still spoke with the Voice of a mountain, as all her brothers did. _“Krosis, zeymah,”_ she stated, letting the fullness of her Voice unfurl. “I did not want to do that to you.”

 _“Zeymah?”_ it said in confusion. “What is this?”

“I do not enjoy commanding my brothers. I tried to reason with you.” There was something wrong about using the Shout to bend another’s will, no matter who that other was.

“And yet some follow you. Of this I am certain.”

“Of their own free will. Before coming to Solstheim I had no Shout to force their loyalty to me. Odahviing follows—”

“ODAHVIING!” Sahrotaar bellowed, rearing up. “This can only be a lie! The Left Hand of Alduin would never stoop to serve a _joor_ unless he was forced to!”

She stated, “He does not serve me. He calls me _briinah. Zu’u los ni Dovahkiin, zeymah. Zu’u los Rekdovah.”_

The dragon barked out a laugh of surprise in a clap of thunder. _“Rekdovah!_ There is no such thing as a she-dragon. But I like your _pahlok,_ your confidence, little one. Come, _mal rekdovah,_ climb onto my neck and I will take you to Miraak.” Bryn did so, and he felt her strong legs clamp down behind his skull. As he lifted off he warned, “Beware...Miraak is strong. He knew you would come here.”

“I am stronger. _Zu’u los zokmul.”_

“That you may be, slayer of Alduin. We shall see.” Sahrotaar headed for the tallest island in the oily sea. “We fly to the Summit of Apocrypha, _rekdovah.”_ She made a sound of assent. Unable to help his curiosity, he asked, “How many souls of my brethren have you devoured?”

“Close to sixty, I would say. No less than fifty.”

“Impressive. That is more than Miraak has taken. I do not doubt you, as I hear the _mul_ in your Voice. You have many Shouts, yes?”

“Yes, twenty-seven, I think. Plenty.” Sahrotaar grunted. “Once I destroy Miraak, what will you do?”

“I do not understand your question.”

“You will be free to follow your own path once he is dead.”

He laughed shortly. “It amuses me that you think I have any kind of choice. _Zu’u los ni stin._ If you kill him, you will become _Thuri.”_

“Only if that is what you choose.”

“Enough of this,” the dragon said in irritation as they approached the Summit. “Destroy Miraak, then we will hold _tinvaak.”_

As they came in for a landing, Bryn saw the tiny figure of Miraak descending a set of steps near an arch. Two other dragons, the kind she was familiar with, circled the Summit. The other Dragonborn’s swagger aggravated her, but it was forgotten with the beauty and strength of his Voice as he called out to her ride in irritation.

“Sahrotaar, are you so easily swayed?”

The dragon replied angrily, “She has the Shout to master _dov._ What should I have done?”

“No matter. It shall spare me the annoyance of hunting her down.” Bryn slid off the dragon’s neck and pulled out her swords, and Miraak laughed inside his mask as he stepped into the oily pit at the center of the Summit. “No. Not yet. We should greet each other properly first. Brynhilde, is it? Such a fitting name. And you no doubt already know my own.” She stayed where she was as Sahrotaar retreated to a nearby arch. “And so the First Dragonborn meets the Last Dragonborn at the Summit of Apocrypha.” He snorted a tired laugh. “No doubt just as Hermaeus Mora intended. He is a fickle master, you know.”

Bryn stated, “No, I wouldn’t know. I have never had a master, and he certainly will not be the one to change that.”

“Ah, so fierce, so independent. I should have expected such from a female with the _dovahsos.”_ He tilted his head and looked her over. “It is a pity you are a woman, and such a lovely one. If my need to escape this place was not so great, I might consider being the one to finally master you. It would be an interesting challenge.”

Feeling her blood boil at his arrogance, she let out of the fullness of her _thu’um_ as she stated, “I rule a country, and soon an Empire. _Zu’u los jud._ You’re a fool if you think I would let any man master me.” 

He laughed, the sound resonating around them. “I am not any man. _Zu’u los Dovahkiin._ The _dovahsos_ runs as hot in my veins as it does yours. Our coupling would no doubt shake the world, but…no. No, I think you are more trouble than you are worth. Once I am free I will have a thousand women more beautiful than you, and much less difficult to manage.” He made a cutting motion as his voice hardened. “My time in Apocrypha is over. You are here in your full power, and thus subject to my own. You will die, and with the power of your soul and the others you carry I will return to Solstheim and be master of my own fate once again.” He shouted to the dragons, “Kruziikrel! Relonikiv! Now!”

Miraak gathered lightning in his hands, and Bryn tensed and Shouted _“WULD NAH KEST!”_ and hurtled towards him. He deftly stepped aside and she spun around and slashed at him, opening a cut on his sleeve. He cried out and she struck out with Dawnbreaker, catching him across the back of his legs. As he staggered she shouted, “Yield and I will spare you, _zeymah!”_

_“MUL QAH DIV!”_

Bryn hissed as the dragon’s aspect surrounded him, and she shook her head and did the same, roaring as she felt godlike strength flow into her. So this was how it would have to be. Miraak could no more yield to her than she could yield to him. It was simply in their natures. Well, it could only end one way, and it killed something in her to realize that she already knew how it would end. Some naive part of her had hoped that she could reason with him, that she could have the comfort of another of her kind in the world, truly her kind as the dragons couldn’t be, as not even her children would be. She supposed killing him wouldn’t make her any less alone than she had been before she knew of him. She would never be the same after this though. She knew that with complete and utter certainty. Somehow she was going to end up paying for this victory in a way she hadn't with all her others, and she could only hope that those she loved didn't end up paying for it with her.  
-  
The leather of Vilkas’ gauntlets creaked as he flexed then clenched his hands, pacing the confines of the small stone and thatch lodge, as restless as the storm outside. He knew it was a reflection of the battle Bryn was waging in Apocrypha, even if it was on another plane. Wind and rain whipped at the frosted windows, making him glad for the hood over the chimney, or else the fire in the fireplace would have gone out and the house gone cold. He had spent the last hour tidying the upstairs, making it livable in case they needed to stay here a few days, in the event that Bryn came back wounded, or worse, insane. As it was she was sitting in a chair at the dining table, staring blankly into the open book Waking Dreams, her eyes unblinking, frozen at the moment she had been pulled into Hermaeus Mora’s realm. It was unsettling, and he had to keep reminding himself that what he was looking at wasn’t her, but just a ghost of an image left behind, keeping her somewhat tied to this world. The image gave no hint at all as to what she was actually doing, but the thunder and lightning outside was clue enough.

Bored and anxious and feeling like he was about to lose his mind, Vilkas went downstairs to see if there was anything they could use. He found plenty of alcohol, something neither of them really needed, but he picked up a few bottles of mead anyway to sip on with dinner, which was simmering over the fire upstairs. He found a few septims and pocketed them, though with the ridiculous amount of coin and treasure they had accumulated it was hardly necessary. Bryn still had the nearly overpowering urge to collect wealth that she had always had, and he supposed that had come in handy when she had paid Skyrim’s tribute to the Empire, and continued to come in handy with her many business investments. She had even had some discussions with Councilor Morvayn, expressing her interest in renewing trade with Morrowind, which he had promised to pass on to his superiors.

As he was starting back up the stairs he heard a loud crack of thunder then the roar of a dragon outside, then others joined in the distance. He paused, his heart hammering, suddenly fearing that Miraak had sent a group of dragons against the house, an attack that he had no hope at all of repelling. Even a single dragon attacking would push him to his absolute limits, especially without enchanted gear.

_“MIRAAK LOS DILON!”_

_“REKDOVAH LOS QAHNAARIN!”_

Vilkas gasped at the dragon call then bounded up the stairs, hearing the chair overturn then a heavy thud and a clattering sound. When he reached the upstairs he saw Bryn clawing at herself on her back, thrashing, and to his shock she was surrounded by a disjointed human skeleton that had spilled out of a folded up robe. He saw with dismay two boots with leg bones sticking out. And gloves filled with bones. And a hooded mask attached to a skull.

 _“Zu’u los ni hinah!”_ Bryn bellowed. _“Zu’u los rekdovah, zu’u los zokmul!”_

The mead bottles fell and shattered as he clamped his hands over his ears. Vilkas stayed out of Bryn’s reach and called out, “Brynhilde!” She rolled to her feet, pulling out her swords, hissing with glowing eyes as a golden aura surrounded her, and this time a pair of ethereal golden wings unfurled, making him shudder as he stared at her in bewilderment. She was breathing heavily, splattered with blood and black, oily filth, but he saw no visible wounds on her. He slowly took his hands down and said in a shaking voice, “Bryn, love…you’re back. You’re okay, now. Uh… _pah, pah los…pruzah,_ no, _eyvir. Pah los eyvir!”_ Or at least he hoped all was well.

_“Pah los eyvir…”_

_“Geh,_ yes!” She blinked then stretched her eyes wide, as if trying to clear her vision, then she threw her swords on the floor and rubbed her eyes. The aura around her faded, and he slowly approached her as he asked, “Are you injured?” She shook her head; the blood might have been partially hers but she had no doubt healed herself. “The bones…is that Miraak?” She nodded. “Why…why did you…”

 _“Zu’u fen_ …I…will…” She made a growling cry of frustration and let her hands fall, shouting at the ceiling, _“Zu’u los jahr! Nid zuk!”_ Vilkas quickly covered his ears again as the walls of the house shook. She growled then coughed, trying to force the _thu’um_ back down. “I can’t take any more!” she whispered in a panic. “No more souls!”

He carefully lowered his hands, asking with worry, “Were there dragons there? Did you have to fight dragons as well?”

“No, I fought only him, but…Akatosh help me, I took his soul!” Vilkas went stiff, his eyes wide and full of horror. “His soul, and every dragon soul he ever took! Too many! What do I do with all these souls!” She felt a scream bubbling up inside her and clamped her hands over her mouth before it could escape, muffling her shriek in her gloved hands. Vilkas hurried to her, taking her head in his hands, and she begged him, “Kill me! If you love me you’ll do it!” His eyes widened then he shook his head, tears filling his eyes. She grasped his wrists and whispered, “I can’t live like this! I’m too full, Vilkas, what do I do!”

A tear slid down his cheek and he nearly said _I don’t know!_ but couldn’t bring himself to say it. If he told her that…no, he couldn’t tell her that. The look in her eyes broke his heart, as if she was begging him to fix things for her, to make it better, and he couldn’t. He almost suggested having Odahviing take her to the Greybeards when they parted, but the monks were only Masters of the Voice, not necessarily experts on dragons. “Paarthurnax,” he finally said, feeling a wave of relief when some of the hopelessness left her expression. “When you take your leave of me, go see Paarthurnax. Go to Skuldafn and make him help you.”

“That…yes,” she choked with a nod. “Yes.” He pulled her against him, as best they could with armor between them, and as he held her she felt her panic begin to subside. Yes, she would ask Odahviing to fly her up to Skuldafn, where Paarthurnax and his handful of disciples had retreated to practice the Way of the Voice. She would simply have to stay up there until she got a handle on all this. She didn’t feel safe to be around in this condition. Miraak hadn’t held as many souls as she did, not quite forty, but so many that she felt ready to burst. No Dragonborn was meant to hold so much!

“Why did you bring his remains back?”

“I refused to leave them with that monster. I’m going to take them to his temple and inter them.” She shuddered and whispered, “I will never kill another dragon as long as I live. Never again.” She felt him nod in agreement. She would bend their will if she had to, fight them to the point of subduing them if that didn’t work, but she was finished with killing her brothers. Amoral and power-hungry as he had been, Miraak had been her brother, as much as any dragon, no, more. She didn’t think she would forget the beauty of his Voice as long as she lived. How she wish she could have seen his face, just once. What they could have done together, if his vision hadn’t been so narrow! Or if he hadn’t allowed himself to become corrupted by Hermaeus Mora! How could one of their kind have been so stupid?

Bryn pulled away then knelt and began to gather up the bones, and he bent to help her, seeing that the bones were as clean and dry as the dragon remains he had seen. There was an entire skeleton here, and he grimaced when Bryn pulled off Miraak’s mask and ran her hand over the skull then leaned her forehead against it, her eyes closed. It was so morbid he nearly begged her to stop. He asked, “Do you think the Tree Stone is cleansed now?”

“Yes, I think so. We should stop by the Skaal village after we’re done at the temple. Make sure everyone is okay, take our leave.”

“I would like that.” He hoped Frea was well. She was likely still grieving the loss of her father, but Vilkas hoped that her new duties as the village shaman were keeping her content and occupied.

“And I need to stop at Tel Mithryn on the way back and leave some heart stones with Neloth. Say goodbye to him.”

“I hardly think the prick deserves it, but all right. Perhaps you can leave the Black Books with him.”

“Yes, I’m never using them again, and he seems smart enough to not mess with them.” Bryn had actually become fond of the arrogant bastard, not letting his demeanor get to her and deciding to view him with a sense of humor. Vilkas detested the mer and hadn’t gone anywhere near him since Nchardak. She sighed silently, feeling an ache build in her chest at the thought of leaving Solstheim. She wouldn’t miss the gritty ash or the feel of being constantly dirty, but she would miss the sight of Red Mountain always smoking in the distance, and she would miss the people here. Maybe some day in the far future she and Vilkas could come back here with their children, but it would mean Ulfric being gone, something she couldn’t look forward to in any way. She could only hope that when she finally returned home that she would be able to turn her mind from Vilkas enough to focus on her husband. Her bear husband, that was; the wolf husband next to her felt like the real one now, more real to her than Ulfric had ever felt. It wasn’t fair to Ulfric to feel that way, considering all that he had done for her and how madly he loved her, but as he had often told her, life wasn’t fair.  
-  
The sound of the Palace doors being flung open and booted feet running through the hall drew Ulfric and Galmar’s attention from their game of dice in the sitting room. Both men had been bored and lonely, with Bryn gone and Rikke off on business with Hadvar and Ralof; the rebuilding of Helgen was nearly complete, as was the construction of Bryn’s homes in Falkreath, Hjaalmarch and the Pale, and Rikke wanted to see the work personally, to make sure everything was done to her specifications, and the Queen’s.

As the men stood Galmar asked, “Do you think they’re back?” Just over six weeks she and Vilkas had been gone, so long that the people were starting to mutter that she was either dead or not coming back. It wasn’t good. Rikke and Ulfric both had made it clear to the people of Skyrim and the Jarls that she was most definitely alive and that this was a knottier problem than the vampires had been; they had also made it clear to the Jarls that it was their job to keep a lid on any mutterings and doubts. Most had complied readily, but there was always Elisif. Always.

“By Ysmir, I hope so,” Ulfric whispered, his heart fluttering in his chest at the thought of it. They heard Jorleif’s feet on the stones coming towards them, and they waited for him. Ulfric couldn’t face whatever potential bad news there might be out there. He was sure he would know if she had died; the dragons would somehow know if she had, and they wouldn’t be quiet about it. Jorleif knocked on the open door then peeked in, and when his other old friend chewed on the corner of his moustache Ulfric felt a twinge of anxiety he couldn’t suppress. “What is it?” he asked in a shaking voice. “Is she back?”

Jorleif grimaced and said, “Yeah, ah…the _Northern Maiden_ has been sighted coming up the river. The guards just past Hollyfrost Farm sent a runner. The Harbinger is on deck, but…not the Queen.” He held his hand up before Ulfric could panic and went on, “No no. They heard echoes of the Queen calling Odahviing and saw a red dragon flying that direction a few minutes later, well before the ship was sighted. They saw the dragon again twenty minutes later, heading for the Velothi Mountains. It was too far away to see if there was a rider.”

“Why?” Galmar muttered, mostly to himself. He knew no one here had an answer to that question. Vilkas would though. “How far out is the ship?”

“A few hours. Should be coming into dock right after dinner.”

Galmar looked at Ulfric, and the Jarl was wearing a deeply troubled expression. It was a relief to know Bryn was alive, but he couldn’t imagine why she would call her dragon and fly off right on the hold’s doorstep. On her husband’s doorstep. Ulfric was trying to control his expression and failing, obviously hurt and worried. Galmar said to Jorleif, “Have Calder get Hjerim ready for a guest. The Harbinger’s going to stay in Windhelm tonight.”

“He might have something to say about that.”

“He can try.” Jorleif looked at the housecarl skeptically then turned and left. Galmar put his hand on Ulfric’s shoulder and said, “He’ll tell you what’s going on. I’m sure of it.”

Ulfric murmured, “I do not doubt it. But…something went wrong.”

“Maybe so. Can’t see why else she would take off on her pet like that instead of coming home.”

“It’s as if she doesn’t want to face me.”

“If she did anything she couldn’t bear to tell you, it would have been with him, and she wouldn’t have left him to face the music alone. No, something else is going on. I don’t doubt something did go wrong, but not wrong enough that they didn’t come back.”

“Jorleif said she headed for the Velothi Mountains. Skuldafn is there.”

“The dragon stronghold? Why would she go there?”

“Most likely to speak to Paarthurnax.” Galmar knew everything at this point about the ancient dragon; there was no point in hiding it from anyone, though it wasn’t bandied about. Bryn wasn’t just going on a joy ride; there was a purpose behind her leaving, again, before she had even gotten home. Well, Vilkas knew why. Vilkas knew a great many things at this point that probably couldn’t even be conveyed concisely. Well, he was going to convey them. Ulfric wouldn’t stand for anything else. He deserved to know how his wife was, what she had been doing. That she felt the driving need to fly straight to Paarthurnax the moment she reached Skyrim frightened him.  
-  
Vilkas sighed heavily as he saw Ulfric and Galmar standing at the docks, waiting for _Northern Maiden_ to tie off and come to rest. He couldn’t help feeling a terrible dread at the scowls on the older men’s faces. It was quite obvious that Bryn wasn’t on board. Well, the reason for that would be simple enough to explain, bless Akatosh, and being what he was Ulfric would immediately understand why.

His heart pounding, Ulfric waited just long enough for Vilkas to step onto the dock then he walked up to the Harbinger, Galmar right on his heels. “Where the hell is my wife!” he whispered fiercely.

“Skuldafn,” Vilkas answered shortly.

“Why? What went wrong?”

“She is carrying roughly a hundred dragon souls inside her, including Miraak’s. That is what’s wrong.” Ulfric’s confrontational demeanor eased at that, replaced with deep worry and no small amount of shock. Two sailors began handing Vilkas the many bags and boxes of gear and loot, and as he set them on the wooden dock he went on, “She hadn’t expected to take his soul, but it was a dragon’s soul, so… Well, she took every dragon soul he had ever absorbed too. She came back and had trouble speaking normally again, well, as normally as she usually speaks.” He lowered his voice and added for Ulfric’s and Galmar’s ears alone, “She begged me to kill her. I don’t think she was entirely serious, and she only said it the once, but…it was hard to hear.” He hated having to say it to Ulfric, but the Jarl needed to be made well aware of the gravity of the situation.

Ulfric made a choked sound of grief, horrified, as he heard Galmar suck in a sharp breath. In sudden realization he asked, “’Came back’? Came back from where?”

“Apocrypha. Hermaeus Mora’s realm. Miraak had been hiding there since the time of the dragons. The return of the dragons is what finally got his attention, and he knew that if another Dragonborn existed that she or he would have taken souls he could harvest, along with her own, to give him the power to escape back to Solstheim. His arrogance was his undoing. He completely underestimated her strength.” He slung his pack on his back and added in a tired voice, “As did I. I would hope when she comes back that you are careful with her. I can’t begin to describe to you the things we went through.” Ulfric said nothing, so stunned and upset he was speechless. Vilkas picked up one more bag then motioned to the large pile and said to Galmar, “That loot is all hers. Bones, scales, some sets of armor we collected. She didn’t want to leave it behind in our…her, house.”

“Your house,” Galmar said in a wary tone. The Harbinger wouldn’t meet his gaze, his jaw clenched. The man had a haunted look in his silvery-grey eyes.

“Yes, it was our house. We were gifted with it, for our services to House Redoran and the folk of Raven Rock. We are now honorary citizens of the town, and members of House Redoran. Bryn is now a member of House Telvanni. It was…it was our house.” He swallowed and walked away, suddenly close to completely breaking down. He stopped when he felt Ulfric’s hand on his arm, and he said in a rough voice, “Not once. Not once did we get anywhere near violating her wedding vows.”

Ulfric softly said, “I knew you wouldn’t. I’m sorry. I made things hard on you both and I despise myself for it. It won’t happen again.”

“Well, it will not be a consideration after this. We have decided to go our separate ways and stay there. There will be no more visits or letters. Do not ask me to come here ever again, if you have any kind of heart in you.”

Galmar sighed in regret, and Ulfric let his hand fall as he whispered, “Mara forgive me, I am so sorry.”

_“Rek los kiimi, ahrk nu Zu’u los enarah.”_

Ulfric stiffened, trembling, and watched the Harbinger walk away, wiping his eyes as he went. Galmar muttered, “She taught him the dragon tongue.” Ulfric didn’t answer, and he prompted, “What did he say?” Ulfric shook his head curtly, refusing to answer. “He’s leaving, Ulfric. And it’s getting dark.”

He whispered, “I…can’t. He must hate me after this.”

“Doubtful.” Galmar motioned to the two nearest guards and said, “Find someone to carry all this to Hjerim. These are the Queen’s belongings, mind you.” They hurried to do so, and Galmar took it upon himself to go after Vilkas. He quickly caught up to him at the gate going into the city, and when Vilkas turned to look at him with red eyes and a bleak expression he huffed and said, “Look, stay at Hjerim tonight. Jorleif had Calder ready the house for you. It’s too late to start back to Whiterun, and the weather’s looking to turn foul.”

Vilkas stated, “After what I have been through and what we have done, nothing can threaten me short of a dragon.” He had thought that he was in peak condition before leaving. How wrong he had been. He had put on so much muscle in the last month and a half that he’d had to let out the straps on his armor a notch. They had kept so busy that he would have no idea what to do with himself when he got home. He felt a sharp pain in his chest at the thought; how could it be home without his beloved there?

“Maybe so, but still. Ulfric has been eating himself alive with guilt while you two were gone. He thinks you hate him.” Vilkas shook his head and looked away, his eyes still wet and glistening. “He would want you to stay the night. Everyone would feel better about it. Calder has a warm meal, a hot bath and a clean bed ready for you, if you want it.” Vilkas hesitated so long that Galmar feared he would refuse, then he nodded.

“It…would be appreciated.” He knew it would be stupid to set out for home when it was growing dark, and the sky had an ominous look to it, as if it was getting ready to dump several tons of snow. It made him worry about Bryn up at Skuldafn, but there were plenty of buildings there to shelter in. “My brother, has there been word from him?”

“There’s a letter waiting for you at the house. His wife delivered a healthy boy about nine, ten days ago. They named him Jergen.”

“Of course they did,” he said with a sad laugh. A little boy. So he was an uncle now. It didn’t seem real. Farkas would be a wonderful father and was probably over the moons with happiness. His brother deserved that. And Vilkas was still getting exactly what he deserved.

Galmar frowned and leaned sideways, motioning to the sword on Vilkas’ back. “What in Talos’ name is that? I’ve never seen the like.”

Vilkas reached up and pulled out the greatsword. It didn’t fit the sheath quite right, but Eorlund could easily make one that would work. He held it out handle first and the old housecarl took it, letting out a long whistle of amazement. “It is made of stalhrim. I had never heard of it before we met the Skaal. I have a few chunks of it in my pack to show Eorlund Gray-Mane. We found it on a draugr, in a barrow Bryn paid to have excavated. She improved it in…the house, the day before she faced Miraak.” By Mara, how he missed that house!

Galmar nodded slowly, so entranced by the icy beauty of the sword that he couldn’t look away. He had never seen such a beautiful weapon. As he handed it back with great reluctance he said, “Hey, I know it is a lot to ask, but… Ulfric has been worried sick. What you two went through was hard, I can’t guess how hard, but he was literally sick with worry. Some days, the last few weeks, he could hardly eat.” Vilkas grunted as he put the sword on his back, not offering anything. Galmar grumbled and went on, “I’m asking you to tell him how it went. What you did. The Queen flying off to Skuldafn like this… Divines know when she’s coming back. It wounded him to hear that she did that. He understands why, but it still hurts.”

“I am certain it does. He hurts, she hurts, I hurt, everyone hurts.” He turned away and said shortly, “Tell him to give me a couple hours.”

“Aye,” Galmar muttered, the Harbinger’s attitude rubbing him the wrong way, though he couldn’t really blame the younger man. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must have felt like to be together all the time like that, fighting and sleeping side by side, probably falling in love all over again, then having to go their separate ways, back to their separate lives. No doubt it hurt like hell. Well, hard as it sounded, too bad; Ulfric was Bryn’s husband, and Bryn was Ulfric’s wife, by law and in the eyes of the Divines. He was glad that the two had decided on their own to do the right thing and stay completely away from each other. It was the adult thing to do, the right thing to do. Maybe if they did that they would finally grow the hell up and get over each other, Elder Scroll prophecies be damned.  
-  
Ulfric handed a handful of septims to Calder, and the housecarl nodded in understanding and murmured his thanks then threw on a fur cloak and left. The wind was howling outside and it was snowing heavily, something that probably irked Vilkas to no end, as it meant he might not be leaving tomorrow. Blizzards were a frequent winter occurrence here and they had been lucky so far this year that this was the first one. Hearing movement upstairs, Ulfric went towards the stairs, calling out, “It is Ulfric.”

“Aye, come up.”

Before he reached the top of the stairs he saw that Vilkas was putting a suit of armor on one of the mannequins. He came over and asked in amazement, “Is that stalhrim? Like the sword?” Galmar had told him about the magnificent weapon, after telling him he had convinced Vilkas to stay and talk to him. Damn good thing he had, too, or someone might find Vilkas’ body in a snowdrift when the area thawed out in the spring.

“Aye. It’s a unique set of armor that was once owned by some pirate king named Deathbrand.” That had actually been one of the most enjoyable parts of the trip, following a treasure map to find hidden chests, and the amount of loot they had found in Gyldenhul Barrow had been absolutely obscene. Bryn had given him as much of a cut as he would allow, most of it in gems and jewelry, portable wealth. He had more wealth now than he had dreamed of ever accumulating in his life, and nothing and no one to spend it on. Well, he supposed he had a nephew now to spoil rotten, along with little Skjorta. And he had a sauna to build. He had to think of _something_ to look forward to after this.

Ulfric made a sound of acknowledgment and watched Vilkas for a few moments, the other man’s back to him. He could see the muscles moving under the linen shirt and could tell that the Harbinger had bulked up a bit, and it made him hope that Bryn hadn’t gotten any more muscular than she had been. She had always been a big woman, but still slender, still feminine. It looked good on Vilkas though, and he had to force his mind away from the thought. That was simply never going to happen. He decided to just jump into it and asked, “So…how was she? During the trip?”

“I don’t know how to answer that.”

“With the truth.” Vilkas straightened up and stared at the mannequin for a few moments, then he leaned down and picked up the helm and placed it on the head. Ulfric found his reluctance to answer troubling.

“Fine,” Vilkas finally stated.

“Fine, you’re going to answer me, or she was fine?”

“She was fine. Until she came back from killing Miraak.”

Ulfric mumbled, “I see.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, I do. She was fine, away from me. Away from home, and her responsibilities, while she was with you, I’m certain she was quite fine.”

Vilkas sighed, “I wouldn’t take it personally.” And he had known that was exactly how Ulfric would take it.

“No, I suppose I shouldn’t. I’m sure it wasn’t personal in any way.” At that Vilkas shook his head and turned to look at him, his hands on his hips. “Did she even mention me at all?” He couldn’t help asking, couldn’t help picking at it until he made himself miserable. Well, he was miserable. He had been miserable missing his wife the last month and a half, and he was miserable now knowing that she preferred Vilkas’ company over his own. Of course she had been fine. She’d had her tall, dark, handsome, intelligent wolf husband, the one she would have chosen if given the chance, and they had their Dunmer manor where they could play house and pretend Ulfric had never come along.

“She thought of you every time she slept at my side and never let anything happen,” Vilkas said in aggravation.

“That isn’t what I asked!” Slept at his side. Well wasn’t that cozy. He hadn’t imagined his wife had been sleeping at Vilkas’ side even when it wasn’t necessary.

He narrowed his eyes and angrily said, “You kept pushing us at each other, and we did was was right and never touched each other inappropriately even once, and yet you still find something to be offended about. Be glad for what you have, Ulfric. At least she will be coming back to you. She will come back and sleep in your bed and you can have her whenever you feel like it, or she feels like it, while I go back home to nothing, to live off memories.” Ulfric looked away, his tongue in his cheek, but at least he looked somewhat chastened.

“Will she come back?”

“She came this far.” He turned back to the bags and boxes of treasure, trying to rein in his temper. “We talked about you plenty on the way there and back, on the ship. I think it was easier for her to keep her mind on the moment. On what was right in front of her. We were busy the entire time, running all over the island. Always fighting. We saw many strange creatures, some I had never heard of. Many of the plants and some of the wildlife from Morrowind have taken over the southern third of the island. We saw a silt strider. It had the most mournful cry I have ever heard. I thought it was only because it was dying, but its keeper said they always sound like that. And now they are almost extinct. It was…sad.” Ulfric said nothing, and when he glanced back at him the older man was staring at him, his expression no longer confrontational.

“She taught you the dragon tongue. Was that her idea?”

“No, it was mine. I wanted to learn it, in case she started going off on something. So I could understand her.” Ulfric didn’t need to hear the part about wanting to teach his children. He took in a deep breath and let it out in a rush then went on quietly, “When she came back from Apocrypha, she was completely a dragon. She rounded on me, not knowing who I was at first, and she was a dragon. The aura was around her again, and this time it was complete.”

“Complete?”

“Wings. The aura had wings.” Ulfric frowned with worry, biting at his bottom lip. “A storm raged over the island while the two fought, then I heard the dragons start to roar. _Miraak los dilon, Rekdovah los qahnaarin.”_

 _“Rekdovah…_ Not Dovahkiin?” 

Vilkas shook his head. “When she came back she was pawing at herself, trying to get the Daedra’s tentacles off. She said he was determined to claim her and she wouldn’t allow it. The wizard, Neloth, the Telvanni, he examined her for signs that Hermaeus Mora had any hold on her, and found none. She is too strong and independent to fall into his clutches. I found it strange that Miraak did. One would think a Dragonborn would be resistant to their wiles, but he obviously was not. Perhaps he was simply narrow-minded. Bryn said he wanted to return to the world and rule Solstheim, and she told us that she found it a ‘quaint ambition’.” He rubbed his forehead and continued, “Poor Bryn…it broke her heart to have to kill him, and she still grieves it. She brought his bones back, along with his robes and mask, all of it, and we took them to his temple and interred him. Even as of this morning she said she could still hear his Voice. He had a Voice like hers. A dragon’s Voice. She kept saying she wished she had been able to see his face, just once, but I think it best that she didn’t, and best that he is truly dead.”

Ulfric quietly stated, “I am certain that is so.” He didn’t like the thought of another Dragonborn, a male Dragonborn, loose in the world. Or anywhere near his wife. She would probably find another of her kind quite enticing indeed. He forced himself to ask, “He showed no interest in her at all? He simply tried to kill her?”

“She told me that when the dragon took her to the Summit and they spoke, he said she was pretty enough, but that once he was free he would have a thousand women more beautiful than her, who would be much less troublesome. He was only interested in taking her soul, and the ones she had gathered. All he wanted was power, no matter what it took.” He folded his arms. “I think he could tell from the start that she was more powerful than him. She said he fought like a mage, using mostly magic, and he didn’t have nearly as many Shouts as she does. He knew that she had destroyed Alduin, I don’t know how and neither does she, perhaps the Daedra told him. He tried to claim he could have done so, and said later on that the old Tongues had tried to recruit him to do it and he had refused. I think he knew he didn’t have it in him. His greed made him weak.” Ulfric nodded, still looking worried, and Vilkas took pity on him and said, “Come, I will show you the journal I kept. I started it the day after we landed on the island.”

“I would like that.” Vilkas led him toward the bedroom and he felt a slight flutter in his stomach that made him silently curse himself for being a fool. The Harbinger motioned for him to sit at a small table with two chairs while he went to his bags. The ebony armor was laid out on the floor and looked worse for the wear, but old Gray-Mane would quickly get it reconditioned. As he sat down Ulfric asked, “What would you say was the most fantastic thing you saw?”

“Red Mountain,” Vilkas immediately answered. “It looms over everything, constantly smoking, and at night you can see it glowing faintly. There are deposits in the ashlands of something called heart stones. They are called such because supposedly they were in contact with the Heart of Lorkhan, Shor. We brought back quite a few. The wizard said they get thrown out of the mountain during major eruptions and deposited on the island. Bryn…” He laughed quietly and shook his head as he dug around for the journal. “The woman cannot resist cracking rocks. Every vein of gold ore or gems that she found, she had to take a pick to it. Every locked chest or door had to be unlocked. Every needy soul had to be helped. It was…well, it was enjoyable, seeing her do what she is so good at. Seeing how folk respond to her.”

As Vilkas brought the journal over, Ulfric said with regret, “I wish I could have gone, and seen the things you two saw, but…I would not have kept up with her the way you can. And I don’t mix well with Dunmer.”

“Yes, that would have proven a difficulty there.” Vilkas sat and went on, “They were good folk. Hard workers. Honorable. Perhaps that is only because House Redoran was in charge. The mer in charge there, Councilor Morvayn, was a good man, dedicated to making the settlement successful and caring for those in his charge.” As he handed Ulfric the journal he debated asking if the Jarl’s problem with the Dark Elves was due to something Elenwen had done, or because of the ones here, but thought better of it. It wasn’t his business. Bryn had made it quite clear how traumatized Ulfric had been, and how improved he was considering. It had made Vilkas nearly sick to his stomach to hear what had been done to him, careful as Bryn’s phrasing had been, and when she told him that Ulfric was one of the few who had survived in the long term he had wanted to cry for the man. And for Bryn. Her relationship with Vilkas in bed had always been so easy, so effortless. He didn’t want to think of how careful she’d had to be with Ulfric. All Vilkas could hope was that by time he was able to be with her again that the other man hadn’t ruined her.

Ulfric thumbed through the journal, seeing everything had been carefully dated and the locations noted, often with an accompanying sketch. He could see how Vilkas’ drawings improved as time went on. “You have a gift,” he said with complete honesty. “Brynhilde never said you knew how to draw.”

“Thank you. She didn’t know. I never mentioned it.” He leaned his elbow on the table, saying, “I often drew when I was a child, when I had time to myself, then when I reached adulthood I felt it was childish and put it aside. Farkas often teased me for it, but then I suppose I teased him for having trouble reading. Eventually I stopped drawing, and he learned to read.” He motioned to the journal and said, “Ah, there! That was Nchardak, a sunken Dwemer city near Tel Mithryn. I stayed up above to guard the entrance so I didn’t see what was below, but the city itself… magnificent. It never ceases to amaze me how so much of the machinery still works after so many centuries, but then the systems in Jorrvaskr still function after over four thousand years, so the Atmorans were not much less learned.”

“Yes, I was telling Brynhilde that the Palace once had such systems, but they have not functioned for several centuries at best, and can no longer be found.” He went back a page to the drawings of the mushroom settlement and said with a slow shake of his head, “How strange and alien it all must have seemed.” And yet it must have been wondrous, truly wondrous.

“At first, I suppose it was. Even the Skaal were odd, and they were Nords. They do not worship any of the gods we’re familiar with, only a deity called the All-Maker. And, here, let me see that…” Ulfric handed him the journal and he flipped through the pages then handed it back. “This, this I am going to try to recreate at Jorrvaskr. They call it a sauna. They have a bath house, and next to it is this room of cedar, and they use hot rocks and steam in the room to create this atmosphere of perfect relaxation. Never in my life have I felt so peaceful.” Ulfric shook his head again, not quite getting the concept. “Yes, it was odd, and at first I couldn’t grasp what the point of it was, sitting there stark naked in a hot wood box.” Ulfric frowned deeply, and Vilkas rolled his eyes and sighed. “I went in alone. She went in alone. I told you, nothing improper in the least went on.”

“How?” Vilkas didn’t answer, and Ulfric looked at him and pressed in an uncomfortable tone, “How did nothing happen?”

“Because we did not allow it.”

“And you slept side by side.”

Vilkas said in an edgy tone, “We had to, at first. Bryn would wake at night and try to leave. The All-Maker Stones were corrupted and had the entire island under Miraak’s spell. Bryn touched one, the first day we were there, and that night she left camp, sleepwalking back to town. I had to tie our wrists together to keep her from going anywhere, and by time the Stones were cleansed it had become a habit.” And now he had to get used to sleeping alone again, after becoming accustomed to seeing her face every morning when he woke, and hearing her breathing next to him during the night. Well, he supposed the time apart for Ulfric had been harder, for the very same reasons.

Feeling a surge of guilt over the look of anguish on the other man’s face, Ulfric whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“There is no need to keep saying that,” Vilkas stated as he rose from his seat to slowly pace.

“And yet I am.”

“It was necessary, and I do not regret it. I can’t regret it. I have seen and experienced things that I will treasure the rest of my life. I have seen Bryn as she truly is. I think I never really let myself realize it before this.” He laughed sadly and added, “To think, it once offended me that someone like her could possibly be Dragonborn. You should have seen her when she first came to Jorrvaskr, only two days past Helgen. We had no idea what she was then, no one did, but even the thought that she believed she could join the Companions offended me. All bony arms and legs, in mismatched armor with her odd mannerisms and hacked-off hair, but I had to admit that when I tested her in the yard she had a great deal of promise, more than newbloods usually have. And then finding out she was Dragonborn, well, obviously it had to be a mistake. And now…now I can barely fathom what she has become.”

Ulfric kept looking through the journal as he murmured, “You were no less offended than I was. I was furious that a half-Elf had been gifted with dragon blood, and my memory of her from Helgen was much less favorable than your first encounter with her, though I must admit that my impending execution left me unable to make much note of her. To think my future wife was sitting by me that day in that cart and I barely noticed her—" A sudden roaring boom seemed to shake the world, and Ulfric’s eyes widened as Vilkas gasped, then the Jarl threw down the journal on the table and ran out of the room then downstairs and out the front door of Hjerim, Vilkas on his heels.

“What is it!” Vilkas cried. “Dragons?” Ulfric didn’t get the chance to answer, the ground and surrounding buildings shaking again as thunder cracked through the air.

_“REKDOVAH FEN KOS MONAHSEDOV!”_

Vilkas shivered and saw Ulfric’s mouth fall open as he shuddered, looking bewildered.

_“MONAHSEDOV!”_

The roaring chant shook everything again and they heard folk crying out and running from their houses.

_“MONAHSEDOV!”_

The thunder rolled then faded, and when it seemed nothing further was going to happen the two men went back inside the house, shivering with the intense cold, the blizzard still raging. The guards would just have to deal with any upset citizens. They went into the kitchen to warm themselves by the fire, and Vilkas whispered, “Mother of dragonkind…what does it mean?”

Ulfric rubbed his hands together and quietly said, “Perhaps they are only acknowledging that she will bear Dragonborn children one day. Though it is beyond me why it should come up now.”

“She still has the Elder Scroll with her, in her pack. Do you think…”

“Let us hope she did not.” The thought made Ulfric sick with worry. He couldn’t imagine what would prompt her to do such a thing, unless Paarthurnax had suggested it for some reason. The Dragon Scroll had refused to leave her possession, as if tempting her to read it again, as if it had purpose and intent. He hoped to Akatosh that she had not opened it. If she had there would be no one there to comfort her but the dragons, though he was certain that they would keep her safe if she began to act unstable.

Then the thought hit him…what if she had opened the Scroll so she could see that future with Vilkas again?

Vilkas went on, “I’m certain she would not have read the Scroll again. She wanted to be rid of it.” And it went without saying that the last time she read it, it caused her nothing but heartache. It continued to do so. Ulfric grunted, a deep frown on his face. It wasn’t a flattering look on him. He motioned with his head toward the other room and said, “I’ll go get the journal and tell you more about the trip, if you will find us a few bottles of mead.”

Ulfric nodded, not trusting himself to say anything at the moment. He was afraid if he opened his mouth that he would order the Harbinger to get out of his city and stay away from his wife. Well, he would get both soon enough. This had all driven home to him just how right Galmar had been; Vilkas and Bryn could not continue being around each other, and he had been a fool to encourage it. He was glad that the other man had gone with Bryn, but now they were closer and more in love than ever, with Vilkas calling her his wife in the dragon tongue. Gods, how it chafed to know that Vilkas could speak it, though knowing that Bryn hadn’t been the one to offer lessened the sting slightly. None of it was Vilkas’ fault, though this had all started because Vilkas had refused to tell her about the letter. If he had told her, Bryn would have gone back to him and Ulfric wouldn’t have fallen so madly in love with her. He still would have been able to walk away at that point with only regret and mild heartache. The thought that his own wife couldn’t bring herself to come home, had been quite fine away from him for a month and a half, had slept at another man’s side that entire time, was extremely upsetting, and it was all he could do to not take it out on the Harbinger, who was quite kindly offering to continue telling him about the trip and show him his journal.

Ulfric sighed and turned away from the fire to fetch a few bottles of mead and ale, determined not to cause difficulties with the Harbinger. Vilkas would be leaving as soon as the weather allowed, and as blizzards went this one wasn’t severe, the first of the season, so he might be able to leave tomorrow. The sooner the better. The last thing Ulfric wanted was to have Bryn return home while Vilkas was still here, and potentially force Ulfric to watch them say goodbye to each other again. As he had been told more than once recently, it didn’t matter that Vilkas had basically given her to Ulfric, or that his marriage had started under false pretenses; all that mattered was that Bryn was his wife now, only his, and would be as long as he lived, and by Mara he was going to make sure she knew that.


	60. Chapter 60

The feel of the Palace of Kings shaking beneath him made Ulfric nearly fall out of bed, and when a dragon roared seemingly right next to him he threw the covers back, his heart pounding, and shouted, “What the bloody hell!”

_“Kodaav jun,_ you will tell your archers to cease, or I will not be blamed for what I do!”

The dragon’s voice next to the tower made the Jarl’s windows vibrate, to the point where Ulfric feared they would break. He ran out of the room and saw Galmar coming out of his own, his graying hair disheveled and eyes wild. “Tell the guards to stand down!” he yelled. Galmar sprinted down the hall then downstairs, and Ulfric followed, bewildered and still a bit disoriented. He had no idea what time it was, as his windows and room had still been dark. All he could imagine was that Bryn had tried to come home and the guards had panicked at the sight of a dragon and started firing, but then as he woke all the way he realized that made no sense; Bryn could very easily and loudly tell the archers to stop on her own, or jump off the dragon in ethereal form without harm. No, something else was going on, and it couldn’t possibly be good.

He reached the courtyard in front of the Palace, which had been cleared of snow the day before. The blizzard had been mild and the next day had been gray but no new snow had fallen, and Vilkas had taken a wagon to Whiterun at the first opportunity that morning, eager to see his new nephew and make sure Jorrvaskr was still standing. And eager to get away from Windhelm before Bryn returned.

Galmar was yelling at the guards, who were standing stiff and stone-faced. “What the hell were you thinking!” he barked. “What if the Queen had been on it!”

“We made sure of that first, sir,” the female guard stated. She saw Ulfric and quailed, as did her fellows. She swallowed hard and whispered, “My lord—”

“You are dismissed,” he said in irritation. “Return to your posts.” The guards scrambled to do so. He looked up at the sky and saw it was just starting to lighten, so it was probably close to seven in the morning. He saw the shape of the dragon, a deeper black against the dark sky, and he put his hands around his mouth and shouted, _“Drem, dovah! Nid ronaanne!”_ The creature spread its wings and glided down to the courtyard, where it landed with a thud that shook the ground. Ulfric bowed slightly, elbowing Galmar to do the same. The dragon was not Odahviing, something that surprised him deeply. This dragon had copper skin and a black underbelly, and two wicked-looking black horns swept back from its head. He saw with equal parts anger and worry that the beast had gotten hit with several arrows and was bleeding slightly. “Who do I have the honor of addressing?”

_“Zu’u los_ Drunfaazkein.”

Bring Pain War. What cheerful names _dov_ always had. _“Drem Yol Lok,_ Drunfaazkein. _Veyn los_ Dovahkiin?” 

_“Ni_ Dovahkiin. _Rekdovah.”_

Ulfric licked his lips, feeling a wave of disquiet go through him. Again the dragons were calling her she-dragon, as Vilkas had said they called her after defeating Miraak. He took a deep breath and said, _“Geh, Rekdovah. Veyn?”_ Where was she? And why the hell was this dragon here instead of Odahviing?

“Skuldafn. There have been…complications. Your presence is required.”

“Like hell it is!” Galmar exclaimed, lifting his chin and trying not to shudder as the beast’s great head swung towards him. He made a supreme effort to keep any tremor out of his voice as he said to it, “He is the Jarl here. You can’t take him to a place infested with dragons!”

“Galmar,” Ulfric said in warning.

Drunfaazkein bared his teeth at Galmar and said, “You are not the _kodaav jun._ You are not _ahmul_ to Rekdovah. You are no one.”

Before Galmar could respond Ulfric grabbed his upper arm hard and whispered to him, “Keep your mouth shut!” His friend stood stiffly and did so, with what was undoubtedly a great internal struggle. He turned to the dragon and asked, “Is she unwell? Is she hurt?”

“She does not awaken,” Drunfaazkein answered. “She does not move, though she has breath, _su’um.”_

“What happened?”

“She read the _Dovah Kel._ She bent Time itself to her will.”

“Fucking hell!” Ulfric whispered with mixed fury and terror. He and Vilkas had tried reassuring each other once more that she wouldn’t do something so foolish, and they had been sure she wouldn’t, that there was some other reason the dragons had called her Mother of Dragonkind. What had possessed her!

_“Hi fen meyz. Nu._ I will wait.”

_“Geh, geh,”_ he said in a shaking voice. He pulled Galmar along, past the guards who looked about ready to wet themselves, and he said to them, “Anyone who makes a move towards that dragon will be thrown out of Eastmarch.” They nodded vigorously in compliance. Once inside the Palace doors he let go of Galmar and started running for his quarters.

“Damn it Ulfric!” Galmar shouted, running after him. “You can’t do this!”

“Like hell I can’t! She is my wife!” And it was him that the dragons had come for, not Vilkas. The thought made his heart sing in a way it seldom had. He was about to do something that would strike terror into the heart of even the Harbinger.

“I know, but…” He made a sound of frustration and followed Ulfric upstairs, tired of yelling at his back and running out of breath. When they reached the Jarl’s bedchamber and Ulfric started tearing off his nightclothes he said, “Tell me you aren’t going to get on the back of that monster and let it carry you to a place full of monsters!”

“They are _dov,_ dragons, children of Akatosh, not monsters.” And he would be riding on its neck, but that was just splitting hairs.

“They are evil!” Ulfric didn’t answer, and he gave up trying to talk him out of it, something he had known from the start was utterly hopeless. “Will you at least wear the ebony?”

“No, are you out of your mind?” he said in disbelief as he went to his wardrobe. “Do you really think anything would save me if they meant me harm? Think about it, would you!” He waved his hand behind him at Galmar and demanded, “Make yourself useful. I need a pack with food, and a bedroll.” He heard his friend growl in irritation before hurrying out of the room.

As Ulfric dressed in his usual winter clothing and armor he willed himself to calm down, and was only partially successful. He wondered if Bryn had told the dragons to send for him if anything went wrong. Until he was told otherwise that was what he chose to believe. He supposed the dragons really had no way of caring for her if she was unconscious, having no hands to pick her up with or any way to move her. He hoped to the Nine that she wasn’t lying out in the open, freezing to death; even a Nord would succumb to exposure eventually. _Rekdovah_ she might be, but she didn’t have the body of one.

He packed one extra set of clothing from the skin out and called it good, taking only his war axe as he would anywhere. There would be no protecting himself from the dragons up there. He knew from what Vilkas had said that Bryn had a couple packs with her with spare clothing and supplies, along with her bedroll, so he took only what he needed. He was dressed and packed within fifteen minutes, and when he reached the main hall Galmar was there, along with a half-awake Wuunferth. “Don’t try to talk me out of it,” he warned the court mage.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my Jarl,” the elder answered. “Galmar wanted some potions to send along with you, in case you needed them. I thought I would take the opportunity to see a dragon up close.”

“Not too close,” Galmar muttered. He followed Ulfric outside, feeling sick with nerves. Of course Ulfric had to go to his wife. Of course the only way to reach Skuldafn was on dragon-back. But why had the damn girl felt the need to read an Elder Scroll? Galmar knew a few bits of the dragon tongue and knew what the _Dovah Kel_ was, and Ulfric had told him yesterday about Vilkas’ summary of the trip, and the Queen’s condition, with the burden of too many souls, but what had possessed the Queen to read the cursed thing? How would reading it do anything to help?

“By all that’s holy,” Wuunferth whispered in awe as he took in the enormous creature filling up the courtyard. It glanced at him then sniffed in disdain and looked back to Ulfric, who was putting one pack on his back and slinging the other with the bedroll over his shoulder.

“We go, _kodaav jun,”_ Drunfaazkein stated. “I grow impatient.”

Ulfric nodded and murmured, _“Geh, sahrot dovah.”_ The dragon lowered its head and he said a silent prayer to Kynareth as he very ungracefully climbed onto the dragon’s neck. It was nearly impossible to settle himself comfortably and he felt a scaled ridge digging into a delicate area, and he had to wonder how Bryn tolerated it, female or not. He rearranged his manly goods well enough to manage for the duration of the flight, however long that was, and hoped his virility didn’t end up permanently impaired. He called to Galmar, “I will be back as soon as possible.”

“Sure,” Galmar said gruffly. “You be careful, hear?”

“As careful as I—” His words cut off with a strangled cry of surprise and fear as the dragon began to flap its wings and lift off, and he grabbed for the black horns on either side of his head to steady himself. They quickly cleared the Palace then Drunfaazkein circled about to head southeast toward Skuldafn. Ulfric fought the urge to close his eyes, afraid it would only make things worse, then he tried taking deep breaths, but the cold, thin air made that deeply unpleasant, and would make speech difficult. And there was so much he wanted to say, to ask.

“You are in Kyne’s realm now, _joor,”_ the dragon stated with amusement. He could feel the mortal shuddering with either cold or terror, perhaps both. Still, the man had gotten on without hesitation. Perhaps he wasn’t entirely unworthy of the _rekdovah._ At least he was a Tongue, if a not fully-trained Tongue.

Ulfric glanced down at the ground quickly passing below them, and in the darkness he couldn’t make out any discerning landmarks. He gave up and called out to the dragon, “Why did she read the _Dovah Kel?”_

“That is her business. If she wishes to share it with you, she will.”

“Is Paarthurnax there?”

_“Geh. Wuth Gein_ is always there. It is his _hofkah_ now.”

“Do you follow the Way of the Voice?” He felt the dragon rumble beneath him as it laughed in derision.

_“Nid._ Four do, and they consider themselves quite wise for it. I follow the Rekdovah, alongside her _kulaan._ She offers a different way. We are _dov,_ not priests,” he stated, spitting out the last word. “She would let us be what we are, while keeping our lives. She has sworn to never take the soul of another _dovah._ She is _dovahkriid_ no more.”

He remembered Vilkas telling him about Bryn’s vow. It was a completely reasonable decision; she had too many dragon souls inside her to tolerate taking any more, and the Empire would stand, and her bloodline flourish, only so long as the dragons did. _“Kulaan?_ Who is that?” He couldn’t imagine who her ‘prince’ would be.

He laughed. “She calls him _Kulaansedov:_ Odahviing. He sees through her flattery and yet cannot resist it. Cannot resist her, or her _thu’um.”_

Unsettled, Ulfric asked warily, “Why did you all call her Monahsedov?”

“I am finished with your questions, _kodaav jun.”_

Ulfric fell silent at the sharp demand, though his mind kept turning, wondering just what the hell Bryn had gotten herself into. The dragon had refused to answer his two most important questions: why did she read the Elder Scroll again, and why did they call her Mother of Dragonkind? The dragon surely knew. All of them did, if they had been there to witness her doing so. Drunfaazkein didn’t follow the Way of the Voice, nor did Odahviing, and yet both of them had been there. Perhaps all seven of the dragons who called her _thur,_ overlord, had been there, in addition to those who followed Paarthurnax. 

Well, he supposed he would find out soon enough, at the speed they were flying. The sky was quickly growing lighter, and by time they were well into the Velothi Mountains the sun was just coming over the lowest peaks. As they flew deeper into the range the sun began to wash over the peaks, making Ulfric’s breath catch at the awe-inspiring beauty of it. The enormity of the mountain range was beyond what he could grasp. It was completely and utterly impassible except by either the Dunmeth Pass or by dragon, though he wouldn’t have put it past the Dwemer to have found a way to go under the mountains. 

By time they reached Skuldafn it was full daylight and Ulfric’s backside and thighs were killing him, not to mention other areas, but once he saw the hidden compound come into view he forgot his discomfort immediately. The dragon’s unflagging stamina amazed him, realizing Drunfaazkein had been flying for two hours straight. The place was huge, and every tower and arch seemed to hold a dragon. The grand sight brought tears to his eyes, the Jarl beyond awestruck. He quickly took count and couldn’t get an accurate number, but there were well over a dozen dragons in a variety of colors.

_“Kodaav jun,”_ they rumbled as one.

Ulfric had no way to answer in greeting other than the thu’um, and he Shouted _“FUS RO DAH!”_ at the sky, hearing a rumble of approval in answer that made him laugh. This entire experience was so surreal it was all he could do. This all felt like some kind of bizarre dream. Still, they were in Kynareth’s realm, and it wasn’t disrespectful to Shout in such a place.

Drunfaazkein spiraled down to the large open courtyard on the lower level, just above a series of ponds and waterfalls, and Ulfric felt a pang of fear as he saw Odahviing and Paarthurnax there, the red dragon hunched over something, his wings folded around it into a sort of tent, every so often leaning down to blow steaming breath into the enclosure. Drunfaazkein landed and Ulfric slid off, cursing softly at the intense shooting pains going through nearly every muscle and tendon in his body. He bowed stiffly to the dragon and said, _“Kogaan,_ Drunfaazkein,” and the dragon grunted and took flight again. He shivered in the intense cold and limped towards the two dragons, feeling nervous sweat trickling down his back at the thought of where he was no matter the chill. He felt incredibly tiny and vulnerable here.

He bowed as he neared the dragons, trying to stop his shivering and failing miserably. It wasn’t much colder here than Windhelm in winter, but the air was thinner at this altitude, and his nerves were frazzled by the flight and the knowledge of where he was. There was certainly no more dangerous place on Nirn. The amount of pain he was in also wasn’t helping his state of mind. _“Drem Yol Lok, In_ Paarthurnax,” he said respectfully.

“Hmmm,” the ancient dragon murmured, lowering his head to look Ulfric in the eye. “Ulfric, yes... Ah, but when last I saw you, you were only a child.” Ulfric nodded in a distracted manner, glancing nearby to where Odahviing sat crouched over what had to be Bryn. “She lives,” he assured the Jarl.

“If I may ask, why did she read the Scroll again?”

“She wished to know her _dez_ …fate, and so I counseled her to read the _Dovah Kel._ Three times now she has read it, but this time she did it with a purpose. She took Time into her hands and bent it to her will, made the _Vennesetiid_ flow at her direction, to look into the future. Her future. And to see the past, that which has already been written.”

Goose bumps rising on his skin, he asked, “And what did she see?”

Odahviing lifted his head and growled, “What she saw does not concern you, _joor.”_

Paarthurnax chided, “You do discourtesy to the _ahmul_ of her choosing, _zeymah.”_ The red dragon grunted and lowered his head again to blow warm air into his wings. The gray dragon turned back to Ulfric and said, “If she wishes to tell you what she saw, that is her choice, however I do not think that will be her choice. What she saw brought her peace, _drem,_ but it is fragile. Would you risk fracturing that which she has fought so hard to attain?” He sat up on his haunches and continued, “She continues to learn how to understand Time as only a _dovah_ can. She took hold of it and forced it to obey her commands, which not even a _dovah_ would dare to do. Once she had completed this task, the _Dovah Kel_ disappeared. Perhaps it finally got what it wanted, hm?”

Ulfric nodded curtly, worried sick. “I heard the _dovahhe_ call her Rekdovah, and Monahsedov. Drunfaazkein said she is no longer Dovahkiin.” The two dragons looked at each other sideways, grunting but not answering. He cried in frustration, “Why will you not tell me? I’m begging you to tell me!”

Odahviing said in annoyance, “You beg us to tell you because you fear she will not. _Nid._ We will not tell you. You have been brought to this place only to care for her, because we cannot. _Dovah_ she may be, but this body she wears is soft and small.”

Ulfric said nothing more, wary of making the red dragon angry. Paarthurnax he didn’t fear, but he didn’t dare trust any of the others. He bowed slightly to Odahviing, trying to soothe the dragon’s ego, and the creature grunted and unfolded its wings. Warmth billowed out, and Ulfric hurried to his wife, who lay sprawled on her back, pale, her lips parted and dry. She looked dead, and only after sinking to his knees at her side and putting one ear to her mouth could he tell she wasn’t. He pulled the pack off his back and set aside the other, asking, “How long has she been like this?” This wasn’t at all how he wanted his first sight of her in six weeks to be.

“Since reading the _Kel,”_ Paarthurnax answered. “Over a day. She sleeps because she must. What she did has never before been attempted. Some counseled against it, but I knew it was within her capabilities. _Rek los mul.”_

_“Zokmul,”_ Odahviing corrected.

_“Geh, enesek._ Perhaps.”

Ulfric asked with worry, “Will she be mad when she awakens?”

“I think not. The _hrenom_ she experienced before was borne of fear. She still fears, but no longer for herself.” He lowered his head to Ulfric and stated as quietly as a dragon could, “If you return to High Hrothgar, you will live a full count of days.” Ulfric stiffened in shock and dismay then shook his head, and the dragon added, “She knew you would refuse the offer, and yet it is one I must make.”

“Tell me she didn’t see how it happens!”

_“Nid._ She did not wish to see it, or know the time of its passing. Therefore, neither do we, but we did see all else that she saw.”

“I would rather die after a few years at her side than spend decades withering away in a monastery,” Ulfric stated, trying to keep from the words from snapping. “I would live, but I would not be alive.”

“So be it. That is as I thought it would be.”

Ulfric turned back to his wife, trying to put the dragons out of mind. It was impossible, with their deep, gravelly breathing and Odahviing hovering so close. The red dragon’s protectiveness was odd and unsettling, and the words _this body she wears is soft and small_ came back to him with a shiver of uneasiness. He wondered if the reason they called her Rekdovah was because they now viewed her as a real dragon trapped in a woman’s body. Maybe it was a by-product of the excessive number of dragon souls she carried, or the strength of her _thu’um._ He took out a canteen of water and a clean washcloth, wetting a corner of it then wiping her lips. She didn’t move or react, and he moistened the cloth again then squeezed a few drops on her lips and tongue. She suddenly drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and when her mouth smacked dryly he squeezed more water out for her, encouraged. She licked her lips then coughed and rolled onto her side, groaning softly, and he petted her hair and whispered urgently, “Brynhilde!”

_“Ahmuli,”_ she whispered. _“Kodaavi?”_

“Yes, it’s your husband, your Ulfric,” he said in relief. For a split second he had feared that she had been referring to Vilkas, until she had called him her bear. “You’ve been lying here two nights and a day. Odahviing has kept you warm and sheltered, but you need to eat, and you need to get off the hard ground.” He gently pulled on her arm and it was like trying to move a mountain. He stopped trying, knowing it would get him nowhere, and gave her a little more time to come to her senses. He suddenly felt warm breath stir his loose hair and held still as Odahviing lowered his head to Bryn.

“Rekdovah,” the dragon growled. _“Nid…_ Nukfahgrah.” Paarthurnax shook himself and grumbled then turned and crawled away then took flight. Odahviing sneered in derision at the ancient dragon’s back then bent his head again to gently nudge Bryn with his snout. “Rekdovah _los_ Nukfahgrah. Such is her name, for she is _dovah.”_

Ulfric felt cold wash over him at the dragon’s words. Nukfahgrah…a draconic name, the equivalent of Brynhilde, which meant ‘ready for battle’ in the old Nord tongue. It sent such dread through him that it made him slightly nauseous.

Bryn shoved Odahviing’s snout aside, growling tiredly, “Eh, _helt, zeymah. Kinzon.”_ His snout was uncomfortably sharp.

_“Ni zeymah. Kulaani,”_ Odahviing stated, making her laugh as she slowly and painfully pushed herself up onto her hands and knees.

_“Geh, kulaani. Kulaansedov.”_

Bryn sat up on her knees and blearily opened her eyes, and when Ulfric held out the canteen to her she took it from him and quickly drank down the entire thing. She handed the canteen back to him and he gazed at her for a moment before saying in a halting voice, “I…will get you more water.” She stared back at him with a strange expression then turned her head slightly and narrowed her eyes, then opened them widely again and blinked slowly, almost as if she were trying to figure out something about him, the look so bizarre and inhuman he didn’t know what to say. Her lack of greeting or affection hurt, but he kept it off his face as best he could. He couldn’t expect her to behave normally after what she had been through, whatever it was, and at least she wasn’t insane. They would just have to move forward and hope that…well, it was hard to when Vilkas had come back devastated and in tears from missing her and she no doubt missed him just as much. Ulfric would just have to be happy with what he could get from her from here on out.

_“Zoklot lokali,”_ Bryn murmured. “My most beloved.” Ulfric’s controlled expression melted, and when she stroked his cheek he let the canteen fall and took her hand in both his. She drank in the sight of his face, with its strong, mature features she so loved. With Vilkas gone it was easier to feel how much she had missed him. “I’ve been unfair to you,” she whispered. “Haven’t I.”

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “No.”

“I’ve made you suffer. I’ve been cruel to you.”

Ulfric said in dismay, “How the hell can you say that!”

“From the moment we married I should have put aside every thought of him.” No need to say who ‘him’ was; they both knew.

“I do not blame you for it. I am the one who lied to you out of my own selfishness. Vilkas truly did it to spare you pain, but I did it to possess you, to have you for myself.”

“Yes, and what do you think that means to me? Twice Vilkas simply let me go. Vilkas never wanted to want me, never wanted to love me, and his beastblood forced him into it. I told him so and he said it doesn’t matter why we got together, only that we did, but it does matter to me. I think during this trip he finally learned to love me for who and what I am, honestly, but you have all along. You would have done anything to have me, to claim me for yourself. You told me yourself that you would never let me go, that you would chase me to the ends of the earth to keep me. How do you think that makes a _rekdovah_ feel?”

He whispered, “Ah, precious, you have…no idea. What this means to me.” It brought tears to his eyes that he didn’t dare give in to. He couldn’t, knowing full well that they were being watched by not only the dragon above them but over a dozen others. No, not being watched; being observed. It was a highly uncomfortable feeling, but ah, to hear those words from her! He had believed her when she told him right before leaving that she loved him best, but he had believed just as strongly that the feeling wouldn’t survive Solstheim. That belief had been reinforced when he had seen how heartbroken Vilkas was to go back home.

“Did Vilkas tell you what we decided?” Ulfric nodded, frowning. “It’s how it needs to be. No more of these half measures. It’s better this way. And I have a certain…clarity now. I needed to rise above my self-absorption long enough to look at my life objectively, take stock of all that has brought me here, to this time and place. I know now that it was necessary that Vilkas and I separate back then. It was unhealthy, what we had, and as long as we were together neither of us could grow. And you…you needed me more. Mara and Dibella both gave you to me, and I haven’t been as grateful for that gift as I should have been.” Ulfric closed his eyes and sighed sorrowfully, shaking his head. Well, he didn’t need to accept it for it to be true. And it was, but how she missed Vilkas. She felt like part of herself was missing, a part that Ulfric couldn’t fill…a Vilkas-shaped hole in her heart. She motioned to the pack and asked, “Did you bring something to eat, darling? I’m starving.”

“Of course.” He grit his teeth as he climbed stiffly to his feet, still holding her hand, and as she gained her feet she cast a spell of healing over them both, soothing sore muscles in a wave of relief. He moved to pull her against him and kiss her then realized they were very much not alone. The dragons were not dumb animals. Bryn picked up the extra pack then pulled on his hand and started leading him towards the nearby building, one of the smaller ones in the complex, leaving Odahviing behind, and Ulfric soon heard the flap of massive wings and a draft of cold wind behind them. 

When she led him inside he heard and felt the building shake as the red dragon landed on top of it. It was much too close for comfort, and the dragon’s hovering behavior was starting to get on his nerves. There was a possessiveness about it that sat wrong with him, and the dragon’s naming of her and the way Odahviing had said he was not her brother but her prince made his hackles raise. Bryn paused to relief herself quickly behind some rubble, then as she led him up the spiral wooden ramp he asked, “Will you tell me what you saw?”

Bryn sighed, “I saw a lot of things, darling.”

“Why do they no longer call you Dovahkiin? Why did they call you Rekdovah, and Monahsedov? She-dragon, mother of dragonkind?”

“Because that is what I am, and will be.” She could tell from the tightening of his grasp on her hand that her answer wasn’t good enough, as she had expected. They reached the upper level of the tower, where she had made a comfortable enough space to spend a little time here if she needed to; a bedroll was laid out, and her packs were here, along with a kettle of water from the pool below for washing. She began stripping off her armor, feeling grimy and disgusting after two days on the boat and another sleeping on the ground. “Did Odahviing really shelter me? I don’t remember.”

Watching her, he quietly answered, “Yes. When I arrived he had you covered by his wings, and kept you warm with his breath. He seemed very…protective of you.” She nodded, seeming unsurprised. “Why?” She pulled off the dragonbone circlet and tossed it on top of her armor, and he pressed, “What changed? Why is he behaving this way? Why are all the dragons behaving like this? It’s…it’s bizarre. I want to know what you saw that changed everything!”

“But you see, I don’t want things to change any more. I don’t want things between _us_ to change, beloved.”

“Give me some credit!” he demanded with equal parts anxiety and anger. “I should be the one person on this world you can tell anything to!” She began unbraiding her hair, and he went on, “Paarthurnax said that the dragons saw everything you saw. He and Drunfaazkein said that you used the Elder Scroll to manipulate time, to look into your past and future, to try to figure out what your purpose was, your fate. So what did you learn?”

“That I have a terrible and wondrous purpose and fate,” she said with a shrug. “What does it matter what it is? It’s so far in the future that everyone I know and love today will be gone. It has no bearing on you or Vilkas or anyone at all who is living right now.” Ulfric looked appalled by that, and she shrugged again. “I won’t live any longer than Tiber Septim did, and I won’t share his ultimate fate, so don’t let your mind wander down that path. No, my purpose is both much simpler and more complex than his, but it’s one I can live with.”

“What is it?” Ulfric groaned in frustration, taking her by the shoulders. “Tell me you didn’t see your own death, Brynhilde!”

“Oh no. I didn’t see anyone’s death. I saw only life. I saw the lives of my children, five beautiful children. I saw my own life spark in my mother’s womb. I saw my parents together, at the moment I was conceived, and they were so beautiful, Ulfric. You can’t imagine how beautiful they were, gold and ivory twined together, with the most perfect love for each other shining in their eyes.” Ulfric’s breath caught, his anger draining out of him as his eyes grew wet, much as her own were. She finally knew what her parents had looked like, and had seen the rings on their fingers, had seen just how much they loved each other, and if she ever saw her aunt and grandmother again she was going to make them very aware of it, and not kindly. Well of course she would see them again. They would no doubt come crawling out of their hiding holes when she finally returned to the Imperial City, whenever that was. She hadn’t thought to look for that. Soon though. The Dominion wouldn't wait forever.

“Five children,” he whispered in a bemused tone. How he wished he could live to see them, but then if he lived they would all be his, and not Vilkas’.

“A boy and four girls. Our son will be High King of Skyrim and Jarl of Eastmarch. One of Vilkas’ daughters will be Empress, I’m not sure which—” She cut off in a gasp as Ulfric pulled her hard against him, wrapping his arms around her, trembling, and she put her arms around his waist and enjoyed the feel and smell of him after so long around Vilkas. It was amazing how different they were from each other and yet she had ended up loving them both just as much, in different ways. Ulfric though… he would be the love of her life.

“Tell me,” Ulfric insisted. “Tell me what your fate is. How can you know your fate if you didn’t see your own death?”

“Because I won’t have one.” Her husband went still, not breathing, then he made a choked sound of disbelief. If he wanted to know, if he thought he could handle it, then they would just see about that. He wanted her to trust him, to confide him him, and so she would. “When I read the Scroll in that cave, it told me that the Empire will live as long as there are dragons. My fate is to make sure there will always be dragons.” He stiffened then shuddered, his breathing uneven, and she realized he understood. “I would have rather not told you. I thought I wanted to go to Sovngarde, to be with you and Vilkas. I thought I wanted to rest. I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t do well resting for long, any more than Vilkas does. I’m content with what will be.”

“But…how?”

“I’m not sure, but it will come at the end of my life, long after I’ve given up the Ruby Throne and retired back to Skyrim.” She felt him shake his head, unhappy about it all, but he had wanted to know.

“So…Odahviing—”

“Yes.” He shuddered again and made a sound of dismay. “Odahviing is…hm. Different. I will be even more so. I’ll lose some Shouts when I lose my mortality, but what I’ll gain…priceless. Well worth it.” Ulfric shook his head and sniffed, and she pulled back to see tears running down his face. She had never seen him openly crying before. She took his face in her hands and wiped the tears away with her thumbs as she said, “I wish you hadn’t made me tell you. Knowing what I do now, I’m at peace with it. Think of what I’ll be able to do! Beyond making certain that _dov_ never die out. I’ll be able to guide my descendants, be able to teach them and make those that earn my trust true Dragonborn. Paarthurnax doesn’t know it, and I will make sure he never knows it until its too late for him to do anything about it, but then he doesn’t need to. I don’t hold to the Way of the Voice. I never will, and if he thinks he can subdue me with the ‘rightness of his _thu’um’_ he’s deluded. _Thu’umi los zokmul, mahfaeraak.”_

“Of course,” Ulfric whispered. He wanted to be happy for her, for the peace she had found, but all he could feel was heartbroken. It felt like he was losing his wife, no matter how ridiculous that was. No one close to her was going to live long enough to see her transform. Ulfric certainly wasn’t. He wasn’t even going to live long enough to see her become Empress. Perhaps he was simply overwhelmed right now. He certainly had ample reason for it. This was all a hell of a lot to swallow. Bryn ran her fingers through his hair, loose and tangled from the wind, her eyes full of love for him. He mumbled, “Our son… I would like his name to be Fjonnar.”

“Then that is what it will be, _ahmuli.”_ She kissed his cheek then moved away to strip off the rest of the layers that went under her armor. Ulfric sighed and set down his gear then rolled out his bedroll next to hers. She hoped he would offer to help her wash, or fix her something to eat, her stomach feeling hollow, but he stood there and simply stared at her with a forlorn expression. She bit back the exasperation it caused and turned to the iron kettle and set her hands over it then began casting flames into the water to heat it. She heard Ulfric’s breath catch but she ignored him. He wanted her to be what she was—he had told her that from the very start—and so he would need to deal with it. She wasn’t about to wash with cold water when a very simple solution was in her hands. Unless some new crisis cropped up, which was highly unlikely at this point, she was going to have a great deal of time on her hands, so she would have plenty of time to further her magical studies, and so Ulfric was going to have to get used to seeing magic.

She found a cloth and soap in her pack then began to wash, and when she glanced at her husband again he had turned away and was poking around the room, a look of distaste on his face. She asked him, “Did Lydia have her baby?”

“Yes, a son,” he answered quietly. “They named him Jergen. He was born healthy and she is doing well, last I heard.”

“Ah, good. I’ll have to go see them soon. Have I missed anything else?”

“Nothing terribly important. Rikke and the lads are touring Helgen and the houses you had built. They should be back before much longer.”

“How did they take me being gone?”

“They wanted to go after you. I forbade them from doing so, several times. Vilkas was a more than adequate guard. Hadvar accepted that, but Ralof had difficulty doing so.”

She said in a disappointed tone, “Yes, I’m sure he did. So what did he say about it?” Ulfric didn’t answer, and when she looked at him he was leaning against the wall about fifteen feet away, not looking at her, a troubled look on his face. She was standing there stark naked and he wasn’t even looking at her, after six weeks apart. Vilkas wouldn’t have been unable to take his eyes off her. Vilkas hadn’t shrunk from the _rekdovah_ she had become after Apocrypha. He had helped her gather up the bones-- _No,_ she told herself, turning back to the kettle to finish washing. No, Vilkas had to cease to exist for her, no matter how hard that was. And it was going to be hard. Ulfric was her greatest love, but Vilkas was her greatest passion, and while they were in Solstheim he had become a beloved and trusted friend. There had been harmony there of a kind she hadn’t thought possible with him, one that wasn’t really possible with Ulfric, but Ulfric loved and needed her in a way Vilkas did not. “So Ralof had choice words about me traveling with Vilkas, is that it?” She had noticed that Ralof had been a bit standoffish with her for a while now, but he was always professional, and she didn’t have the energy to try to figure out what had changed, and why. She had never been as close to him as she was to Hadvar, something she didn’t mind, and Ralof had never seemed to mind it either, but still, something was off with him.

“I would rather not say.”

“No matter. I’ll get it out of him when he gets back.” Ulfric made a sound of dread at that. She reheated the water then bent over to wet her hair and wash it, and when she glanced behind her Ulfric was watching her with hooded eyes then licked his lips and looked away, his expression tense. Growing angry, Bryn rinsed out her hair then dried it and combed it out, and when he still didn’t make a move toward her she dumped out her pack to find clean clothes, not caring if it made a mess. She pulled on her clothes in terse movements, every minute of his silence making her angrier and more frustrated. She didn’t bother putting back on her armor; she was as safe here as anywhere in the world, perhaps safer. The dragons were invested in her now, in her survival, because it meant their own. Most believed that anyway. The ones who didn’t might prove to be a problem, but she was more than capable of dealing with it.

Fully dressed in plain clothing, Bryn walked out of the room, and Ulfric said in surprise, “Where are you going?” She didn’t answer, and he went after her and said in annoyance, “Do not ignore me, Brynhilde.”

She turned on her heel and went back into the room, saying furiously, “Why shouldn’t I? You’re ignoring me! I had you brought here so we could be alone together, thinking you would be thrilled to see me, to be with me again after being apart for so long, and what was the point? You tell me you’re the one person on Nirn I should be able to turn to, and so I tell you the truth of what I saw, and you recoil from it! I’ve withered inside keeping myself chaste for you, and for what? To have you barely even spare me a glance when I’m standing stark naked in front of you? Tell me why I should stay, why I shouldn’t tell you to get back on Drunfaazkein and fly back to Windhelm where you can just damn well wait until I _feel like going home!”_ He flinched in hurt as her words thundered at him. “I honored our marriage, Ulfric! Did Vilkas tell you how hard it was? You gave us permission and still we did nothing, not one damned thing, not even close, because even while our hearts were breaking we knew it would wound you, and yet now I’m here in front of you and you give me nothing! Why did I torture myself if this is what I—”

“All right, all right,” he choked, closing the distance between them to put his hands on her shoulders. She glared at him with wounded, shining eyes, her fists clenched, her body trembling as if she were ready to flee, or punch him. “I…it wasn’t how I meant to come across. I can’t stop thinking about what you saw.”

“I never should have told you!”

Ulfric had to admit that he wished that she hadn’t. “I’m…” He sighed heavily and went on in a lowered voice, “I am not comfortable here, precious. I don’t think I can… Ugh. No. I can’t.” But of course Vilkas would have. Bryn had told Ulfric once, and only once, that Vilkas had deflowered her in a crypt with a dead body just outside the door. Ulfric had been so utterly appalled that she hadn’t mentioned it again. Even though it had been cleaned up in here, he could see sarcophagi against the walls, their lids blown off, and recent marks on the floor where Bryn had dragged the draugr bodies away. There was no possible way he could get it up in a place like this. He didn’t want to. No, he was no Vilkas. Vilkas had a morbid streak in him that left him able to handle such things, maybe a product of being a werewolf for so long on top of being a mercenary most of his life, being soaked in blood and death, but Ulfric had nothing of the sort.

She muttered resentfully, “Well then. I suppose I misjudged how much I was missed.” He stared at her with his tongue in his cheek, and she stated flatly, “I’m hungry.” Ulfric nodded and turned away to get her something to eat. “We will eat, then I’ll give you a tour of Skuldafn.”

“Fine.” He tried not to bite off the word, tried to understand why she was upset, but she needed to do him the courtesy of understanding that he couldn’t be expected to perform on demand. He took out some dried apples and hard cheese as Bryn moved past him to repack her bag that she had dumped out in her anger. Her movements were abrupt and she kept her back to him, and when she began rolling up her bedroll he ventured to ask, “What are you doing?”

“After I show you this place we’re going home. There’s no point in staying here overnight.”

He sighed at her tone of voice, trembling with anger, but he could hear the hurt in it as well. “We can stay if you want.”

“Forget it. I spent the last six weeks sleeping next to a man I couldn’t have.” She heard him grumble, and she rose to her feet and hissed, “Six weeks I spent trying to get rid of that monster, six weeks denying myself, and him, six weeks of breathing ash and having my mind fucked with, and I have to wonder if you even missed me! I can’t even rely on my own husband for comfort, because he thinks all I want is to get laid! I brought you here for noth—”

Ulfric grabbed her shoulder and shook her, demanding, “Enough!” She felt like steel under his hand, her body taut, and he said more gently, “Enough Brynhilde, please, I’m begging you.” He kept his hand there and moved closer, fearing she would leave. “I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t enough, our reunion. I’m sorry.”

“I trusted you with the truth. I did honor to you by bringing you here.”

“I know,” he mumbled, aching with guilt. He had begged her to tell him what she had seen of her future and he had been horrified by it, and he was deeply uneasy being surrounded by dragons, and he refused to make love to her here, so all in all she no doubt felt that he was rejecting what she was. Rejecting her.

“You treated me like a freak, Ulfric,” she whispered brokenly. “You.”

He shook his head vehemently. “No. No, never. I could never think that of you, my darling, I swear it. I’m grieving it, and that is all, and I know it’s selfish, to want you with me in Sovngarde, me and Vilkas, but I can’t help it.”

She nearly said, _If Sovngarde was so fantastic, no one would ever leave it,_ but she thought better of it just in time. It was what Ulfric and Vilkas wanted. Sovngarde had been beautiful, peaceful, and perhaps for a time she would be content there, but not forever. She wanted forever. She wanted to fly. She wanted power. She wanted to make sure that Elves never again tried to rule over Men, and conversely that Men didn’t ever get it into their heads to return the favor. She wanted to ensure that dragonkind didn’t go extinct, but she wasn’t about to allow them to kill and destroy wantonly either. She wanted balance in the world, and the only way to attain that balance and keep it was to see to it personally, forever.

Ulfric tentatively moved close to her, and when she didn’t pull away he put his arm around her shoulders and murmured, “I missed you every waking moment, _kiimi._ I was lost without you.” She grunted, as if not believing him. He clucked his tongue and pulled her against him, and she was stiff at first then gave in slightly and leaned against him. He put his other arm around her and held her more tightly and she gave in a little further. _“Hi los zahreiki ahrk sili._ My heart and soul.” She huffed unhappily and he kissed her damp hair, feeling terrible as he whispered, “I’m sorry I hurt you. I should be better than that, after what you’ve been through.”

_“Zu’u los enarah.”_

The forlorn sound to her voice made his chest ache. Vilkas had said the same thing. _“Nid, Zu’u los het.”_ She didn’t answer, and he moved slightly so he could see her face. Her expression was bleak and she refused to look at him. Well then, he would just have to re-earn her trust, something that Vilkas had no doubt had to do as well at first. He quietly said, “I know you miss him, precious. He was heartbroken when he returned.” Bryn closed her eyes, looking as if she was in pain. He took her head in his hands and went on, “I’m sorry for what I did to you two. It will never come up again, I promise.” Her eyes opened as she frowned, and he turned her face to gently force her to look him in the eyes. She stared at his nose for a moment before meeting his eyes, and he stated, “I know this made you two love each other more. I know you two decided to stay away from each other after this for your own sakes, not mine, but… I appreciate it. What I did was wrong. It…violated the sanctity of our marriage.”

“Oh Ulfric,” she sighed, the last of her anger fading, though she was still hurt. It wasn’t entirely because of what Ulfric had done, or not done, but she still hurt.

“We won’t talk about him anymore after today. He is the Harbinger of the Companions and nothing more.” Bryn nodded. It wasn’t a demand, really. She knew how it had to be. She and Vilkas had already agreed to it. “He gave me hell when he got back. He was angry over what I said to you two. And yet he still sat down with me in Hjerim and showed me his journal and told me about all your adventures together. I think I was there until well after midnight, drinking mead and talking. It was pleasant, and I appreciated it. His drawings were quite impressive. They made it possible to really visualize what you two saw.” 

She took a deep breath then slowly let it out, her eyes sliding away from his again. “Yes, he’s very gifted,” she murmured. Ulfric was highly intelligent, but in a measured way. It was the way he did everything. He let go of her head to gently push her to sit down on his bedroll, and she stifled a sigh and did so, taking the cheese and dried apples he handed her. _Oh Vilkas,_ she thought with anguish. She felt completely bereft without him, and yet he had to feel so much worse, having no one else to turn to, no one to sleep next to. He could unburden himself to Farkas, and Lydia, but it wasn’t the same as having a partner to rely on. She wondered if he was home yet and thought he probably wasn’t, but might be tomorrow. She hoped to Mara that he would be all right. He had openly cried when they parted, not caring that the sailors saw it, and it had torn her apart.

“Eat something while I get more water,” he gently ordered. She nodded and he picked up their canteens. It made his spine tingle with nerves to go back out into the open, and when he cracked open the front door of the building he shuddered, with the intense cold and the sight of dragons perched everywhere. He counted as many as he could and came up with fourteen, if he counted Odahviing, and those were only the ones he could see. There was something ominous about the gathering. Seven were loyal to Bryn, and according to Drunfaazkein only four followed Paarthurnax’s Way of the Voice, so what were the others doing here? It was almost as if it were a council, a conference, of dragons. He had to wonder what they had discussed, leading up to Bryn reading the Elder Scroll. He tried to imagine her at the center of a circle of the creatures, so tiny and most likely unafraid, her Voice still louder and more powerful than any of the other _dovahhe,_ the mountains shaking with the power of their Voices. He wondered if she felt at home here amongst them in a way she didn’t among mortals.

He braced himself and opened the door, and he bit his lip and shuddered again as nearly every head swung around to watch him. It made him feel like some sort of interesting insect. He went down the wide stairs to the water’s edge, seeing the pond ringed with ice, and he broke through it and refilled both canteens and returned to the tower as soon as humanly possible, all too aware of the red dragon brooding at the top. When he returned to the upper room he saw Bryn taking some trail bread out of his pack. She made a sound of happiness as she bit into it, full of dried fruit and nuts, crusty, but soft on the inside.

“So hungry,” she murmured. Her husband sat down next to her on the bedroll and handed her a canteen, which she drank greedily from, nearly draining it again. She put the cap back on and said, “I’ve been thinking…I should tour the country, in the spring. I’d like to see the new houses, and meet the staff at each one.”

“I think the Jarls and common folk also need a reminder of who rules Skyrim,” he said in agreement.

“Ah,” she said in a tone of realization. “So my absence has caused problems.”

“Just some grumbling, nothing major. Rikke and I reminded the Jarls that it was their job to keep such things under control. But yes, I think a tour would be in order.” He picked up the food pack to get himself something to eat and added, “I ah…could go with you.”

“I would like that.”

“Balgruuf might not, but I would behave myself.” She snorted a soft laugh. “Perhaps when you go to see the baby I could go with you.” She nodded slightly, a frown touching her brow. He reached out and touched her hair, nearly dry, and she lowered her eyes to her bread and picked a dried snowberry out of it and nibbled on it. “I know you love him,” he stated, “and I know you miss him. We could talk about it, now, before we leave.” Because once they did Vilkas was going to cease to exist for both of them except as a Companion and Harbinger.

“What is the point? So we can wound each other a bit more before we go home?”

“I would try not to let it wound me, and even if it did it would be temporary. You told me I am your greatest love. I’ll try to be secure in that.” She broke off a hunk of cheese and ate it, not answering, and he went on, “He told me that you thought of me every time you slept at his side and nothing happened.”

“Yes.”

“He told me about the house. In Raven Rock.”

She said in a lowered voice, “It was a good house.” She hadn’t left anything in it of worth, knowing it was unlikely that she would return anytime soon. It must have looked somewhat comical when all her bags and boxes of treasure and souvenirs had been unloaded from the ship. Thank goodness for Hjerim, because otherwise she would have nowhere to put all of it, in addition to what she already had stored in the Palace.

“Vilkas showed me some sketches of it. Strange that the bulk of the house is underground, but it makes sense in that environment.”

“Did he tell you that there were Thalmor on the island?”

“Yes. I’m glad they were dispatched, but…I wish you could have gotten them to talk.”

Bryn shrugged one shoulder. “The smith said they were there for stalhrim. To learn how to forge weapons of stalhrim. Only the Skaal smith, Baldor, knows the secret of it. Well, me too now, I suppose. I might teach Farkas someday. Did you see Vilkas’ sword?”

“Yes. I’ve never seen a weapon so beautiful. He seemed quite attached to it. Very proud of it.”

“He gained it in single combat against a draugr death overlord. He kept complaining that I wasn’t leaving enough for him.” Ulfric laughed quietly at that. She huffed sadly, feeling another pang of grief, and whispered, “He’s a sight in battle. I’ve never seen a weapon he can’t use well. He’s a master of the greatsword, the short sword, the shield, the bow… Amazing.”

“That is what training from childhood does for you, I suppose,” Ulfric replied with only slight jealousy.

“Yes, I suppose. Farkas is quite good too, but he doesn’t have the finesse Vilkas does, though he has more power.” She sighed and added, “I wonder how he and Lydia are doing. If the labor went well.”

“It seems it did. Farkas wrote me a letter. Some of it was a bit…ah, hard to read however. Perhaps you can deciper it better than I can.”

She laughed, “Yes, he doesn’t have the best penmanship. Or spelling.” He seemed to read well enough, but when it came to putting his thoughts on paper in a legible manner he didn’t do quite so well, so Lydia was usually the one to write the letters.

“When would you like to go see them?”

“I’ll write to them first. And Balgruuf. Warn everyone that we’re coming. So that…well.” Ulfric grunted with a nod. She set aside the crust of the bread and stood, brushing off her pants. “Are you ready for your tour?” He nodded and climbed to his feet, and Bryn resisted the urge to help him up. He wasn’t that old. Well, even Vilkas was eleven years older than her. She had awakened more than one morning on Solstheim to stare at the single silver hair at his right temple and the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, trying to determine if he looked any older in her vision. She had chased that vision this last time, trying to see it again, and hadn’t been able to, though she had seen Vilkas and the children at various other points in their lives, fleeting glimpses of a tall, handsome blond son with Ulfric’s eyes and four tall, lovely daughters: two dark-haired, one brown-haired, and one blond girl, much younger than the others. She had seen Vilkas as a very old man at her side, giving her comfort that she wouldn’t grow old alone. If only she could show Ulfric what she had seen, but it was probably best that she couldn’t. She wasn’t sure she could ever bring herself to tell him about his son; it would kill him to know he wouldn’t get to see the fine man Fjonnar would end up being. She hoped he at least got to see the child’s birth and hold him. Well, she made very sure that no child would come until she willed it, and she wasn’t going to will it for as long as possible.

Bryn pulled on a warm cloak then took her husband’s hand and led him back outside, and he quietly asked, “How many dragons are here at Skuldafn?”

“Sixteen. My seven _Zeymahzin,_ and the four who follow Paarthurnax, and himself, and four others who heard me call Odahviing and were curious about what happened on Solstheim.”

“What did they think?”

“They were all somewhat appreciative that I had gotten rid of Miraak, once they heard that he’d had a Shout that could instantly kill a dragon and harvest its soul.” Ulfric made a sound of disbelieving horror at that. “Well, I didn’t learn it, nor would I want to, and I assured them of that. I also assured them that I would no longer be killing any dragons that attacked me, and would be subduing them then letting them go instead, and those four didn’t believe I could do such a thing, since they’ve mostly stayed out of the way this entire time, so the most argumentative one demanded I demonstrate on him, and I did, and he quickly changed his tune.”

Ulfric shook his head and quietly said, “By the Nine, I can’t imagine what that must have been like. Standing at the center of a group of arguing dragons.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t hear it all the way in Windhelm. The people in Shor’s Stone might have. It was loud.”

“And who was loudest?” 

Bryn glanced at him, and when she saw him smirking she laughed and leaned in to kiss his cheek, not caring that nearly every dragon in the place was watching. They paid little attention to human behavior, for the most part, but she was not quite human, and they found Ulfric somewhat interesting only because he could speak the dragon tongue and Shout, as so very few could anymore. And of course because he was the one she had chosen to be her husband.

Ulfric felt his fear of the dragons easing as they made their way through the temple complex and Bryn pointed out the places she had hidden and sniped at the draugr from. She had found Skuldafn challenging but quite doable with her bow and an extreme expertise in sneaking. There were no undead bodies strewn about, and Bryn told him that Paarthurnax and his followers had gathered up the ones outside and burned them; they had also gathered up the remains of the dragons she had killed here and buried them nearby in the mountains. Once they entered the main temple however it was just as she had left it, and it sent an eerie unease through him. He came to a stop, and when she looked at him in question he said, “I’m not sure this is a place I need to explore.”

“Yes, and otherwise I wouldn’t bother, but this is the only way up to the top, and the portal to Sovngarde.”

He took a deep breath then murmured, “That is also a thing that I don’t think mortal eyes were meant to see.”

“It’s closed. You’ll see only a circle of stone.” He hesitated, and she added, “I would like you to see it with me. I haven’t been back up yet. I’m certain I’ll come here again someday, but you never know.” He nodded, giving in, and she led him up through the building. He didn’t take his time examining the place and found the draugr bodies unsettling. She had almost ceased to notice them after all the dungeon delving she had done during the last two years. They were just part of the place, like the urns and braziers.

They reached the very top of the complex, and Ulfric let go of Bryn’s hand as she approached the portal. He stared at the circle, and she was about to say something to him when he closed his eyes and whispered something to himself under his breath. It sounded like a prayer, and she left him to it. He had always been much more religiously devout than her, though she willingly accompanied him every time he went to the Temple of Talos back home. She wondered what it said about her that the only Divines she had consistently prayed to on her own were Mara and Dibella.

When Ulfric finished his prayers to nearly every god he could think of he opened his eyes, and to his dismay his wife was standing at the top of a small set of stone steps, on a platform looking over the portal. He glanced around and saw the dragons still watching, eerily silent except for the breathing of those closest. “Brynhilde!” he whispered urgently. “Get down from there!”

_“Drem, ahmuli,”_ she said in a soothing tone. “The portal won’t open without Nahkriin’s staff, and that is safely stored away somewhere.” It was actually hidden away inside Honeyside, where not even Iona would be able to find it without tearing the house apart. She motioned for him to come up, and he grimaced and hesitated then did so. He came up next to her and took her hand, and she gave it a squeeze and quietly said, “You should have seen it, Ulfric. The stone broke apart then caved in, yet it stayed hanging there, swirling like a vortex, and a massive beam of light was shooting into the heavens and roaring with sound, like a hundred waterfalls.”

He asked just as quietly, “How did you get in?”

“I jumped. From right here.”

“Shor’s bones,” he whispered, trying to imagine it.

Bryn shrugged and said, “I figured I would either get in or die trying, but I’d end up in Sovngarde either way.” His eyebrows rose and he blew out a long breath of amazement. “I blacked out for a bit. I have no idea how long, but when I came to I was in Sovngarde. I suppose I’ve already told you all about that.” She suddenly wondered if once she took on dragon form if she would be able to bring the staff here and enter Sovngarde again. Be able to see Ulfric and Vilkas again, far in the future. Well, she would have to give it a try one day, and she certainly wasn’t going to mention it to her husband. He was already having trouble managing all this.

Ulfric stared at the portal silently for nearly a minute, then he shook his head and looked at his wife. “The things you have seen and done,” he said in wonder. It had always amazed him, but to actually be here, at the site of one of her greatest triumphs…it was humbling.

She smiled slightly and said, “Yes, Neloth was quite baffled by my lack of insanity. I want to believe that the Dragonborn can’t go insane, but some of the nuts in the Septim bloodline have proven that they can.”

“Was Miraak mad?”

Bryn’s smile faded. “No.” She turned, still holding Ulfric’s hand, so that she could look out over Skuldafn and the dragons perched on nearly every available spot. She saw the thin winter sunlight shining off scales of green, orange, purple, and Odahviing’s gorgeous red, the only red dragon she had ever seen. And then there was Paarthurnax, sitting on a stone arch at the center of the complex, all of them watching intently with those impassive faces of theirs. She murmured, “Did you know that Paarthurnax used to be black? Like Alduin?”

“Gods, no,” he said in disbelief. “I had no idea.”

“All those centuries, millennia, at the top of the mountain, exposed to the worst of the elements, never feeding, bleached his hide and made some of his teeth fall out. Dragons are ageless. He shouldn’t look like he does. That he does is part of the reason most _dov_ won’t follow him. They think his physical state is a reflection of his mental state and his prowess, and the price they would end up paying for following the Way of the Voice. Which isn’t true at all, but dragons are vain. With good reason I suppose.” She wrinkled her nose and asked, “Did Vilkas show you his drawing of the serpentine dragon we killed?”

“Yes, it was…odd.”

“I still have no idea why they look like that. I asked Odahviing why and he said it was simply what they were.”

“I suppose not everything has a good explanation, hard as that is to accept.”

“Well, I suppose they’re _zeymahhe_ either way. The one I spoke to definitely had the Voice of a _dovah._ He gave me a ride up to Miraak’s summit, and his neck was smooth, so no ridges digging in, but there were no horns to hold onto. It was a bit scary, actually.”

“Yes, Druunfazkein’s ridges were digging into a rather sensitive area of mine.”

Bryn laughed and leaned against him, murmuring, “Then I’ll have to make sure I kiss it better, when I get the chance.” He smiled at her, his blue-green eyes shining, the lines in his face crinkling. Ah, how she loved that face, so different from Vilkas’ male beauty with its high cheekbones and exotic eyes and sultry mouth. Ulfric’s heavy features were very Nord, very masculine, striking as opposed to handsome, but he drew every eye when he was around just as Vilkas did, though for different reasons. She let go of his hand to lay hers on his scarred cheek, softly saying, _“Zoklot lokali.”_

_“Umriidi,”_ he replied warmly. _“Nunon lokali.”_ Bryn sighed and gazed lovingly at him with shining eyes. Yes, he supposed he was her greatest love. He could very well believe that right now. He didn’t fool himself that she would never think about Vilkas from here on out, or grieve his absence, but he was determined that her mind stay on her own husband when Ulfric was around. He would tolerate no further separations, no more adventures, without him at her side. While he was glad that she and Vilkas had been able to reconnect, ensuring the other man would be there for her in the future, she was Ulfric’s wife now, and he was going to very forcefully remind her of that the first chance he got. He ran her loose hair through his fingers and said, “I am glad you brought me here, Brynhilde. It was a marvelous experience. But I’m ready to take you home.”

“Are you now.”

“Yes, very,” he murmured, running his finger under her chin. “I have a great deal of lost time to make up for.” Bryn smiled briefly and moved away, hurrying down the steps, and he bit his lip and resisted the urge to ask her what the hurry was. He had to remind himself that her need was greater than his, as was her drive and capacity, and she didn’t need any reminders of that. He would just have to do his best to meet her needs, as he always had. He felt he did a rather good job of that, considering.

He followed his wife back inside the temple then down to the main level, and they went inside and quickly packed up their small amount of gear and were ready to go. As they exited the south tower she motioned for him to cover his ears. He quickly did so, and even with them covered her sound was unbearably loud, making the stone beneath his feet vibrate.

_“Brit zeymahhe, Zu’u laan dovahbod!”_ As expected, before any of the others could react Odahviing was gliding down from his perch atop the tower. He landed in the open area then crawled toward her, and she tempered her Voice as she said, _“Kogaan, kulaani. Mu bo?”_

_“Mu bo,”_ he agreed. _“Zu’u los_ Odahviing; _Zu’u los zokmul.”_

He nudged her and she ran her bare hands over his brow ridges, making him close his eyes in contentment. _“Zokmul, zokbrit.”_ She motioned to Ulfric and asked, _“Ahmuli ahk, geh?”_

“Hm. _Geh,_ very well.”

_“Kogaan.”_ She laid her head on his and he rumbled low, the sound making her bones vibrate pleasantly. _“Mu bo, ahrk Zu’u los unaz.”_

_“Pruzah, Judsedov. Judselok. Yuvon rekdovah.”_

Ulfric’s eyes narrowed as he listened to Odahviing… _sweet-talking_ his wife. A dragon was using endearments on the Dragonborn. It was…bizarre and annoying and unsettling and wrong on multiple levels. There was nothing he could do about it, either. Anything he said would make him look small and petty to the dragon, and Bryn. He supposed there was no reason to find it threatening, other than it making him ill to consider what it meant. He had always been taught by the Greybeards that while they considered themselves male, dragons had no real gender. They didn’t procreate and had no known physical means of doing so. They didn’t…they couldn’t…ugh, he couldn’t stomach the thought of his wife turning into a dragon and mating with another of the beasts! They were noble creatures, in their way, but they were still creatures, no matter how intelligent they were, no matter that they had their own tongue, their own written language. Perhaps that was what bothered him the most about Bryn’s fate: she would lose what made her human. She might retain some care for her human descendants, and the fate of the Empire and Skyrim, but for how long? And the thought of her creating dragon offspring…how? Would she lay and hatch eggs the way lizards in the south did? The idea drove him to absolute distraction.

Bryn kissed Odahviing’s head then moved to the side to mount him, and before she could she saw her husband staring at the two of them with a bizarre expression on his face. He almost looked as if he was sick, and she realized that quite possibly he was. He was probably thinking about her future, and she mentally kicked herself for her short-sightedness in telling him. She never should have told him. It pained her, but once they got home he would hopefully put it behind him. He had better put it behind him. It was upsetting to think that after all the weirdness they had been through together lately that Vilkas would have taken the news better than Ulfric.

Ulfric’s jaw clenched as his wife’s expression went cold and she turned away to climb onto Odahviing’s neck. She sat there, waiting, not looking at him, and he grumbled and moved toward the dragon, seeing its huge eye staring at him in a way he found rather menacing. He wondered if part of the reason for Bryn bringing him here was to show him to the dragons and let them know he was valuable to her. Especially Odahviing. The dragon had staked some sort of claim to her, and if Odahviing thought he was going to start hovering around Windhelm he had another thing coming.

Ulfric climbed up onto the dragon’s neck just as ungracefully as before, Bryn offering no assistance or even looking at him, and when he settled behind her he saw she was trembling slightly, her body stiff as a board. It was impossible to hold onto her with her pack on her back, and her bow and quiver, and he gave them a nudge and said, “Brynhilde. I can’t do this.”

“Do what.”

“I have nothing to hold onto.” She grunted unhelpfully, and he stated irritably, “Unless you would like to see my lifeless corpse splattered on the ground, I need something to hold onto.” She made a sound of exasperation and took off the pack, looping her arm through the straps then setting it in front of her, along with her quiver, but she kept the bow where it was, which was fine. He moved closer to her and hesitated then put his arms around her waist, wishing he had just taken a different dragon. It seemed no matter what he did that Bryn was going to be prickly and difficult, and he could only hope that once they got home she would settle back to her usual self. She patted Odahviing’s neck and the dragon lifted off, making his heart go into his throat. He could feel the steely strength in her legs and felt secure that she wouldn’t fall and could handle his additional weight pulling on her.

_“Mu bo veyn?”_ Odahviing asked.

“Home, I suppose,” Bryn muttered. “Windhelm.” She felt Ulfric twitch at the bitterness in her voice, but she was entitled to it. She had expected so much more from her husband than he had given her today. She had expected him to be overjoyed to see her again. She had expected him to want her after so long apart. She had expected him to not be so completely thrown, and even disgusted, by what she had seen of her future. She had expected him to treat her like a wife and not the Dragonborn, and she was deeply hurt and disappointed by his lack in nearly every area. The time she had spent with Vilkas only made it worse. How desperately she missed him right now…missed his dry humor, missed the way he constantly had touched her, missed his energy, his spirit, his courage. She had been sure that Ulfric could handle going to Skuldafn, which was why she had told the dragons to get him if she didn’t awaken after a few hours. She had been sure that Ulfric could handle knowing what she would become. Vilkas would have dealt with it adequately, she was sure of it, especially after what they had been through on Solstheim.

The ride back should have been pleasant, a wonder, and Ulfric did try to appreciate the view, seeing his hold from a perspective he would never have again. Occasionally they passed over a farm or camp but mostly remained unnoticed other than a few scattered folk who either pointed at the sky or fled. It was strange feeling a moist warmth in the air as they passed over the volcanic tundra, and he nearly nudged Bryn to have Odahviing land there, but they weren’t really equipped to make their way home from there, and Bryn was seemingly in no mood for anything. As another silent hour passed Ulfric began feeling guilty and realized he probably should have followed his gut and told Bryn to land, so they could talk things out before they got home. She was no doubt stewing in her silence, her mind running a mile a minute, reliving all the ways he had wronged her in Skuldafn.

As Windhelm came into view he leaned close to her ear and haltingly said, “Please…don’t be angry, precious. I’m sorry.” She made a scoffing sound. He put his arms around her more tightly and insisted, “I am sorry.”

“You’re only sorry because you don’t want anyone to see me upset.”

“I’m sorry because you are upset.”

“I’ve been upset for hours,” she said bitingly, “and now home is in sight and you’re sorry.” He leaned back, holding on just enough to keep from falling off, and she went silent. He could have tried to make peace at any point during the ride and was only doing so now to avoid any embarrassment to himself. He had gallantly ridden off on a dragon this morning to care for his wife and was bringing her home in tears. Though to be fair he probably didn’t know she was in tears, and she forced them back now. She wouldn’t be able to hide her red eyes unless she healed herself, and frankly she didn’t feel she had to hide them.

When they landed she waited for Ulfric to get off, and as he did so she leaned forward and murmured to Odahviing, _“Kogaan, kulaani.”_

“Call me when you have need,” the dragon answered in a rumble. _“Zu’u los hinah,_ Rekdovah.” He saw the kodaav jun stiffen at his words and it made him snort in derision, as did the obviously terrified folk at the edges of the courtyard. As Bryn slid off his back Odahviing said more loudly, _“Zofaas joorre! Nikriinne!”_ He turned his head to cast a baleful glare at Ulfric and added with slow menace, _“Ni bahlaan.”_ The man stared back with narrowed eyes, not backing down, and it was only because of the she-dragon’s care for him that Odahviing didn’t fry him where he stood.

_“Pruzah wundunne,_ Odahviing,” she said in dismissal.

_“Paz lokke,_ Nukfahgrah.”

As he lifted out of the courtyard Bryn turned and strode into the Palace, nodding in greeting to the guards inside, their own greetings subdued when they saw the look on her face. She wished she had put her armor back on after washing this morning, finding it much heavier to carry than it was to wear it. Jorleif came towards her with a look of relief on his face as she heard the door to the Palace open to admit Ulfric. “Hello Jorleif,” she said, trying to smile and failing miserably. 

He bowed and replied, “My lady, it’s good to see you home again. How was your adventure?”

“My adventure was marvelous, thank you.” _My return home not so much,_ she nearly added, but her problem with Ulfric wasn’t everyone else’s business, even if it was about to become rather public when she started yelling at him, because she probably was going to once they got upstairs to their quarters, because he was going to say or do something to make her.

Galmar came out of the sitting room, and when he saw the looks on the couple’s faces he shook his head and said in a growl, “Oh no you don’t. No goddamned way.” Bryn shook her head and went past him up the stairs, and he immediately went after her, hearing a sound of offense from Ulfric that he ignored. Galmar followed her up the stairs saying, “My lady, a word with you.”

“What is that word, Galmar?”

“Stop.” To his surprise she did so. Her hair was a tangled mess from flying, loose at it rarely was, and her expression was hard as she turned to look at him, her eyes blazing but ringed with red from crying. He had to wonder if she’d cried the whole damn way home. She set her pack down with a clunk, and he quietly said, “Whatever he did today, or didn’t do, he suffered while you were away.”

“Funny, so did I, but I thought he would at least make some attempt to make it better when I returned.” She heard her husband’s footsteps coming up the stairs and she made a sound of anger and yanked her pack off the ground and continued up to her quarters. 

Galmar grumbled and followed, and he said nothing more until they were inside. She threw her bag on the ground and he shut the door. Maybe if Ulfric wasn’t around she would calm down more quickly. The Jarl could just stay out there and listen, and maybe doing so would be better than him being in here where he might feed off Bryn’s mood. “I’m going to tell you what I told Vilkas: some days he could hardly eat or sleep because of worrying about you. He missed you all the time.” She stood there trembling with anger, and he ventured to go near her and put his hand on her shoulder. She didn’t look at him, staring off into nothing, and he said, “And I’m going to tell you what I told Ulfric not that long ago: sometimes I think he still doesn’t know what he’s doing in a marriage.”

“I told him what I wanted, what I needed, and he refused.” She balled up her fists and hissed, “Six weeks I spent starving for it and he lets his delicate sensibilities get in the way! Hardly a touch, hardly even a hug for all the time we spent apart, because he didn’t even want to be tempted to start anything!”

“He probably just wanted to get you home.”

She moved away as she yelled, “I did him honor by letting him enter Skuldafn, where only the _dov_ go! I did him honor by showing him the portal to Sovngarde! And for all that, I get distaste from him because all he could see was a _rekdovah,_ a she-dragon, and not his _fucking wife!”_

Galmar flinched at the thunder of her Voice then growled, “Damn it girl, tone it down!” He absolutely hated talking to his Queen--and his best friend’s wife--this way, but there was no one else to do it, and maybe no one else who could, or would dare.

She gritted her teeth and said, “He looked at me like one of the beastfolk, Galmar! And I hate that term, but that’s how he thinks of them, and that is what he was thinking of me, that I’m not a woman or his wife but a dragon, consorting with other dragons. I never thought I would see that look of disgust turned on me. Me! He treated me like a creature, a beast, him of all people!”

“It was a hard place to be, for anyone but a dragon. I’m sure it wasn’t at all what you’re saying it was. It took courage for him to get on that dragon and fly up there, and yet he did it without hesitation, to go to you.”

“Great, wonderful. And what good did it do? He did nothing for me up there that I couldn’t have done for myself, and he did nothing for me that I wanted him to. I could have understood him not wanting to sleep with me up there, but he wouldn’t go anywhere near me because he knew if he did that he would probably do it. It was deliberate!”

“I’m sure it wasn’t.”

“I was bent over in front of him stark naked, washing, and he was on the opposite side of the room pouting! Could you spend six weeks away from your wife, supposedly missing her, and have that in front of you and not do something about it?” Galmar grumbled and folded his arms, his cheeks turning a bit pink. Well, she didn’t care. “He didn’t even try, Galmar. He didn’t want to try!” 

Her voice broke and the older man clucked his tongue and went to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Hey,” he murmured roughly. She stared at him with a hurt expression, her eyes glistening and bottom lip trembling. Like a lot of men, he absolutely folded when a pretty girl cried, and she wasn’t much older than his own daughters.

“He rejected me. He rejected what I am. Him! He’s always been the one to tell me to not be ashamed of what I am, and he made me feel ashamed! He made me feel like a beast!”

“That wasn’t his intent. I know it wasn’t his intent. This time apart was hard on him, and like I said, sometimes I think he still doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. He’s never…before you came along, he never had a woman around. He had no mother or sisters. I kept my wife and daughters out of the Palace, away from politics, so he didn’t even get to see me with them all that often. I think he’s done okay considering you’re the only woman he’s ever really had.”

“I guess, but I told him today what I wanted and needed out of him and he refused to give it to me. I don’t just mean sleeping with me, I wanted to feel like my husband missed me and wanted to be close to me, and he wouldn’t give me what I needed. I know what he saw and heard was a lot to deal with, but it shouldn’t have made him look at me like that! Like…like I smelled bad. The way he looks at the Khajiit and Argonians. That was how he looked at me!”

“He had to have had a reason, and I’m sure it was a shitty one, but a reason nonetheless.”

“I know what his reason was: I’m not human and he’s finally realizing it.”

“Bullshit,” Galmar stated. “He’s always known what you are.”

“What I am has changed. Solstheim changed me, Miraak changed me. I’m more a dragon than ever and he can’t stand it. Vilkas saw it and didn’t flinch from it. He was there through the whole thing and never once weakened or turned away. He…he--” She broke off with a wail and put her face in her hands, feeling a wave of grief that she couldn’t hold back. She had broken down just as much as Vilkas when they parted, but she had felt secure that her husband would make her feel better and fill in the gaps that Vilkas’ absence would leave in her, and instead Ulfric had completely let her down. She pulled away from Galmar and flung herself face down on the bed and sobbed miserably, missing Vilkas so much she couldn’t stand it.

Galmar’s jaw clenched as he debated what to do with the girl. Whenever his daughters had gotten into one of these moods his wife Eldi had been there to handle it. He wished to hell that Rikke was here to deal with the problem, or even Hadvar. It made him feel like punching Ulfric for not managing things better, but most men would have been hard-pressed to do so in that sort of situation. Except maybe the Harbinger. Well of course Vilkas would have handled it just perfectly, as wonderful and perfect as he was, Galmar thought sourly. And no doubt that was part of Ulfric’s problem, knowing he was being silently compared to the younger, more handsome, more talented man that his wife had just spent the last six weeks with. He probably felt he couldn’t win. Still, if his wife had made it clear what she wanted and needed and Ulfric hadn’t even attempted to deliver then he had only himself to blame for that.

Bryn felt Galmar’s weight on the bed then an awkward pat on her back, and she wept into the blanket, “All I wanted was his touch and comfort and he treated me like a monster, Galmar.”

“He could never think that.”

“Well that’s how he made me feel. I could take anything but that! I know I’m a monster but he doesn’t need to treat me like one!”

He growled, “No one thinks you’re a monster, damn it.”

“I do!” she cried. “Because I am a monster! _Zu’u los sivaas! Zu’u los volundiil kiim!”_

_Talos deliver me,_ Galmar silently pleaded, and when he heard the door open he looked over and saw Ulfric slowly coming in, his expression bleak and eyes red as if he was holding back tears. Divines only knew what the girl was saying, but it had to be bad. Galmar got up and as he walked past him he whispered fiercely, “Fix this!”

Ulfric nodded slightly, unable to meet his friend’s eyes, and after the housecarl was gone and the door closed Ulfric took off his fur and chainmail coat and breastplate and set them aside, wondering if Bryn even knew he was in here, as hard as she was crying. He had never seen her cry like this as long as he had known her. When she had wept after reading the three Elder Scrolls there had been a sort of mindlessness about it, a touch of insanity, but this was purely the weeping of a heartbroken girl, and her heart was broken because of him. It hadn’t helped that her heart was already starting to break because of Vilkas and Ulfric hadn’t done anything to stop it from happening, if anything making it all so much worse. She had wanted comfort from him, just like the first night she had come to him, and this time he had failed quite spectacularly. He was used to making mistakes when it came to dealing with her, but this was the worst by far. Certainly worse than not telling her about the letter. He had made her feel unloved and freakish today, and that was unforgivable.

He sat down on the bed next to her and leaned down, saying in an uneven tone, “I am so sorry, my—”

_“Volundiil rekdovah!”_

“No no no,” he said quickly. “Gods help me, I never should have looked at you like that. I shouldn’t have done any of the things I—”

_“Zu’u los enarah,”_ she wept. _“Grohiiki los saark ahrk Zu’u los nid ahmul.”_

Ulfric choked out a sound of grief and put his arm over her, laying his head against hers. _“Nid, Zu’u los het, lokali. Zu’u los hin ahmul.”_ He pulled on her shoulder to get her to roll over, and she resisted for a moment then gave in with a sorrowful little sob. The blanket was a wet, snotty mess and her eyes and nose were swollen and red. “My poor darling, I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “What have I done to you?” She stared at him sullenly, every so often shuddering with a sharp breath from crying too hard. He smoothed her hair back from her forehead and said, “Heal yourself, precious. I can stand my aches and pains but I can’t tolerate seeing you like this.” His entire body hurt from the flight, and he worried that if they did end up making amends that he wouldn’t be able to do right by her in bed because of it. In fact he knew he wouldn’t.

_“Zahreiki los krent,”_ she said with sorrow. _“Zu’u nis tolsek zahreiki.”_

“Then I will do it. I am the one who broke it.” Paarthurnax had warned him, too. The ancient dragon had told him to be careful to not shatter the fragile peace Bryn had found in seeing her future, and like a clumsy fool he had stumbled along and broken it like an ox in a potter’s shop, and what was worse he had taken a knife to her self-esteem and ripped it to shreds, after spending nearly a year getting her to take pride in her nature. She made a scoffing sound of distrust and looked away from him, but at least she was no longer crying, but she wasn’t healing herself either. He stated with extreme guilt, “You are not a monster or anything unnatural. I heard every word between you and Galmar and I would never think that of you, I… I simply was overwhelmed, thinking of what will happen. Thinking you will never be with me in Sovngarde. It makes my fate less easy to bear, and knowing of the boy… Not only will I not see him grow up, I will never see you again, and that…that dragon, acting as if he had some claim to you already. Whatever you may be one day, you are a human woman now, my wife. You were happy about your fate, ending up with a creature that while intelligent is still a creature, and it hurt that you were happy about not ending up in Sovngarde, with me.” She made a sound of hurt, and he went on, “I know that wasn’t why you were glad. I know you don’t find the dragon attractive as a woman does a man. I spent the entire ride home thinking about everything, but it was too much to deal with all at once at Skuldafn, on top of spending the last six weeks worried sick with no word from you. I’m sorry I kept a distance from you, but I wanted my head clear. It was a mistake, I realize that, but there was no ill intent behind anything I said or did, only my usual stupidity.”

Bryn didn’t answer, but at least she didn’t look as upset, and she didn’t make any more sounds of hurt or distrust. Ulfric felt her hand move between them and warm relief washed through him as the redness in her eyes and nose faded at the same time. He sighed and leaned down to kiss her, and her response wasn’t what he hoped for, but at least it was a response. He kept his face close to hers as he murmured in a pleading tone, “Precious…please. Forgive me for being a jackass. Sometimes I think Galmar is right that I don’t know what I’m doing in a marriage, but know that I love you more than anything. I would do anything to make things right between us.” She didn’t answer, and he gently turned her face back to him. She stared at him with deep sadness in her eyes, of a sort he hadn’t quite seen before in her. This last adventure had done something to her that none of the others had, and half of the reason was Vilkas, but she probably would have been all right if Ulfric hadn’t utterly screwed up in Skuldafn.

“You’ve been a good husband.” 

He huffed at that, staring at her, not liking the flat tone of her voice, and he nearly asked _And how good a husband was Vilkas while you were away?_ but knew if he did that it would take all day to fix things with her. Vilkas had obviously been quite good to her. The man had been heartbroken but calm when he returned, and the stories he had told Ulfric had all had a note of wonder to them, as if every moment had been a pleasure. “Tell me what to do to make things right,” he demanded. She pursed her lips and frowned, as if weighing her options, giving him nothing, and he made a sound of frustration and slid off the bed, at a loss as to what to do, then he started as one of Bryn’s boots hit the floor. She pushed the other one off then lay there, not looking at him, as if waiting, and he bit his lip and kicked off his own boots. She didn’t protest it, and when he pulled his tunic off over his head he was rewarded with a slight quickening of her breath. He took off his his pants and socks, and when he got to his underclothes her eyes finally moved over to him. Well, this was certainly the easiest, and best, way to make things right.

Ulfric climbed back onto the bed and slowly approached his wife, still wary of her mood. He slid a hand up her hip then inside her tunic, and he let out a grunt of surprise as she suddenly pushed him onto his back and straddled him. He was about to tell her to let him do the work when she pulled her shirt off and threw it aside then leaned down to kiss him hard, winding her hands in his hair. The feel of her little breasts warm against his chest and her assertiveness made any protests of his fly out the window. Her kisses were as hungry as the first time they had come together. She licked and kissed and nibbled her way down his neck and chest, breathing in his scent in a way that made him throb with need, as if she were familiarizing herself with his body all over again. Her hand grazed him then wrapped around him, and he growled and pushed her onto her back.

“Ah, _kodaavi,”_ she whispered fiercely as he roughly pulled her pants and underclothes down and off. Before she could ask for it he moved up and entered her, forcing his way in, and she wrapped her arms and legs around him, whimpering at how wonderful it felt. This was exactly what she had wanted, to simply be claimed, to have the aching emptiness filled. She felt a faint touch of grief as she thought of Vilkas going home alone, to sleep alone, then she ruthlessly shoved it aside as Ulfric pushed himself up onto his hands to start thrusting into her in earnest, making any thought but her husband vanish. Vilkas would have half a lifetime to be with Bryn, but this time was Ulfric’s. She could only pray to any Divine who would listen to give Ulfric the time he deserved.


	61. Chapter 61

A glad cry went up from Rikke as Galmar swept her up into a hug, kissing her soundly, and Ralof heard a chuckle from Hadvar as they watched the two old lovebirds together.

Noticing their attention, Galmar growled at them, “What’re you two pups gawking at? On your way.” The young men did so, Hadvar grinning and Ralof smiling briefly then frowning as he looked around the main hall. They had no doubt been told on the way in that the Queen was back. Ralof had every reason to be worried. Galmar turned back to Rikke and she beamed at him with those dimples he adored. "How was the trip?”

“Oh fine, fine,” she said in dismissal. “Everything’s on track, just as planned.” She kept one arm around his neck as she stroked his cheek and said, “I missed you, you old bear.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said in amusement. This had been the longest they had been apart though, several weeks. He had been terribly lonely, especially the last five days that the Queen had been home, all Ulfric’s time and attention focused on her, the two going at it like newlyweds. He supposed in a way they still were, married not even a year, but the girl was going to kill Ulfric at this rate, trying to make up for lost time. Ulfric seemed quite cheerfully resigned to it. Galmar was glad the two had quickly made up and wished he hadn’t had to step in, but no permanent harm seemed to be done, Ulfric and Bryn inseparable as always. Ulfric seemed a bit wary of his wife now, but maybe he should have been all along.

“So she’s back.”

“Yeah, and Ralof is going to get ripped a new asshole.”

“Please tell me that Ulfric didn’t tell her what he said.”

“No, but she knows he said something. She pinned down poor Jorleif and got some of it out of him, but not the worst of it. I have a feeling she’s saving that for Ralof.”

Rikke sighed and shook her head. “Well, the lad’s in for it then.” And it was Ralof’s own damn fault for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. He did it for love of Ulfric, but it had still been wrong. Misguided, rather. She put it out of mind for now and tugged on the beard on Galmar’s chin as she said, “I really did miss you, old man.”

He chucked her under the chin and growled warmly, “I missed you more, old woman. You had two handsome young bucks keeping you company. All I had was Ulfric, and he ain’t easy on the eyes.” Rikke laughed merrily at that, and he chuckled and kissed Rikke again, glad she was home. He had been considering lately making their relationship a bit more official. Not a formal marriage, but perhaps a handfasting in the old way, in the spring when such things were done. His oldest daughter was finally pregnant, and she had hinted that it would be nice if the child had a real grandmother. It also didn’t seem right to live together as they did and not have some kind of acknowledgment of the relationship. He supposed he would have to bring it up in a few days and see what happened. He needed a few days to build up the courage to even broach the subject.

The two Queen’s Guards went upstairs, not seeing the Queen or Ulfric anywhere, and Hadvar slapped his friend on the back then headed across the hall to his quarters. Ralof glanced upstairs, worried about where Bryn was, wondering if Ulfric had told her anything. Rikke hadn’t said a word about the matter, other than a few looks of disapproval after Ulfric had yelled at him, and Hadvar had told him he was an idiot, and he’d had several weeks to realize just what an idiot he had been to even try to give voice to something that was none of his business.

He went into his room and took off his helmet then set his pack down at the end of his bed, shivering at how cold the room was, and he went to light the fire when a form detached itself from the shadows, making him gasp and reach for the sword on his back. He had it halfway out of its scabbard when he realized it was the Queen, and he shoved the sword back down and swallowed at the coldness in her expression. Her hair was loose except for a braid on either side of her face, and she was wearing a simple pale blue wool dress, embroidered with snowberries at the cuffs and neck, and no jewelry other than the Amulet of Talos and her wedding ring. He bowed deeply to her and murmured, “My Queen. Welcome home.”

“Am I, Ralof?” she replied with quiet menace. “Welcome, that is?”

He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut. “The Jarl told you.”

“He told me you had some choice words to say about Vilkas accompanying me to Solstheim. He wouldn’t tell me what they were. That he refused to tell me speaks volumes as to what you must have said. Jorleif told me that Ulfric shouted at you to get out. What did you say to my husband to push him that far?” Ralof didn’t say anything, and she barked, “Answer me!” He gasped and flinched at the thunder in her Voice, his eyes flying open. He couldn't remember the Queen ever raising her voice at him the entire time he had known her. “Answer me,” she repeated in a tense voice. “Answer me now or you’re done here.”

“My lady!” he cried in dismay.

“Am I your lady? Or am I still just Ulfric’s wife to you?”

Ralof fell to his knees and pleaded, “My Queen, I swear that you are my first priority, my loyalty is yours first and foremost!”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe that anymore, if I ever did believe it.” He choked out a sound of hurt and disbelief, and she turned away from the anguish on his handsome face to go to the fireplace, where wood had been stacked by a servant in preparation for lighting. She lifted her hand and gently fed out a trickle of flame from her palm, hearing Ralof’s breath catch. Well too bad if he didn’t like seeing her use magic. He was going to have to get used to it. Everyone around here was. Once the fire was well and truly lit she turned back to Ralof, who was still kneeling on the floor, gazing at her with shining eyes, his expression crumpled. “Tell me what you said,” she ordered once more. “I won’t say it again.”

“I…” He swallowed, feeling his mouth and throat go dry. “I said… ah gods, please don’t make me say it, my lady, I beg you!”

“You implied I would be unfaithful to my husband, didn’t you.” When he said nothing more she stated, “I could force you to tell me, Ralof. I learned a Shout to bend the wills of both men and dragons. I haven’t tested it on a person yet. I would rather it not be you.”

Ralof stared at her in horror, dismayed by the cold threat in her voice and the complete lack of warmth in her eyes. He could believe she would do it, and it fully made him realize the damage he had done. And made him wish he had kept his big mouth shut, but he had been wishing that for a while now. He whispered roughly, “Hadvar and I wanted to go to Solstheim after you. When the Jarl said that Vilkas was a more than able protector, I told him…I said that no one could possibly doubt how devoted the Harbinger was to you.” She stared at him, unblinking, and he went on, “I…made similar comments, over the next week, and Jarl Ulfric got angrier each time, then I…when we were alone I told him he needed to send us after you, because there was always the chance that…it would be much too convenient for…for the two of you to just…not come back.” Her eyes widened furiously at that, her nostrils flaring in offense, and he shivered and lowered his gaze, squeezing his eyes shut. He whispered pleadingly, “Forgive me, my lady. It was…it was uncalled for. Any of what I said.”

“And yet _something_ drove you to say it,” she stated, her voice trembling with anger. “All along you’ve acted as if you question my devotion to my husband.” Ralof shook his head vigorously in denial. “You’re full of shit, Ralof.” His mouth fell open as he looked at her in shock. “If you don’t think I would cheat on Ulfric then why the hell would you ever say that I might not come back? What the hell did I ever do to make you question my fidelity? Six weeks Vilkas and I were away from everything and everyone, six weeks where I didn’t have to be the Queen, where we could just be Shield-Brother and –Sister again, and not once did either of us behave inappropriately. Not once did I betray my wedding vows or Ulfric’s trust in the slightest. Ulfric was the one who kept pushing, telling us both that it was fine if we had an affair. It was Ulfric who started all of this by beginning our marriage with a lie, by not telling me that Vilkas never got my letter after Sovngarde, and I found out at Aela’s wedding in Riften but decided to stay with him anyway, and I will _not_ have you questioning my fidelity after all the goddamned work I’ve put into my marriage!”

Horrified, Ralof whispered, “He…he what?”

“You heard me! It’s Ulfric’s guilt that is at issue, not mine. It was Ulfric’s guilt that made him keep dangling Vilkas in front of me, thinking he was paying for not telling me, knowing that if I had known about the letter up front I very well might have gone back to Vilkas. But he didn’t tell me, because Vilkas told him not to, and because he wanted me for himself, and I decided to stay when I found out, and I shouldn’t even have to explain all of this to you because it’s none of your goddamned business, but it seems to be the only way to convince you that I’m not a dog in heat about to fall into bed with another man at the first opportunity, because for some reason, something I’ve done or not done, you still can’t bring yourself to put your loyalty to me over your loyalty to him!” Ralof made a strangled sound and stared at her with bright blue eyes that were filling with tears, but she refused to let them move her. “Mara forgive me that I still love Vilkas the way I do, more than ever after Solstheim, but I love Ulfric with all my heart and soul, and I thought you knew that.” 

“Ah gods,” Ralof choked, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn’t know what to say. There was nothing he could say. He had no defense at all. Vilkas’ words in Riften during that wedding trip suddenly came back to him: _You can’t serve two masters, boy._ And then Hadvar’s statement: _there is much more going on between the three of them than you and I are aware of._ He hadn’t imagined it was this though.

__Bryn stated, “You’re going to keep this to yourself, Ralof.”_ _

__“Yes my lady,” he whispered. There was no way in hell he was letting it get out that his lord only had his wife because of a deception. It hurt to know that. He’d thought Ulfric better than that. He had thought Ulfric the only innocent party in the whole mess._ _

__“I should dismiss you for this,” she said, her anger now tinged with hurt. “I think I would if I didn’t know you did it because of your love for Ulfric, and if you weren’t such an investment already. I’ve put too much time and effort into outfitting and training you and getting you to work well with Hadvar.” He grimaced and deflated further, as if that were possible. She was being a bit cruel, but what he had said was worse than she had imagined. It was nearly unforgivable. And she was too damn full of dragon these days to tolerate any crap from anyone. She made a sound of grief and asked, “What did I do to make you doubt me? Where did I go wrong with you?” He bit his lip, and she shouted, “Answer me, damn you!”_ _

__Ralof shuddered as the sound rumbled off the stone walls. Everyone had to have heard it. He braced himself, figuring it couldn’t get any worse, and he whispered, “Whiterun.”_ _

__“What about it?”_ _

__“You…you had an affair with Vilkas, the last time we were in Whiterun. On our way home from dealing with Harkon.” He kept his eyes shut, hearing no sound of protest from her other than a change in her breathing. “Jarl Ulfric told me…the morning we were leaving he told me that if I thought anything was happening between you two that I should ignore it. Just look away. I was appalled that he would say that, and he said that there were…there were extenuating circumstances that I wasn’t aware of, and that you two had an understanding. He ordered me to leave you and Vilkas alone if it came to that, and I did, and…and you two were alone, downstairs in Jorrvaskr. For over two hours, with the doors closed. You sat by each other at dinner afterwards, like a couple. I had to get drunk and let those two girls slobber all over me to keep my mind off it. Even if it was just that one time, still…all I could think about was Riften, and those scars I saw on Ulfric’s back, and how he’s suffered so much in life, and how he loves you, and…and still you did it. Maybe not all the way, but you two did something.” He cringed, waiting, horrified that he’d been forced into acknowledging what she had done, waiting for her to explode. Instead he heard a long, breathy exhalation from her then a soft laugh._ _

__“Oh Ralof. You really… Oh Ralof.” He opened his eyes and frowned in confusion, and she waved her hand at him and said tiredly, “Get off the damn floor.”_ _

__“But—” She snapped her fingers at him and he quickly climbed to his feet, his knees aching from the stone. He ventured to look at her and she snorted a laugh and shook her head, smiling sadly at him, then she turned away to go to the fire, picking up a poker to rearrange the burning wood more efficiently._ _

__“I suppose I should have guessed that was the problem. It never even occurred to me that it was. It never occurred to me because I didn’t do it. All we did was talk, Ralof. I did not and never will have an affair with Vilkas. Or anyone else for that matter.” The blonde suddenly looked ill, going pale as he hunched over slightly, as if someone had just slugged him in the gut. She gazed at him for a moment as she watched him wrestle with what he had done, but at least now she fully understood the reasons for it. In hindsight she could see that Ralof had grown more reserved around her after that, but she had been so preoccupied with herself and her seemingly endless personal problems that it hadn’t really registered. She softly said, “I’m sorry you believed that for so long, or that I ever gave you reason to, and I’m certain Ulfric would be even more sorry that he gave you reason. I won’t lie and say I didn’t consider it, with the issues Ulfric and I were having at the time, but Vilkas’ and my sense of honor and my love for Ulfric kept anything from happening. We held hands as we talked, yes. He gave me a peck on the forehead. But that was all. That was all that happened in Solstheim too.”_ _

__Ralof hugged his middle and shuddered, staring at his Queen as he felt zinging stabs of anxiety go through him along with a ringing in his ears. So this was what a panic attack felt like. It was truly terrible. The worst feeling in the world. He closed his eyes again, feeling sick, disgusted with himself, and he heard the faintest whisper of fabric and a slight change in the air currents before he felt her hands on his upper arms. “I am…so sorry!” he croaked._ _

__“Ralof,” she said in a cajoling tone, giving him a gentle shake. He opened his eyes, so miserable that he looked like he wanted to crawl off somewhere and die. “I’m glad this was just a misunderstanding.”_ _

__“Misunderstanding!” he cried. It was her forgiveness that finally broke him down, and he put his hand over his eyes and huffed then sucked in a sharp breath, trying not to start bawling like a girl._ _

__Feeling sorry for him, Bryn let her hands fall and said, “I know you love Ulfric. You’ve followed him for years, and maybe…maybe you only have room in your heart for him.” He shook his head, a little sound of grief escaping before he clamped his lips shut, his hand still over his eyes. She patted his upper arm and said, “I’m glad we got this straightened out. Next time you think I’ve done something wrong…gods’ sake, _say_ something to me. Hadvar would. Which reminds me that I need to—” She cut off as Ralof caught her hand as she was turning away, and when he slowly sank to his knees and held her hand to his mouth she sighed, “Oh Ralof, that isn’t necessary.”_ _

__“Yes it is! My Queen, I…I will never doubt you again, I swear it!” He closed his eyes and held her hand to his forehead and said in a shaking voice, “I am yours now and forever my lady. I’m…I…merciful Mara, what have I done?” Even if Bryn had been unfaithful to Ulfric, it wasn’t any of Ralof’s business, and it would have been with Ulfric’s permission. What was worse was that he had basically been chiding Ulfric for giving that permission. That was really what he had done. He had been appalled that Ulfric was just passively sitting around waiting for his wife to come back from her adventure with the other man that she loved and refused to send the two Guards to not only look after the Queen but make sure she didn’t stray, again. It made Ralof absolutely squirm with guilt and humiliation._ _

__Bryn squeezed his hands and said, “Well, I’m glad we got that all worked out.” He held her hand to his mouth and kissed it, and when he looked up at her she sighed at the heartbroken look in his eyes. By Dibella he was a beautiful man, as handsome as Vilkas and Farkas. And still for some odd reason she was utterly unattracted to him. She was quite glad for that. She didn’t need any more issues of that sort. Of any sort._ _

__She leaned down to kiss him on the forehead, and he sighed and let her go, muttering, “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, my lady.”_ _

__“Of course you do. You were upset with me because you thought I had sullied my honor, and Ulfric’s. You had every reason for how you felt; you just went about things the wrong way.” A very wrong way, but she wasn’t about to rub it in._ _

__His Queen smiled at him and left with nothing further said, and Ralof huffed unhappily and rose to his feet. _Idiot!_ he hissed at himself. _Idiot idiot idiot!_ He heard happy sounds across the hall as she greeted Hadvar. If he had told Hadvar about what he thought had happened in Jorrvaskr he might have been able to avoid all this. Hadvar had been perplexed by Ralof’s behavior while Bryn and Vilkas were in Solstheim, asking him each time he said something what the hell he was thinking, and Ralof had kept it to himself, getting more and more upset and angry each time he said something, as had Ulfric, until he had pushed his Jarl into blowing up at him. Well, he supposed he had to go fix that too._ _

__He left his quarters, seeing Hadvar and Bryn talking animatedly to each other, as easy with each other as they had always been, something Ralof envied, but not too much. He didn’t feel it was his place to be the Queen’s friend, and Hadvar was welcome to it. Ralof didn’t have it in him to be friends with a woman. He either wanted to bed them, or they were his sister, or more motherly, like Rikke was. Bryn didn’t fit into any of those categories either. He sure as hell didn’t want to bed her. It took a man like Ulfric to handle something like that. Or someone like Vilkas, he thought guiltily._ _

__Hadvar and Bryn didn’t notice him as he went upstairs to the royal bedchamber, and he knocked on the door, not even sure Ulfric was there. When he heard the Jarl answer he let himself in, and when Ulfric’s eyes narrowed he dropped his own and closed the door, keeping his back against it. “My Jarl,” he murmured._ _

__“Yes?” Ulfric answered in a drawl. He had heard Bryn’s anger quite well from up here. He set aside the book he was reading, one Bryn had brought back from Solstheim. She had most of her treasures neatly put away in Hjerim, except for the jeweled Paragons that sat in a row on the oak mantle above the fire, and the ivory dragon that sat at the end of that row. He found her staring at the dragon often, studying it, and he hadn’t had the courage yet to ask further about what she had seen. The last five days she had been home had been too pleasant to rock the boat._ _

__Ralof went down on one knee, hearing an annoyed sigh from the Jarl, and he said, “I beg your forgiveness my lord, just as I did of my lady.”_ _

__“Did you tell her what you said?”_ _

__“Aye.”_ _

__The guilt in the young man’s voice made Ulfric shake his head, and he leaned back in the chair and fingered the beard on his chin as he asked, “What possessed you, Ralof? She is the High Queen of Skyrim. She will be Empress one day, Talos willing. She is not about to simply…elope, like some lovesick girl.” Ralof grimaced and nodded. “Get up.” The young man did so, still unable to meet Ulfric’s eyes. “So?”_ _

__“I…” He made a sound of dread then said in a shaking voice, “I thought she’d had an affair with the Harbinger. The last time we were in Whiterun.”_ _

__“I hope you realize quite well now that she did not. Even if she had, it’s none of your damn business.”_ _

__“Yes my lord,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”_ _

__“Ralof,” Ulfric sighed. “I find your defense of me touching, however I am quite able to manage my own marriage. And frankly I cause enough problems of my own in that regard without help from anyone else.” Well, at least now he had an explanation for the lad’s behavior. Ralof nodded, and he went on, “You should know by now that Brynhilde…hm. She puts me above all others. Even above Vilkas, hard as that may be to believe.”_ _

__“My lord!” Ralof said in embarrassment._ _

__“My wife would not be unfaithful to me. I believe that now more than ever. I did not make things easy for her, or Vilkas, and that is my own shame to carry, but it is over. She and the Harbinger have decided on their own that it is too difficult for them to try to remain friends, or maintain contact, after what they went through on Solstheim, and what they went through…the Queen is not quite the same as she was. I would be quite careful with her if I were you.” Ralof nodded. “Our lady now carries roughly a hundred dragon souls within her, Ralof,” he stated quietly. “She killed another Dragonborn on that island, and took not only his soul but every dragon soul he had captured, in addition to killing a number of dragons herself, with Vilkas. The Harbinger is no longer what he was either. I would treat him with the greatest respect, if you go back to him for further training.”_ _

__Ralof whispered in dread, “Talos help me, I…I don’t think I should.”_ _

__“I do. We go to war soon, lad. You will go back to Jorrvaskr for more training.” Ulfric stood and continued, “We’re traveling to Whiterun next week, so Brynhilde can see Farkas and Lydia’s baby. She will not be seeing the Harbinger, but I would like you to.”_ _

__“Yes, my Jarl, I-- You are going to Whiterun?” he stammered in sudden realization, and with no little dread._ _

__Ulfric smiled wryly and said, “Yes, I am. And sleeping under Balgruuf’s roof, no less.” The Jarl of Whiterun hadn’t answered Bryn’s letter yet to verify that, but he would do what she wanted. He always did. The other Jarl would no doubt be obnoxious about the matter, and it would be all Ulfric could do not to rub his nose in the fact that he was fucking his Dunmer housecarl, but the visit would be only a couple days. Ulfric would have preferred staying in a tent outside the city, but it was too damned cold this time of year for even a Nord to tolerate that. Whiterun’s plains didn’t get much snow, but the almost constant breezes there grew to bitter winds in winter and would make staying in a tent highly unpleasant, if they could even keep the thing pegged down. No, the trip to Whiterun would not be pleasant for Ulfric, in a city where he was almost universally despised, but he had managed well enough in Solitude, and had no unpleasant associations with Whiterun. He had gone there once as a boy, during a visit his father had made to Balgruuf’s father, some trade matter, the two older men not much fonder of each other than their sons had ended up being. He went on to Ralof, “If no mischief happened in Elisif’s city, none will happen in Whiterun. It will not be comfortable, I am certain, but Brynhilde will not be traveling without me from now on if we can help it. We’ve spent too much of our marriage apart.”_ _

__“Aye.”_ _

__“We will be taking a tour of Skyrim in late spring, when the weather is fair. The Jarls and the common folk need a reminder of who their Queen is, and what she has done for this country. The Dragonborn she fought would not have been content staying on Solstheim, if he had managed to get free. Did you hear the dragons a week ago?”_ _

__“Only echoes of it. We didn’t realize what it was until we got closer to home and the folk were talking about it.”_ _

__“The Queen went to Skuldafn, to try to figure out how to manage the dragon souls she carries. She wanted to consult with the dragons there. If she wishes to tell you more about it she can, but it isn’t my story to tell. I rode a dragon there. I will not do it again unless my wife’s life depends on it.” The young man stared at him in disbelief, and no little awe. Well, there had been nothing awe-inspiring about his awkward clambering onto a dragon’s neck then having his battered old body battered further by the ride. He supposed one day it might make for a good story though. “Suffice it to say that the dragons revere her more than ever, but it looks like you and Hadvar have killed all the dragons you will ever kill. Brynhilde refuses to slay a single other dragon. She cannot tolerate absorbing any more souls.” That was explanation enough. Young as he was, Ralof just might live long enough to see what became of Brynhilde, but it was unlikely; the boy was no doubt included in Bryn’s definition of those close to her who would all be gone by time she passed into the next phase of her life. The thought still made him ache with grief, as did the thought of their son. He still wasn’t sure how to reconcile himself to any of it._ _

__“Yes my lord.” He wasn’t altogether sorry for that. He had fought three dragons with the Queen, two of those with Hadvar, and that was plenty._ _

__“She now knows a Shout that can tame dragons.”_ _

__“Yes, she threatened to use it on me.”_ _

__Ulfric looked at him in surprise then laughed at that. “You seem sufficiently chastened. I think you have learned your lesson, lad.”_ _

__His cheeks growing warm, he muttered, “Yes my Jarl.” His eyes then caught sight of something shimmering and blue on Ulfric’s belt, and he motioned to it and asked, “What is that? It looks new.”_ _

__“A gift from my wife.” He pulled out the dagger and held it out to Ralof, who took it with wide eyes. “Stalhrim, from Solstheim. It is the only place on Nirn the substance can be found. Supposedly enchanted ice, though it can be worked like metal. She and Vilkas found it in a crypt. She improved it and cast frost and shock enchantments on it and brought it home to me. I have never seen such lovely blades. You should ask the Harbinger when you see him to show you his stalhrim greatsword.”_ _

__“Amazing,” Ralof breathed. He loved his dragonbone greatsword and would never trade it for anything, but the stalhrim was beautiful. He handed it back to Ulfric, who slid it into a sheath that also looked new, probably also made by the Queen to fit the blade._ _

__“When you’re settled in, I’m sure Brynhilde will be happy to take you and Hadvar and Rikke to Hjerim to tell you about her adventure, and show you her other treasures. The amount of wealth that woman has accumulated is beyond belief. Obscene, I believe she called it.” And yet she spent hardly any of it on herself._ _

__“I will do so, my Jarl.” Once he stopped squirming with guilt and embarrassment over what he had done. He wasn’t sure how long it would take, either. The Queen’s and the Jarl’s forgiveness was hard to accept, even if he had no choice but to do so. That Ulfric was forgiving him so easily was surprising, but the Jarl had softened considerably since marrying. It wasn’t a bad thing, but it still surprised him at times. Ralof hoped that Ulfric had time to enjoy his marriage before war broke out. That it hadn’t already done so worried a great many people, Rikke foremost among them. She and Hadvar both had a long familiarity with the Aldmeri Dominion, and it wasn’t like the Elves to be this quiet for this long unless they were planning something terrible. Rikke and Hadvar had spent many an hour on the road discussing the Thalmor, the Empire, and the Legion, and it had certainly been an eye-opener to Ralof. He had the dreadful feeling that it wouldn’t be long at all before the Dominion reared its ugly head._ _


	62. Chapter 62

Lydia kept her eyes on Bryn, and as she knew it would, the other woman’s cheerful expression fell slightly as the door to Breezehome closed behind the men. Farkas was taking Ulfric up to Jorrvaskr to see the mead hall, something he hadn’t seen since he was a young boy; he also wanted to say hello to Vignar, who he hadn’t seen in several years. The two Queen’s Guards were with Ulfric, who was more likely to be the object of trouble than the Queen in a city that still considered itself the Dragonborn’s hometown. Lydia knew that some part of Bryn would always think of it that way.

She softly prompted, “So, how has it been? Since you came back. With Ulfric. With everything.”

“Fine,” Bryn replied just as softly. She cradled the sleeping newborn to her, her heart aching with grief and yearning. The tiny boy was beautiful, brown-haired like Lydia, with Farkas’ face. At three weeks old he was starting to get plump, his cheeks round and rosy with dark lashes fanned out on them. He was swaddled into a portable little bundle that would fit neatly into the oblong sleeping basket next to the bed, lined with rabbit fur. Lydia’s old room had been converted into a child’s room, though it would be some time before Jergen was old enough to sleep there on his own.

“Just fine?”

“Ulfric and I are getting along very well. We had a problem when I first came back, because of the dragons, but we worked it out when I got home.” Things seemed mostly back to normal now, but every so often she would catch her husband studying her with a thoughtful expression, not quite a frown, then his expression would clear and he’d smile at her. She always smiled back, leaving him to his own thoughts, and keeping her own to herself. He was good to her, and she liked to think she was a good wife. No sense rocking the boat.

“Rumor has it that he actually rode a dragon up to Skuldafn. It’s been making all the rounds.”

Bryn laughed quietly. “Yes, it makes for quite a story. Very heroic. The poor old man could hardly walk afterward.” Lydia snorted at that. “How is Vilkas?”

“Oh Bryn,” Lydia sighed as she shook her head. Bryn looked at her with a pained expression, though an obstinate one. “He told us everything. Me and Farkas.”

“And?”

“He came back…different.”

“We both did.” Lydia nodded sadly, and she prompted, “Is he doing all right?”

“Well enough,” the housecarl replied evasively. “Considering. He told us that you two agreed not to contact each other anymore. Not until it’s time to go to war. You shouldn’t be asking about him now.”

“I agreed to not write to him or see him anymore. I never agreed to stop thinking or asking about him. I can’t agree to something that is completely impossible.” Lydia frowned, and Bryn went on sadly, “It felt like we were married, Lydia. It was…perfect. We got along so perfectly. We were both so happy together, to just be together. We never did anything inappropriate, but…you can’t imagine what it was like. We would sit in bed and read together, before we fell asleep. He cooked breakfast, in our house in Raven Rock. It’s as if…it’s like half of my heart is still there, on Solstheim. Because he was there. It felt like we were married!”

Lydia whispered, “Oh Bryn. He said all that too.” The other woman closed her eyes as if in excruciating pain. “He came to our house first thing, when he got back to Whiterun. To see the baby. He looked… well, different. He’d put on more muscle, but…it was his face. His eyes. I can’t quite describe it. There’s a hardness there that wasn’t there before. Not the edge he had with the beastblood. He’s just… harder. Not with us or the baby, thank Mara, but with everyone else he is. As if he’s keeping everyone at a distance.” Bryn sighed unhappily and opened her eyes. “Well, I guess he did try that with us too, at first. He tried to keep it together and didn’t want to talk about much of anything at first, but Farkas wouldn’t let him leave the house until he did. The two of them almost got in a fight over it, then Farkas made him sit down and hold the baby. He ah…well, it was the baby that did it. Holding the baby. He um… started…well…”

“Yes, I imagine he did,” Bryn whispered faintly. So Vilkas had cried when he got home. Holding a child that was his own flesh and blood had gotten to him in a way his twin’s pestering hadn’t. Lydia moved closer to her and put her arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into her best friend and tried not to give in to tears herself.

“It was awful. Vilkas was blubbering, Farkas started sniffling over his brother, and I started bawling because I was still all out of whack after having the baby. The baby was the only one not crying.” Bryn laughed a bit at that, though sadly. “It was good for him to get it out though. It really was. He opened up after that and told us everything you two went through, and showed us that journal of his. Farkas teased him about it but I thought it was fantastic. I never knew he could draw.”

“I didn’t either, until I saw him doing it. He got quite good towards the end.” She took a deep breath and shoved away the urge to cry. “But he’s fine now, right?”

“Fine enough.”

“All right.” She supposed she had to be content with that and not pick the matter apart.

“Promise you won’t try to see him while you’re here.”

Bryn made a sound of offense. “I already swore I wouldn’t! Ulfric said if he saw him that I wouldn’t even come up in the conversation. He wants to get Ralof a bit more training while we’re there though. That might be part of what they’re going up to Jorrvaskr for.” She nearly told Lydia about what Ralof had done but thought better of it; Ralof had been quite contrite and attentive since then, and it was just a mistake. That he had manned up and gone to Ulfric to apologize as well had meant a great deal to her. She lifted the baby and placed a gentle, lingering kiss on his cheek, as soft as a flower petal, and saw his mouth form a round O in his sleep. She stared into Jergen’s face and whispered to Lydia, “What is it like? Being a mother?”

“So far, exhausting. He doesn’t sleep well, but I’ve been told that’s the norm. He nurses well though, as you can tell by those cheeks of his. Doesn’t cry much, compared to most babies. I hope he ends up with his father’s temperament and not his uncle’s.”

“So the labor went all right? No complications? You feel fine?”

“All fine. Ahlam stayed with me through most of the labor, and Adrianne popped in every so often. Took about twelve hours or so, not long as labors go. Everything went just fine.”

“Good.”

“Farkas has been really good with the baby. Seems a bit confused by him at times, but he’s very gentle with him and loves him to death. He went back to work at the Skyforge a week ago but takes a break to see the baby every so often during the day, and Eorlund just nods and doesn’t say a word about it. Did you know that Thorald Gray-Mane has been courting Carlotta? I think he’s actually starting to soften her up a bit. He’s been at it for months now.”

“Really!” The widow had sworn off men years ago, her beauty making her a target for every single man in town (and some who weren’t single), and it had taken Bryn getting in a few brawls early on to get them all to leave her alone.

“Well, you know he joined the Whiterun Guard when he came back. Avulstein did too, but he doesn’t have quite the temperament for it. Farkas told him to try out for the Companions but he isn’t keen on working with Vignar. Vignar isn’t particularly happy about Thorald seeing Carlotta either, but Eorlund doesn’t seem to care that any of us can tell, and Fralia is fond of her since they both work in the market. Avulstein told Farkas that Vignar and Thorald got in an argument about her, and Thorald told the old man that if he wanted someone to boss around he should have had kids of his own, and Vignar asked Eorlund if he was going to let Thorald talk to him that way, and Eorlund just grunted and said Vignar could still fight his own battles, but maybe at his age he should pick them a bit more carefully.” Bryn laughed at that. “Let me see, what else… Oh, some poor little girl was found begging up by the Gildergreen a couple weeks ago. Lucia, a Nibenese girl, only nine. When the Jarl found out he said she would have to go to Honorhall, which isn’t a terrible thing anymore, but Ysolda took pity on her and gave her the choice of the Orphanage or staying with her. Said she would adopt her if she was willing to help around the inn, and of course she said yes. The Jarl sent his brother to the aunt and uncle’s farm to give them hell over it and force them to pay for a year of the girl’s upkeep since they just turned her out.”

“Monsters,” Bryn said in disbelief. “Well, good for Ysolda.” Lydia went on talking about all the latest gossip, and while it was pleasant to hear it made Bryn ache with loneliness and loss. How she loved Whiterun and the people here. It still felt like home, as much as Riften did. In both cities she had good friends who treated her like a normal person. She could never find that in Windhelm, and it wouldn’t matter what she did. She was not only the Queen but Ulfric’s wife, and the folk there were very aware of it. Ulfric kept her company as best he could, but it wasn’t the same as having friends. Hadvar and Rikke were, but both were also quite aware of her position, one that she suddenly hated with a passion. She should have pushed Balgruuf to become High King and spared herself all this. She should have stayed away from Ulfric and mended things with Vilkas and stayed with the Companions. Vilkas ran it better now than she had, understanding the workings of the organization better than her. She could have made him Harbinger and kept her life simple, and she still would have been able to travel and adventure and form friendships and make herself happy. Now she was completely incapable of that.

“You aren’t hearing a word I’m saying, are you,” Lydia quietly stated.

“I’m sorry. I…I like hearing about everyone. I just…I miss everything. Don’t mind me.” When Lydia was silent she looked at her friend and Lydia was staring at her out of the corner of her eye with a worried expression.

“Did you find what you were looking for in Skuldafn?” Bryn’s expression grew guarded at that. “Vilkas said the souls were giving you trouble. Too many dragon souls. He said you flew up there to consult with the dragons.” Bryn nodded slightly, looking down at the baby. Vilkas had also told Lydia and Farkas what Bryn had said on the way to Solstheim, about feeling so full her skin was going to split, and that was before Miraak. “Well?”

“Paarthurnax suggested I read the Elder Scroll one more time. The Dragon Scroll.” Lydia made a sound of dismay. “He said there must be a good reason that it never leaves me, something it wanted me to see. And so I read it one last time.”

Lydia whispered, “Vilkas was afraid of that. That you had, and that was why they called you what they did.” She-dragon. Mother of dragonkind. “What did you see?” Bryn grunted and shook her head. “Did you tell Ulfric, at least?”

“Some of it, and he proceeded to treat me like a freak because of it. We made up when we got home, but the damage was already done. Well, not to our marriage. That’s fine. He’s sweet to me, but…the way he looks at me sometimes, like he’s stewing over what I saw…”

“What did you see?” Lydia pressed. “And before you even start, you’d better not be thinking that I’m anything like Ulfric.”

Bryn stared at her for a moment, weighing if she should, and her former housecarl stared back unflinchingly, the determination in her deep blue eyes never wavering. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met,” she whispered. “How I wish I was more like you.” Lydia sighed and gave her a squeeze. “I wish I had never told Ulfric. There was no point in doing so, and yet I did it anyway, to let him share in it with me, and it was a terrible mistake. You can’t imagine how he looked at me, Lydia. Like I was a monster. Like I disgusted him. He didn’t mean it that way, but that was how it looked to me at the time. I went through all that, to see what I was supposed to do, what my purpose and my fate will be, and he couldn’t handle it. I didn’t tell him everything. He wouldn’t be able to handle it any better than he did the little I did tell him.”

Lydia stated, “If you want to tell me, you know I can take it, my lady. I’ve never doubted that you have a fantastic purpose. I’ve known it from the start. I knew it from the moment I heard the Greybeards speak to you. You remember me telling you that. I told you that you would end up greater than Tiber Septim himself.”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath and let it out again. “Yes you did.” Lydia had always believed in her. So had a lot of others, but there had always been something special about the way Lydia boosted her confidence and made her feel like she could do anything. Rikke did that a little, as did Hadvar, but not the way Lydia did. How she missed having her around. The feeling of loss it gave her made her sigh heavily and close her eyes.

“By the Nine, was it that terrible?” Lydia asked with worry.

“No. I just…I miss you. And Farkas.” She didn’t add that having Farkas near was like having a piece of Vilkas with her, without the pain. And it went without saying that she loved Farkas dearly just for himself.

“Give Jergen some time to get a little heartier and we’ll come visit again. In fact…what would you say to it being a bit more regular? Maybe every six weeks or so?” Bryn didn’t insult her by asking if she was serious, or _You would really do that?_ Instead the Queen nodded slowly, opening her eyes to smile hesitantly at Lydia in a way that broke her heart. It was so much like the old Bryn, the early innocent Bryn. While it was sad it was good to see, especially after what Vilkas had told them about the things he had seen Bryn do. She squeezed Bryn’s shoulder and leaned against her, softly prompting, “Tell me.” 

She kept her arm there as Bryn hesitantly began, and she stayed steady and kept her grip firm as it all came spilling out, in all its terrible and beautiful splendor. So that was how it would be. That was the purpose behind Bryn being born right before the return of the dragons. That was the reason why she bore so many dragon souls, why she had been forced to become so insanely powerful. It made Lydia’s heart swell with pride, both in her Queen and in her own role in making her what she was. And what she would be. Lydia had always known Bryn was meant for something magnificent, and Talos forgive her, but she found this more magnificent than becoming a god.

When Bryn finished nearly half an hour later and glanced at her, waiting, Lydia drew in a deep breath and kissed Bryn’s forehead. “It’s perfect, my lady,” Lydia whispered in a choked voice. “Absolutely perfect. Glorious.” Bryn let out a shaky breath of relief and gave her another sweet smile, her golden eyes shining. How Lydia wished she would live long enough to see it all happen. Such magnificence…and such a shame that Ulfric couldn’t bring himself to see that. Maybe with time he would, but it was in the hands of the Divines as to how much time he really had. Well, Lydia would be there for her when it did, even if it meant moving to Windhelm. Bryn clearly needed her support, and always would. 

At least Bryn would have Vilkas until nearly the end. Four beautiful daughters, and raising Ulfric’s son as his own...fathering an Empress, being the forebear of a new Empire…well, he didn’t need to know that ahead of time. He didn’t need to know any of what Bryn saw unless she saw fit to tell him, and frankly Lydia didn’t see any reason to ruin the surprise. It was enough that Lydia knew, and that Bryn trusted Lydia more than anyone else in the world.  
-  
Jorleif patted Galmar on the shoulder as he left, and the housecarl grunted in acknowledgment and shut the door behind him. He sat down at the small dining table across from Rikke, and she gave him one of her dimpled smiles that always warmed his heart. This little upstairs dining room was rarely used, in fact Galmar couldn’t recall if anyone had been in here since that long ago dinner when Bryn had given Ulfric the dossier, other than a servant once a week to keep the cobwebs down.

“This is quite nice, Galmar,” Rikke stated happily as she began buttering a piece of crusty bread, still hot from the oven. The room was comfortably warm and Galmar had gone to obvious effort with Jorleif’s help to make this a special dinner. He was dressed nicely, not his best clothes that he had worn to Ulfric’s wedding, but better than usual, though to be fair his usual was Stormcloak bear armor. His beard was freshly trimmed, as was his hair. He had been acting a bit odd for a few days now, as if he was wrestling with something, and this dinner was an unusual suggestion for him, and she had the feeling that he was up to something. She had a good feeling what that something was, so she had put as much effort into her appearance tonight as he had…not her best, but enough to acknowledge that it was a special evening.

Galmar nodded and buttered his own bread, muttering, “Well, you know, Ulfric and Brynhilde and the lads are out.” She murmured in assent as she began to eat. He opened his mouth to say something else then decided against it and began to eat as well. Not yet. They ate in companionable silence for several minutes, Rikke casting the occasional smiling glance at him across the table. He returned her smiles, glad that he was finally doing this. Rikke had always said she felt no need to marry, but she had never said she didn’t want to either. He knew her well enough to realize she wouldn’t want a formal Riften wedding, and neither did he, having already done that once, and at their age it was a bit silly to do that.

Rikke finally said, “I wonder how Ulfric and Balgruuf are getting on.”

“As long as the Jarl of Whiterun keeps his smart trap shut, they’ll get along fine.”

She laughed at that. “There’s as much chance of Balgruuf letting the chance to dig at Ulfric slide as there is of Ulfric not thinking about who Balgruuf is sleeping with, and keeping it off his face.” Galmar grunted and nodded, no doubt not trusting himself to say anything more than that. Rikke was so glad that Ulfric and Bryn were getting along well and traveling together that she could tolerate the thought of the two Jarls verbally jousting a bit to let off steam.

As they ate they made small talk about their Jarl and Queen, about Hadvar’s ever more serious affair with Onmund, Ralof’s amorous adventures among the female guards, the Queen’s upcoming spring tour, and so on until the meal was done and they were nursing mugs of mead side by side in chairs they had pulled up to the fireplace. Galmar leaned back in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, and felt a poignant warmth as he glanced sideways at Rikke. She was a good woman. She wasn’t Eldi, but she had filled the aching emptiness that Eldi had left behind. She never hesitated to call him on his crap. She was never patronizing to his daughters. She was unfailingly supportive of Ulfric and careful with him where it counted. She commanded respect from not only the Queen’s Guards but the hold and city guards. But most of all…he was never lonely anymore. Sitting here with her like this was comfortable, and he could see them still doing this twenty, thirty years from now with grandchildren or even great-grandchildren at their feet.

Galmar set his mug on the ground next to his chair and cleared his throat, and when Rikke looked over at him there was a twinkle in her eye that made him just about go limp with relief. He should’ve known she’d catch on to what he was up to. “Rikke…”

“Yes, Galmar?”

“We ah, we’ve been together a while.”

“That we have, old bear.” Six months or thereabouts, the longest she had spent with any man.

“I’ve been thinking. Spring will be here before you know it. I ah, well, maybe we could…hm.”

When it seemed he couldn’t get the words out she leaned close to him, putting her hand on his arm as she murmured, “Yes Galmar. I would like that.” Spring in most of northern Skyrim would still be considered winter anywhere else, and many couples who either didn’t have the time or finances to go to Riften, or honored the old ways, took part in local handfasting ceremonies. Some went on to make it more official in Riften, but many didn’t bother. Such a commitment was more than enough for Rikke, who had never imagined finding anyone she wanted to attach herself to even that much.

He let out a long breath then smiled at her. “Good. Good.” He leaned close as well, meeting her halfway. He gave her a lingering kiss, and when he broke away he haltingly said, “Rikke, I…ah damn.”

She laughed softly, lifting her hand and placing it on his cheek. “I know you do, Galmar. I do too.” He beamed at her, just about the sweetest smile she had ever seen from him. He never had told her that he loved her, but he didn’t need to. Any man could say he loved you and they were just words, but this man made you feel it.

He put his hand behind her neck and said in a quiet, intent voice, “I want you to be the grandmother to my girls’ children. They want it too.”

“I’d be more than happy to. And Ulfric and Brynhilde’s children, when they have them.” Galmar nodded, frowning a bit. “What’s wrong?” He worried at his bottom lip for a few seconds then made a sound of frustration, as if debating something. “Dear gods, tell me she isn’t already pregnant!” That could be a disaster with war looming ever closer.

“No no no. No, she wouldn’t let that come about a moment before she’s ready. It’s ah…to hell with it, it’s Ulfric.”

“What about Ulfric?”

“He told me something. The day he blew up at Ralof.” He sighed and sat back in his seat, though he and Rikke were still leaning close to each other. He stared at the fire and went on, “I told him I was sick of all the secrecy. The business between him and Brynhilde and Vilkas. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why the Harbinger was still fixated on her, and her on him. It pissed me off. Ulfric’s half-assed attempts to make it better for the two of them only made it worse, but that’s beside the point. I made him tell me what was going on.”

Rikke grimaced and said, “Everything changed after he went on that trip with her to read the three Scrolls.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what it was.”

“Did she see something more than the map to the bow?”

He let out a short, bitter laugh. “Yeah, you could say that.” He sighed heavily, staring at the dancing flames with a deep ache in his chest. “The lass saw herself with Vilkas again. In the future. The Harbinger saw the same, at the same time, in a dream.”

She made a sound of sorrow and said, “Well, we’re all well aware of the age difference between them, old bear. It’s the inescapable fate of any spring-autumn romance.”

He tsked and shook his head. “There’s more to it than that though. He didn’t say, and I didn’t push, but I know there’s more to it. The way the three of them act…there’s more to it than that. Ulfric said she didn’t know when it was going to happen, but there are shades of truth, and I know damn well he told me what I wanted to hear.”

Grieved, Rikke said, “If she saw that future, then she saw herself and Vilkas, or just Vilkas. She could see how old they were in the vision. She has to have a general idea of when it’s going to happen.” And if so, so did Ulfric.

“Exactly.” And the thought terrified him, that it would be sooner rather than later. The way Bryn had acted at first after the reading, as if she was constantly on the edge of an anxiety attack, made him fear that Ulfric’s doom was closer than he or Rikke could imagine.

“Do you think we should say something to them?”

He tiredly countered, “To what end, eh? They think they’re sparing us. Let them keep thinking that. But I’m going to be on Ulfric’s ass every goddamned moment from here on out. If he thinks he’s going on that tour of Skyrim in the spring without me he’s out of his fucking mind. The lads’ job is to guard the Queen, not Ulfric. I’m sick of him not letting me do my damn job. I don’t give a shit what he says, he’s going to have to throw me in the dungeon in chains to keep me from doing it.”

“Agreed.”

Rikke leaned her head against his, and Galmar sighed and continued watching the fire crackle on the hearth, taking strength from her. It was a comfort to have her in this with him, to have someone of his own to rely on at times like these, someone who was always on the same page as him. Maybe it would make it a little easier to bear if anything did happen. _Fuck prophecy,_ he thought irritably. He wasn’t going to let the brother of his heart go one second before he had to, and he’d be damned if Ulfric went off to war without him. He was a housecarl, and he would be until the day one of them died, and he was going to do everything in his power to make sure it wasn’t Ulfric.  
-  
Bryn shivered in the chill of the room, closed up and unheated for the last week while they traveled to Whiterun and back. Bryn had gotten in some good time with Lydia and Farkas and their baby, and even Ulfric had held Jergen for a bit, though doing so seemed to pain him in a way that Bryn found extremely upsetting, and it hadn’t lasted long. She had enjoyed staying in Dragonsreach, and after some early jabs at each other Balgruuf and Ulfric had seemed to declare a truce and had gotten along well enough, and even seemed to warm to each other the slightest bit after Balgruuf had taken him out onto the Great Porch to show him the dragon trap and tell him about the day they had captured Odahviing. Granted, it had been a slight warming, and Irileth had been there the entire time watching Ulfric like a hawk, something Ulfric had not appreciated. At some point Vilkas had left Whiterun with Torvar on a job and had stayed gone until Bryn left, so she hadn’t laid eyes on him. Ulfric hadn’t said whether he had or not, only saying that it had been grand to see the inside of Jorrvaskr, and Bryn hadn’t asked, but she had felt her beloved’s presence everywhere she went. She had made certain to not ask Ralof how his training session with the Harbinger had gone, and after her initial visit with Lydia hadn’t brought him up again.

All in all, it had been a good visit, Bryn glad to unburden herself completely to Lydia, and her best friend’s offer to come visit every six weeks or so once Jergen was a bit older and sturdier had helped immensely. Farkas had readily agreed to it, probably understanding why without Lydia having to say a word. Lydia had always known what was best for Bryn, even when Bryn didn’t. It selfishly made her wish that Lydia and Farkas had never fallen in love, so that Lydia could have always stayed by her side. She supposed things had to work out the way they did, for everyone involved, but it had sure hurt like hell along the way, and would continue to do so.

Ulfric stayed out of the way as servants set their baggage in the room then began unpacking and sorting it, and before one of them could move to light the fire Bryn knelt down and held her hand out then gathered flame in her hand and gently pushed it toward the stacked wood and tinder. Everyone froze for a moment, then as the Queen stood they quickly hurried back to their business, avoiding looking at her. Ulfric kept his expression clear and unconcerned, though seeing his wife perform Destruction magic in their own quarters did not at all make him happy. He accepted what she had seen in the Hall of Valor, and he realized Nords would benefit from re-familiarizing themselves with magic, but that didn’t mean that he personally wanted it around on a regular basis. Wuunferth kept to himself in a different section of the Palace and was happy being alone with whatever it was he did in there, his only visitor Bryn on occasion when she needed to use his equipment, the need for which might end up being non-existent now that she had everything stored in Hjerim.

He sat down at the small table in their room and watched her as she stayed by the fire to tend it, then he saw her eyes drift over to the ivory dragon, as they often had lately when they were home. She shrugged out of her sabre cat cloak and one of the servants rushed over to take it from her, then she turned back to the statuette. She leaned her elbow on the mantle, and the sound of dragon scales scraping on wood made Ulfric grit his teeth. She wore the armor whenever she traveled, the same armor she had worn to Sovngarde, to the Soul Cairn, to Apocrypha. If that armor could speak it would keep a bard busy for months writing down all it had seen. It was starting to show wear though, and she would need a new set before they went to war. Perhaps next time they visited Whiterun she could forge a new set in the fires of the Skyforge, assisted by Eorlund Gray-Mane and Farkas. That would take time, and it might be impossible for her to not catch sight of Vilkas while she was working there.

Bryn tenderly picked up the statuette and held it in the palm of her hand, and Ulfric felt a thrill of uneasiness go through him at the sight of the gold and ivory dragon balanced on the dragonscale gauntlet…one dragon looking at another. Bryn casually flicked her left hand into the air and a sparkling ball of rainbow light appeared, hovering over her head, lighting up the area around her. He wondered in annoyance if she was doing it just to aggravate him, but then he couldn’t imagine why she would when they had been getting along so well. He had behaved himself admirably in Whiterun, not even giving any looks of distaste to Balgruuf when his housecarl-slash-lover was around, which she always was. He had to admit that the other Jarl’s house was a warm, pleasant one, with the three children running about, and Balgruuf wasn’t unpleasant company. The other Jarl was hot-tempered, or perhaps just passionate rather, but he also had a wry sense of humor and keen wit. Ulfric could see what Bryn liked about him, and it was touching to see how the two related to each other. Balgruuf certainly would have been a good match for her, though of course the situation with Vilkas would have made things utterly impossible. 

Ulfric hadn’t spoken to the Harbinger, the two men simply nodding to each other when Ralof had approached him for more training their first day there, then Vilkas had told Ralof to be there early in the morning, and to not be hung over this time, then he had gone downstairs and stayed there. That had been the only time Ulfric had seen Vilkas. Ralof had returned to Dragonsreach at lunchtime the next day moving gingerly, looking as if every muscle in his body hurt, but with a huge grin on his face. Balgruuf had laughed and asked the young man how it had gone, and Ralof had simply said in delight, “He is a master!” and left it at that, and so had everyone else. Ulfric had to admit that he wouldn’t have minded watching the training, but Vilkas certainly wouldn’t have appreciated it. Bryn most likely would not have either.

She set the statuette back in its place at the end of the mantle as the sparkling magic light died with a sizzle, then she knelt down to poke at the fire. A servant asked if they would be needing a bath, and Ulfric nodded distractedly, still watching his wife. The servants gathered up the clothes that needed washing and left, closing the door behind them. He quietly stated, “It’s good to be home.”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed your visit, precious.”

“Lydia and Farkas said they would come visit me soon. Once Jergen is three months old and Lydia is completely recovered.” She sighed and added, “Such a beautiful baby, but then Farkas and Lydia are both beautiful.”

“Will our son be?” At that Bryn finally looked at him, her calm demeanor faltering. He hadn’t even intended to ask that, and yet it had come spilling out, thinking of the baby boy. He had held him for only a minute or two, unable to bear any more than that. He had accepted his fate long ago, but moments like that were a dagger to the heart. Vilkas would raise his son. Vilkas would have four daughters of his own. Vilkas would end up with the family that should have been Ulfric’s. Ulfric had promised Bryn the night they became engaged, right outside Whiterun’s walls, that he would fill their home with children once the war was finished, and he couldn’t make good on that promise, and instead Vilkas would. Bryn didn’t answer, looking troubled, and he went on, “You told Lydia what you saw, didn’t you? I could tell from the way she was behaving the next day. The look in her eyes when we took our leave.”

“Yes. I did.” He nodded slowly, looking toward the fire. “She told me to tell her, and I did. I told her everything. Absolutely everything. I left out nothing.”

“As you did not with me.”

“What little I told you upset you.”

“But not Lydia.”

“Lydia is Lydia. She told me within the first week of becoming my housecarl that I was destined for great things. That I would become greater than Tiber Septim, that I could end up High Queen or even Empress, maybe even a god. I felt she should know that she was right.” Ulfric grunted, frowning. “Telling her made her happy. It was a relief to get it all out, to just one person, and…it’s Lydia. She’s always been the one person who has kept all my secrets, all my…” Trust. She trusted Lydia more than any other being in the world. Nothing shook Lydia for long. Bryn knelt by the fire again, setting a small log on top, and continued, “Lydia was always my strength. She was what kept me going in the early days. Maybe I told you that before.”

“Yes, the first night you came to me,” he murmured.

“It was foolish of me to think I could get by without her. That I could just leave her to her own life, the life I wish I’d had. She is still my housecarl and she belongs to me, and she reminded me of that. So she will be coming to visit me every six weeks or so once the baby is old enough to travel. I need a friend. People here try, but they aren’t Lydia. Or Farkas.” 

She pulled her gauntlets off and warmed her hands by the fire, and Ulfric uncomfortably stated, “So you’re going to start doing magic in the house now.”

“If it serves a purpose. Magic is a tool, nothing more.” She stood and looked at the statue again and said, “You told me to be what I am. Unfortunately what I am ended up being more than you originally bargained for when you said that.”

“All right, that is far enough,” Ulfric warned her, standing from his seat and going to her. She kept her eyes on the statuette as he went on, “I know I’ve disappointed you. Divines know I’ve done it time and again, but I always try, damn it. I know I am not Lydia, or Farkas. I know I am not a friend to you, the way they are, the way Vilkas was on Solstheim. I broke your trust by reacting as I did in Skuldafn, I accept that, but I thought I had made amends.”

Bryn frowned at him and said, “You did.”

“Then…then what is all this?”

“All what?” she replied in confusion. “What am I doing?” She paused then her eyes narrowed as she asked in disbelief, “Do you think I used magic in front of you as some sort of jab? To provoke you?” She could see from the sudden wariness in his expression that he did. “Why would I do that?” she asked quietly, keeping her temper under control with an effort. “What would the point of that be?”

He quickly stated, “All right, so you didn’t.”

“Damn straight I didn’t.” He looked past her, his tongue in his cheek, and she closed her eyes and took deep breaths, forcing her anger back down. Gods, it was hard these days. “The fire needed to be lit, and I didn’t want to watch a servant spend five minutes doing it. I wanted to look at my dragon statue and the light was poor. Why do something the hard way when there’s no reason?” Ulfric sighed, and when she opened her eyes again he was still frowning, though it was thoughtful more than worried or annoyed. “Why would you think I would do that?” He shook his head, not answering. He was probably afraid to. She sighed and turned away to throw her gauntlets on the bed and start unbuckling her armor. “I need to increase my magical abilities. I can’t do that unless I use them. Going to Winterhold once a month isn’t enough.”

“Why do you need to? What is the sudden urgency?” Before she could answer he went on, “It was what you saw, wasn’t it. In the Scroll.”

“As I said, I saw many things, dearest.”

“Then tell me.”

Bryn laughed, “Oh no, _ahmuli,_ I don’t think so.”

Ulfric grumbled and went to her, insisting, “I want to know what you saw. All of it.”

“Do you? Or are you asking only because I told Lydia?” He scoffed at that, and she shook her head and said, “No. After what happened last time…no.”

He said in a hurt, angry voice, “So I haven’t regained your trust, then. Will you tell Vilkas?”

“I see no reason to tell him any of it. There’s no point. He won’t live to see it happen.”

“At least he will live to see our son grow up.” Bryn’s expression fell, and he demanded, “I want to know what he will look like. I want to know about our son!”

“Ulfric,” she whispered painfully.

“Will I ever even lay eyes on him? Get to hold him?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t look. I didn’t want to know!”

Seeing tears well up in her eyes, he grabbed her upper arms and firmly said, “Tell me about him. I don’t care how much it hurts, I want to know what kind of man he will grow up to be. I want to know everything you saw in regards to him. It is only fair that I know that much!” She made a sound of grief as she stared at him, and he demanded, “What will he look like grown?”

“He has…will have…your eyes,” she whispered. He let out a breath and nodded. “He’ll have the shape of your face, but my mouth and nose. Blond, lighter than yours but darker than mine. He’ll…he’ll be handsome. Very handsome. Tall.”

“And he will be Dragonborn?”

“Yes. All of them will be.” But she would decide which of her children, her grandchildren, her descendants, would become true Dragonborn. They could travel Skyrim and Solstheim all they wanted to learn words of power, but without either dragon souls to power the Shouts or the gifting of the knowledge of the Shout, the words would mean nothing. Bryn would find a way to learn how to gift that knowledge, somehow. Even if it meant resorting to trickery. She knew she would find it, eventually. She would have to, because she was not allowing anyone to slay further dragons. In fact she thought she might need to issue an edict to that effect before long.

Ulfric took in a deep breath then let it out again as his hands fell away from Bryn’s arms. “All right then,” he said quietly, his heart aching. He could almost see how his son would look. Certainly better looking than Ulfric was. “How did you see him? What was he doing?”

“He was young. In his early twenties. I saw him…” She swallowed down the lump in her throat and went on, “I saw him dancing with one of his sisters, the little blond one. Here, in the main hall. They were laughing. He… every time I saw him he was smiling or laughing. It was only a few times, when he was a young man, but… I looked farther out, once. I saw him as an older man, in his sixties I think, sitting on Ysgramor’s throne, with the Jagged Crown on his head. But he was still smiling.”

“Ah, good,” Ulfric whispered, tears stinging his eyes. “I would want that for him.” To always be smiling or laughing, to live a full life, as part of a large family. To have all the things Ulfric never had, and would never have. He heard a sniff from Bryn and saw tears running down her cheeks, and he shook his head and wiped them away, murmuring, “This is how it must be, my treasure. I’ve told you, more than once, that you have given me much more than I ever would have had otherwise. I would have either met the headsman’s axe or a Thalmor sword. I would have no heir and Eastmarch would pass into a different bloodline’s hands for the first time in a thousand years. I am sorry that losing me will cause you pain, but this is how both our lives had to be. And Vilkas’ life. We had to go down this path to become what we are.” She made a scoffing sound and looked away from him, and he insisted, “You know this is true. You would not be the Queen you are if you stayed with Vilkas, or if you hadn’t been with me. I would be a miserable, angry mess of a man, and Vilkas would still be a self-absorbed twat.”

Bryn sputtered in disbelief, unable to help laughing the tiniest bit. “Self-absorbed twat,” she said with sad amusement.

“Yes, that is what I said.”

She laughed again and wiped her eyes. “Aela called him nearly the same thing, the last time everyone visited.” Aela had had a lot to say, in her quiet, fierce way. A surprising amount, for her. While Farkas had always known that eventually he wanted a wife and children, Vilkas’ eyes had always been on the Harbinger’s position, and nothing else. Vilkas had always been adamant that getting married and having a family were the last things he wanted out of life. He had always wished that women didn’t find him so distasteful after just one time, but he had never wanted any kind of relationship, permanent or otherwise. Aela had gone on to say that she was certain that it was only the beastblood’s interest in her dragon blood that had caused Vilkas to go after Bryn in the first place, as both twins had considered it unprofessional to bed any Shield-Sister. That Farkas had tried was only, in Aela’s opinion, some confused platonic version of what Vilkas felt. What Vilkas had felt he had fought all the way, partly because he thought Bryn and Farkas were sleeping together, partly because she was a Shield-Sister, and only after fighting with Farkas and realizing they were not in fact a couple did he give in to it even part way, telling himself he could simply get it out of his system. Scratch an itch, Aela had called it. Even after he had gone into the relationship his vanity and ego had gotten in the way; not even the Dragonborn was going to get him to marry and have kids when he had always said that wasn’t what he wanted, and Bryn should have been glad to get even as much as she had out of him.

Bryn hadn’t known much of this, and it had hurt to hear, though she had suspected some of it already. Yes, Vilkas had been a self-absorbed twat, and occasionally unpleasant due to the beastblood, but still deep down he had been a good man, and he had gone as far as he could in accepting a relationship that he had never wanted to begin with. Solstheim had reassured Bryn that Vilkas did love her for her. It wasn’t simply the leftover soul bond of a mated werewolf. Vilkas had told her himself that he had loved her more than ever after the beastblood was out of the way, and yet he had resisted marrying her because he’d be damned if he was going to do what he had always sworn he would not. It wasn’t until she had shocked the hell out of him by actually having the nerve to leave him that he had been forced to look at himself halfway objectively, and the bond had kept him from drowning his sorrows in other women, so he’d had no choice but to be alone and obsess on what had gone wrong. And what Aela didn’t know was that the dream had probably been the final straw. It had given him a taste of what could have been his. It had let him feel it as if he were there, feeling that little boy’s trusting arms around his neck, seeing his newborn baby girl in Bryn’s hands. He would end up raising another man’s son as his own, as Jergen had tried to do with him and Farkas, and would end up with four children of his own blood. It was a bit funny, actually, to think that Vilkas would be the one to end up with the bigger family. Lydia was quite firm that she wanted only two children, three at the very most, and even then only if Farkas did some serious sweet-talking.

Ulfric rubbed his finger under her chin and quietly demanded, “Tell me everything you saw.” Bryn sighed and moved away to continue removing her armor. “All right then, tell me about the dragons. About what will happen to you, and why.” She shook her head, and he drew in a deep breath to keep his temper. He had done this to himself, by hurting her, so he would simply have to keep chipping away at her. “Odahviing called you _yuvon rekdovah._ Tell me why that is, at least.”

“Because that is what I will be: a golden dragon. Well, not gold-gold. Not…shiny. Much.” She wasn't even sure how to put it into words, from the small glimpses she had gotten.

“What will you look like?”

She shrugged one shoulder as she bent down to pull off her boots. “Not quite like the others. Not quite like the statuette either, but more like the statuette than a regular dragon. That is why I need to learn magic.”

Confused, Ulfric asked, “Why do you need to learn magic to be a dragon? This all makes no sense.” She straightened up, frowning, glancing at him only briefly, and her expression told him that she was still afraid of being hurt. By him. Being rejected. He pressed, “Why would a dragon need to know magic? They can’t cast it except in Shouts. They don’t have…” He trailed off as Bryn looked at him again, tense, waiting for him to wound her, then he swallowed and nodded. “I see.” Some of the tension left her, but not all of it, and she turned away to pull her cuirass off. He left her to it and went to the fireplace, partly to get warm, partly to look at the dragon statue. It sent an eerie feeling through him that the Emperor had sent her something like this. There was no way he could have known what she would become. Was there? It didn’t seem possible. The Moth Priests didn’t read the Elder Scrolls the way Bryn could; while she could see and hear events happening, they read the Scroll like a text, heard a voice reading it off at the same time. They would have seen no visions of her future the way she had. He went on, “Tell me more. So you will be able to use magic, because you will have the hands to cast it?”

“Claws, talons, whatever you want to call them.”

He ignored the bitter tinge to her voice and said, “Yes precious, whatever you want to call them. What is the need for you to be different than the others?”

“Because part of my job will be to make them like me. To transform them, as I will be transformed.”

Stunned, Ulfric whispered, “How?”

“Rebirth.” Her husband shuddered, his eyes wide, still staring at the statue, but at least he wasn’t gawking at her with disgust. “All these souls I carry…it is for a reason. They’ve increased my power, yes, but…I’m their caretaker. A dragon’s soul is permanent, each one inside me a separate individual entity, but at death if there is no Dragonborn around to absorb it…well, I don’t know what happens, but it doesn’t return to Aetherius to have its memory wiped clean so it can be reborn. The dragons that Alduin raised had all their memories and experiences intact. They still are, inside me. The souls didn’t become part of me; I only carry them.”

He struggled with that for a moment as she continued removing her armor, and he was still doing so when the servants returned with the tub and buckets of water. He distantly heard Bryn tell them to just dump it in cold, that she would heat it herself, and he could only imagine the looks they were trying quite hard to not give her as they followed her orders. Well, they would have plenty of time to get used to it, because his wife was not going to stop doing what she felt she needed to do, no matter how anyone felt about it, though he was still confused as to why she needed to know magic, and why the dragons needed to be altered into a new form. He was so used to the form they had that the notion of a dragon with an extra set of limbs was beyond bizarre. He supposed there was something noble about how it looked. More intelligent, more human. Seeing a dragon crawl along the ground on its wings had always unsettled him, looking like a crippled bat. He stared at the statue, seeing the beauty in it. One hand, forepaw, whatever it was, was raised as if the dragon were dispensing wisdom, giving a lecture. She had said she would guide her descendants, making those of her choosing true Dragonborn. Well, he supposed this was the best way to do that.

The servants left as quickly as they could, and Ulfric heard the click of the lock then Bryn continuing to undress. He quietly said, “So precious, tell me more. Tell me what you will look like.”

“Like the statue. But scaled. Like the dragons are now, but not as heavily. Golden, a sort of burnished brassy color I suppose. My eyes will stay surprisingly the same, I… In the vision I was looking at my reflection in a lake.” She snorted a short laugh. “Admiring myself, maybe.” She threw her doublet aside and stretched, still stiff from riding in a wagon. The forced inactivity lately had been difficult, after running all over Solstheim. She could only dream of how it had hardened Vilkas’ body; the Companions trained constantly and went on frequent jobs, but adventuring was a level beyond that. She heard a change in Ulfric’s breathing as she stretched, and when she glanced at him he was watching her. “I never showed you the dragon aspect, did I,” she stated. “The Shout.”

“No.”

“Do you want to see it?”

“Did Vilkas?”

“Yes, once.”

“Will it terrify the household?”

“Possibly.”

She laughed at the prospect, and the sound sent shivers over Ulfric’s skin and down his spine. Just as she had said a few minutes ago, he hadn’t bargained for what she would become when he decided to pursue a relationship with her. He hadn’t bargained for this at all. But she was his wife, for better or worse, and she was as beautiful as she was terrifying. He took a deep breath and said, “Then show me.”

_“MUL QAH DIIV!”_

Ulfric gasped as the sound thundered off the stone walls and light swirl around then adhered to Bryn, crackling and hissing as it formed the ethereal shape of a dragon around her, and as the wings unfolded from her back he shuddered and whispered, “Mighty Akatosh!” Her eyes glowed with an internal fire as she stared at him, and he numbly heard the pounding of booted feet coming up the stairs. There was pounding on the door then someone rattled the handle, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Bryn to answer.

“My lady!” Hadvar yelled through the door.

“There is nothing wrong,” Bryn stated.

Ulfric swallowed as he heard Hadvar whispering to someone, and he raised his voice and said, “The Queen is demonstrating a Shout she learned in Solstheim. Everything is fine.” He had to say something or Bryn just might open the door and scare the hell out of Hadvar and whoever else was out there. It was all he could do to keep his voice steady with the way his heart was threatening to beat its way out of his chest.

“Yes my lord,” Hadvar replied in a worried tone.

As the booted feet retreated, Bryn said wryly, “I warned you, _ahmul.”_

“So you did,” he whispered.

She stretched her arms out to her sides as she said, _“Uznahgaar suleyk.”_

 _“Geh.”_ He couldn’t begin to dream of that kind of power. He felt only touches of it when he used the Voice. That had been one of the reasons Jurgen Windcaller had made the effort to ban its use for all but those who followed the Way of the Voice; the power was too seductive, too easy to abuse.

“I can only use it once a day,” she stated as she forced her Voice down to somewhat normal levels, but it still rang off the walls. “But the strength…ah, you can’t imagine. It courses through my veins. How very lucky for Skyrim and the Empire that I do not have Miraak’s narrow vision. Miraak _lost sahlo._ His dreams were small.” Ulfric nodded the tiniest bit, unable to take his eyes off her. Well, he had asked for this, and he would get over it like everything else. It wasn’t pleasant to see touches of fear in her husband’s eyes, but hopefully he would turn it into respect as Vilkas had done. She said with regret, “I’m sorry that this has affected you so, _kodaavi._ Vilkas _lost ahk zofaas.”_

“And what tells me his fear didn’t last?” Ulfric replied quietly.

“Vilkas…hm. He has had more exposure to what I am. He’s fought dragons with me and watched me take their souls. Five of them. One here long ago, and four on the island. He stood next to me when I called the storm.” Ulfric grumbled, and she went on, “You told me when I first came to you that Vilkas didn’t comprehend that he had a dragon in his bed. Today will not be the first time that I have told you that you have not fully comprehended that either, _ahmul._ I’ve tried to be what I thought you wanted. I’ve tried to keep you comfortable. _Sulvekaal._ I’m tired. It’s too much to hold in anymore. _Zu’u los dovah.”_

Aching with guilt and touches of loss, Ulfric murmured, “Then be what you are.”

“I’m still me.”

The tinge of sadness in her voice made him force himself over to her, and she waited, her expression guarded, as if waiting for him to hurt her yet again. The power hissed and spun around her in bolts of light, and he flexed his hands then reached out and put them on her bare shoulders. He felt only the faintest tingle from the Shout’s effect, and her skin was warm and human under his hands. Though her eyes glowed, they were still her eyes, and her scent was still her own, mortal and womanly, slightly musky from being on the road.

“I’m still your wife, Ulfric.”

 _“Geh, geh, kiimi,”_ he soothed. He leaned in and kissed her, feeling soft lips against his as the power almost crackled between them, reminding him briefly and uncomfortably of the magic Elenwen had tortured him with so long ago. Well, this was nothing like it, not painful in the least, though it made the hair on his body stand on end. He couldn’t possibly make love to her like this, and from the reserve in her she didn’t expect him to. She only wanted his acceptance, something that should already be there, should have always been there. Yes, she was a dragon, but she was his wife. Being a dragon didn’t mean she wasn’t still who she had always been, just…more. He stroked her cheek and said, “I think you will be beautiful as a _yuvon rekdovah._ But I think…I fear, that you will lose who you are, when it happens. That is what terrifies me, beyond the sadness of knowing you won’t be in Sovngarde with me. The _dov_ …they don’t feel as we do. I fear you will lose your humanity.”

“I still felt like me. Of course I will change. I’ll have to. But I don’t think I will lose most of what makes me who I am.” She brought her hands up to gently grasp his forearms, careful of her strength while it lasted. “I won’t be like the _dov_ who exist now. As I was saying before, part of my purpose is to make the dragons more than they are now. I wish that I could talk to Paarthurnax about it, but he doesn’t know everything I know about my future. The dragons saw what I saw, but they didn’t feel what I felt. He knows that I will rebirth the dragon souls that I’ve taken, in my own image. He knows that the Way of the Voice is too restrictive for more than only a few _dovahhe_ to follow. It’s in a dragon’s nature to dominate, but there is nothing tempering it right now except some measure of self-control, and self-interest in wanting to stay alive. Paarthurnax knows that in order for dragonkind to survive they need to change. This world will not be ending. The Divines decreed that it will never end again, by letting me destroy Alduin. So something must maintain balance. Dragons will maintain that balance, but they can’t do it as they are now. By being reborn as my children, by having to start out small and weak and helpless, by being held captive by my own soul for so long, they will learn wisdom and patience, and some measure of care for this world and the mortals in it.”

Ulfric took all this in, his eyes wide. She let him grapple with it, and it was hard, simply because it was so bewildering. So that was Bryn’s ultimate purpose: to truly be mother to dragonkind, a new form of dragonkind, one that could be either a force for destruction or creation, but would be a force for balance either way. When he could finally speak again he asked, “And what if they don’t learn it? What if after all that some won’t cooperate?”

“Then back they go, until they learn their lesson.”

Horrified, he whispered, “You would destroy your own…”

“Offspring? Maybe I shouldn’t have used the word children. A dragon’s soul is eternal. It does it no harm to be recycled, as many times as it needs to be. It maintains who the dragon was, but it can learn. I am the forge in which draconic ambitions will be tempered. I will decide who gets reborn. Don’t mistake how I’ll feel about them for how I’ll feel for my human descendants. Or Elven ones, even, since I suppose that’s possible.” She could tell Ulfric didn’t find that palatable, but he didn’t have to.

“And those descendants…our son’s descendants, and Vilkas’?”

“It does one no good to be Dragonborn without the chance to grow in power or the Voice. I will be the source of that knowledge, and that is something Paarthurnax will not know until it’s too late. A descendant of the dragon blood will have natural traits that will make them exceptional on their own, but to _truly_ be Dragonborn…that will never happen unless they can slay dragons, which I will not allow. If they want to learn, if they want to rule, they will have to come to me. They’ll have to prove they’re worthy, and I won’t make it quick or easy. I refuse to allow my bloodline to become twisted and turn in on itself as the Septims did. This Empire will be mine, forever. Maybe even this world, because dragons have wings, and Skyrim is too small to hold us all.” Ulfric stared at her blankly, and he flinched as the aura around her vanished in a sizzle. She said with quiet intensity, “I know this is a lot to process, _ahmuli._ I passed out for over a day while my mind came to grips with it all. I’m still trying to. I’ve been thinking about it constantly since then. But I’m content with that fate. I’m sorry, but the more I think about Sovngarde, the more I know it isn’t for me. I saw no other Dragonborn there, darling. Our souls are too large and too restless for Sovngarde to hold even one of us comfortably for long.”

“Yes,” he whispered with sad acceptance. “I suppose you are right, my treasure.”

She put her hand on his cheek and said in a teasing tone, “But Vilkas will be there with you.”

Ulfric brushed her hands off with a huff, making her laugh. “You’re shameless,” he stated, his cheeks warming.

“You never did tell me what that dream was about.”

“If you think I’m going to now you’re out of your mind.” She laughed again, and it was good to hear. There was relief in the sound. He shrugged out of his fur and chainmail coat and laid it on a chair, and she laughed to herself again and took the rest of her clothes and undergarments off and tossed them aside then went to the tub. He unfastened his steel cuirass and watched out of the corner of his eye as she splayed her hands over the water then began pouring flames into it from both hands. The sight gave him goosebumps, but he would get used to it. “You still haven’t told me why a dragon needs to be able to use magic.”

“Power, darling. It’s all about power. I need to make sure that I have the most of all. Not everyone will cooperate with my plans, once they realize what they are. By that point it will be much too late for any of them to stop me.”

Ulfric didn’t ask who ‘them’ was, certain he didn’t want to know. Some things he just didn’t need to know. As she had said, there was no point. He would be long dead by time it came to pass, though his son and her other children might witness some of it. Everyone she knew and loved now would have passed into Sovngarde by then and would never see what she had become, since she would never be able to-- “Shor’s bones!” he choked, looking over at her. Bryn’s eyebrows rose as she glanced at him curiously, still casting flames into the water, then the magic sputtered out and died.

“Well shoot,” she said in annoyance. “Time to stock up on some magicka potions, I think.” At least until her magicka reserves were greater. She touched the water and it was barely lukewarm. She put her hands on her hips and looked at her husband, and he was staring at her with a look of sudden realization on his face. “Yes?”

“Sovngarde,” he mumbled. “You showed me the portal to Sovngarde.”

“Yes?”

“The one Alduin went through. The one the dragon priest was guarding. He had a staff that could open the portal.”

“Did he? Hm. I wonder what happened to it?”

The smile playing about her lips made him let out a shaky breath and rush her, roughly taking her into his arms, knowing she could take it. “Damn you,” he whispered fiercely. “Tell me you will be able to do it!”

“I won’t know until I try. But I’m willing to try.” She put her arms around his neck and said with more seriousness, “I don’t know if it will work. But I will be able to pick up the staff and use it. If Alduin was able to travel there unhindered, why wouldn’t I be able to? At least I wouldn’t be going there to feast on the souls of the dead. If I could go back there just once…” Well, they wouldn’t know that for a very long time. But it was a comforting thought, and it seemed to make Ulfric happy. It gave him hope, anyway. She kissed him tenderly, and his hands quickly began roaming over her as he kissed her back avidly.

She helped him undress, and once he was nude he herded her towards the bed, and she peeped in surprise as he shoved her onto it. Her eyes shining, she said with a sly smile, “My, you’re being awfully aggressive.”

“Yes, and you like it, _rekdovah,”_ he answered. They could both use a wash, but it was hard to care. He lay down next to her and shoved her legs apart, and he leaned down to run his tongue over a nipple as he began fingering her, just enough to get her wet enough to enter without discomfort, though she most likely wouldn’t have minded it. She arched under him as he slid in, her draconic nature completely forgotten as she whimpered and grabbed his backside to spur him on. He reached around and grabbed her wrist then pinned it over her head, making her eyes light up, then he reached around and took the other and trapped it as well. She then laughed and wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him tightly.

_“Hi los horvutaah!”_

He laughed, “We’re both trapped, precious, wouldn’t you say?” He leaned down and nipped at her neck as he moved inside her, and she sighed happily and loosened her legs so he could do her justice.

“Tell me about your dream,” she whispered. He grunted in apprehension, and she said, “I told you my secrets, _kodaavi._ Now you tell me y-yours.” He thrust into her hard, making her stutter, but she wasn’t about to be distracted so easily. He let go of her wrists, the position too difficult to maintain, and she sank her fingers into his hair as he ran his tongue up her neck to her ear. He pulled up her leg to hook it over his arm, driving in deeper, moving just so, and it drove all thoughts of anything else out of her mind.

He whispered in her ear, “I was taking you just like this.”

“Yes?”

“He was lying next to us. He’d just had you.” He gave her earlobe a lick then went on, “He moved behind me, and made me ready for him, ever so gently…then he…took me, while I took you.”

“Oh yes,” she moaned. He kissed her roughly as he pushed into her faster, seeming as excited by the notion as she was, and she only just reached her peak before Ulfric did with a growl into her mouth. She wrapped herself around him again with a sigh, stroking his back as he nuzzled her cheek, content with something quick but satisfying. _“Zoklot lokali,”_ she murmured. _“Mahfaeraak.”_

 _“Zu’u los hinah,_ Brynhilde. _Mahfaeraak.”_ She sighed happily, running her fingertips over his back, stopping occasionally to feel one of the scars, an absent-minded post-coital habit that had ceased to bother him long ago. She had his complete and utter trust, and it seemed he had regained hers, finally. He would get used to her spellcasting, and he would learn to accept what he knew of her fate, hoping he had heard the most shocking parts already. They would go on their tour of Skryim in the spring, only a few months away, and maybe this summer go to war; the tour itself would be a way to get people thinking about it and get the Jarls’ support. 

It worried Ulfric that Bryn had destroyed that Thalmor ship a year ago and they had still heard nothing from the Aldmeri Dominion. It worried him a great deal. The Dominion had to know what Bryn had done. There was no way they couldn’t know by now, since everyone in Skyrim did. Maybe they were only marshaling their strength, but they were clearly still active if they had been on Solstheim looking for new sources of stronger weapons. He knew Bryn had sent a letter to Tullius in the Imperial City to that effect the day after she had returned home. 

Well, he was going to be attached to his wife’s side from here on out no matter where she went, to have as much time with her as possible, to impress on the Jarls and the common folk that the defeat of the Dominion was crucial. While Skyrim was used to peace at this point, that was a double-edged sword; they would not be eager to jump into another war so soon, especially when Skyrim’s economy was just only now starting to recover. They would have to play on the honor it would be to go into battle with the Dragonborn, get Bryn out amongst the people to charm them, remind them that it would be all too easy for the situation to turn and for Thalmor justiciars to start walking the roads again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shocking? I figured if I was going to go over the top, then by god I'm going way over. Skyrim's dragons have just never looked right to me. I came of age playing D&D in a friend's basement and reading Anne McCaffrey's Pern books, and in my mind dragons are supposed to have forelimbs. So what the heck, that's what I'm gonna do.


	63. Chapter 63

_I have got to start waking earlier,_ Vilkas thought with annoyance as he walked down the downstairs hall of Jorrvaskr and realized how completely silent the building was. Farkas was supposed to wake him if he hadn’t gotten up by time his twin arrived for his day’s work with Eorlund, knowing Vilkas had never been an early riser and would sleep half the morning away at times if left to his own devices. Slightly slow as he occasionally was, Farkas never forgot to do that.

He reached the top of the stairs and looked around, frowning as he realized no one was around. Not one person. He knew Torvar and Athis were out on a job, but someone should be around. Breakfast seemed to be long over, and he felt a surge of irritation that he had seemingly been abandoned here without notification from anyone. He took a piece of apple pie, a salmon steak and some baked potatoes and sat down at the table in his usual spot, fuming as he stabbed at his food, wondering what the hell everyone could be up to. The porch outside was quiet, in fact now that he was thinking about it everything was too quiet in general, even Eorlund's and Farkas’ pounding at the forge silent. Instead of reassuring him it only made him angrier, sure that something was going on and no one had bothered to tell him. Granted, it would have entailed waking him up, but everyone knew he didn’t mind getting awakened if it was important. Well to hell with them then. He was going to eat his breakfast in peace and quiet, without someone asking his opinion about something or Skjorta toddling over to him to be picked up and share his food or Lydia asking him to hold Jergen so she could do something or Mjoll arguing with Vignar about some triviality.

As he finished his breakfast he glanced at the windows and saw light streaming in as the sun broke through the clouds, and he guessed the hour to be around ten, making his mood foul all over again. Well, at least it would probably be dry today. It was Sun’s Height 14th so the days were dry more often than not. Maybe it was warm and everyone was just outside socializing, though Eorlund wasn’t exactly one for that. Well he’d be damned if he went out and saw what everyone was doing. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. He’d either been deliberately left out of whatever was going on or he had been simply forgotten about, and neither was in the least acceptable—

Vilkas was broken out of his fuming by the opening of the back door, and when he saw it was his brother he testily demanded, “What the hell is going on! Where is everyone?”

“I’m sorry,” Farkas said in a sheepish tone. “I forgot to wake—”

“How the hell did you forget! You never forget!”

“Bryn’s here.” His twin’s anger evaporated at that news. “I’m sorry, but she was just coming into town as Lydia and I were heading up here, so we turned back and hung out with her at home for a bit, so she could hold the baby and change out of her armor. Then we all came up here.”

Vilkas quietly asked, “Why is she here?” It made him almost sick with nerves that she was here, with no warning. He hadn’t laid eyes on her in nine months. Nine months of trying not to think about her, trying not to think about Solstheim, trying to maintain a halfway pleasant demeanor, trying to focus on his job and the welfare of the Companions and the children. He never asked about her when Farkas and Lydia returned from their visits to Windhelm, and most people knew better than to talk about her in his hearing, but it was impossible not to hear about her in town or while out on jobs, and Jarl Balgruuf didn’t know not to mention her during their monthly lunches, thinking their issues long resolved. 

She had taken a two month tour of Skryim in the spring, spending time in each hold talking to the Jarls and thanes, making herself accessible to the people, reassuring everyone, trying to build support for war when it came. She was as popular as ever, now into the second year of her reign. Women were having more babies, and farmers felt secure that their land wasn’t going to get trampled in a skirmish and were planting larger crops. Trade was moving again between the provinces, if not exactly flowing. There had been no dragon attacks for well over a year, and banditry was at an all-time low with the surfeit of hold guards available to patrol the roads and towns. Ulfric never left Bryn’s side, and he was respected even where he wasn’t admired. Elisif of course still hated him with a nearly psychotic passion and was reportedly barely civil to the Queen, something that Vilkas thought Bryn should not tolerate. On the whole however everything was going well in Skyrim, if only war wasn’t on the horizon.

“She’s here to forge a new set of armor. Says only the Skyforge is good enough for it.”

“Aye, I reckon that is so. Is Ulfric here?”

“Nah, not this time. She’s going to be here three or four days, working on the armor with Eorlund. Well, me too I guess, helping out. I just got done bringing up all the scales and bones we still had stored away in Breezehome. More than she’ll need for the job, but you never know.” Vilkas nodded, chewing at his bottom lip. Farkas asked with concern, “What are you going to do?” He knew Vilkas and Bryn had agreed to not visit or write to each other anymore. He knew Vilkas didn’t want to hear about her, but she was here and there was no way around it.

“What can I do?” Vilkas muttered. “Go back downstairs. Leave. Something.”

“You really have to go that far? Ulfric isn’t here.”

He replied in exasperation, “That was never the point. It was to spare ourselves. To make things easier to bear.”

“Well she sure as hell…eh. Uh…never mind.”

“What? She sure as hell what?” His twin grimaced. “Tell me, damn it!”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to,” Farkas muttered.

“Did anyone tell you not to?”

“No, but—“

“So tell me!”

“She ah…she isn’t sparing herself. She asks about you every time we visit.” A look of pure pain crossed his brother’s face, and he said, “See? I knew I shouldn’t tell you.”

“What does she say?”

“What do you think she says?” Farkas countered. “She asks how you’re doing. What you’ve been up to. That’s all. Ulfric doesn’t know. She isn’t hiding it, she just doesn’t ask in front of him.” Vilkas sighed and nodded. After a moment Farkas quietly asked, “So does it make it easier? For you?”

“Not really,” he said in a tired voice. “It really doesn’t help at all.”

Farkas put his hand on his twin’s shoulder and asked with worry, “What are you going to do, Vilkas? Not just today. How are you supposed to keep going like this?”

“I don’t really have a choice. I will just keep doing what I’m doing, and Divines forgive me but Ulfric isn’t going to live forever.”

Farkas said with disapproval, “That’s a shitty thing to say.”

“And yet it is the truth.” He left it at that. Farkas would never find out how very true it was. That Bryn was here now to forge new dragonscale armor sent a shiver of foreboding through Vilkas. It meant that she had reason to believe war was coming. War meant battle, and Ulfric was not young, and he would refuse to sit this out. He had been dreaming of slaughtering Elves for the last thirty years and would never pass up the opportunity to take out as many of them as he could. Vilkas just hoped that the war didn’t end up taking out Ulfric too.

“I know he’s a lot older than her, but he’s only fifty-one. He could live another twenty or thirty years. Are you really going to just suffer the whole time?”

“And what would my other option be?” he retorted. He shook his head and headed for the stairs to the lower level. “Just let it be. I’m staying downstairs if she wants to come in and have a bite to eat. Where are Hadvar and Ralof?”

“They kept going to Riverwood, to spend a few days with their families.” Vilkas stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to look at him, appalled. Farkas shrugged. “What’s going to happen to her here? Whiterun is home. She can just be herself here. The guys remind her too much that she’s Queen. Maybe she just wants to be the old Bryn for a few days.”

“Sure,” he said with a nod. _Home,_ he thought painfully as he went down. Whiterun should have been her home, forever. So much of her pain could have been avoided. She still might have become Queen, would still want to fight the Dominion, but all of the grief surrounding Ulfric would never have happened. He liked to think she and Ulfric could have become friends, which was what they had originally intended. Well Ulfric had been a fool to think he could taste the Dragonborn just once and be satisfied with that, almost as big a fool as Bryn had been to think she could casually sleep with a man and not end up loving him. Her heart was too big for that, and as an Agent of Mara, and Dibella, some part of her no doubt knew that Ulfric needed her, and not for just a single roll in the furs. She had known that just as some part of her had known that going back to Vilkas was a mistake, and so she had trusted to paper what should have been said in person. Well, if she hadn’t done that Vilkas wouldn’t have learned his lesson quite so well, and wouldn’t have become the Harbinger he was, and would still develop into. He knew damn well that for the three of them to be who they were meant to be that things had to work out this way. After spending those six weeks talking to her constantly he knew that quite well, and so did she, and most likely so did Ulfric. Vilkas just wished all the hurt hadn’t been necessary.

He returned to his quarters, sighing heavily as he looked around. He had no idea what to do with himself. He had no books that hadn’t been read, no clothes that needed mending or washing, he’d just bathed last night, the archives were in perfect order, he couldn’t go outside to spar with anyone or exercise… He would be bored out of his mind down here. There was simply no way he could tolerate staying down here. He heard a number of footsteps overhead as people came back inside. He supposed he could put on some of his light leather hunting gear and see if maybe Avulstein Gray-Mane wanted to go for a hunt on the plains, and it would give him a chance to talk to the younger man again about joining the Companions. He had tested Avulstein and the former Stormcloak had a great deal of potential; his only hang-up was his uncle, and frankly the old man wasn’t going to be around for more than five years at best.

Decided, he stripped off his linen tunic and went to the wardrobe, tossing the shirt onto the bed. He held the doors open and muttered to himself, “How the hell am I going to do this for three or four days?”

“I’m sorry, but some things can’t be rushed, _grohiiki.”_

“Damn it!” he whispered fiercely, shocked as hell by the soft comment behind him. Right behind him. “What are you doing down here!” he said in dismay. He was all too aware that he had no shirt on, and he folded his arms, wishing he didn’t have to turn around to grab the shirt. Damn sneaky woman!

“I came to see you. I’ve missed you.” Bryn had nearly forgotten too just what she had been missing. Over a year and a half now they had been apart, but she still couldn’t understand how she had forgotten what he looked like. She watched the muscles move under his fair skin and it was torture of the sweetest kind. To her he was male beauty personified. Perfection. It drove home to her just what thin ice the two of them had been walking on in Solstheim. Very, very thin.

“Farkas said you’ve been asking about me,” he said in disapproval. “You weren’t supposed to be doing that.”

“I said I wouldn’t write to you anymore, or visit with you. I’ve kept my word. Well, until today.”

Vilkas said through gritted teeth, “You should not be down here, Brynhilde. This…this is a problem.”

“Why is that?”

“Because…merciful Dibella, I shouldn’t even have to explain why it’s…” He trailed off as he felt the air currents behind him change, and a moment later he felt her arms go around him, cool and bare, then the press of her lips between his shoulder blades.

“I won’t let anything happen, beloved,” she murmured against his skin. She drew in a long, deep breath, savoring his scent, so different than Ulfric’s yet still familiar. How she had missed this!

Vilkas shuddered as one hand came to rest across his chest as the other lightly slid across his stomach. “Ah gods, don’t do that,” he whispered, the sound so weak and unconvincing that even he could barely hear it. The feel of a woman’s skin against his own after so long made the desire so sudden and unbearable that he could feel it moving in time with his pulse, hot and insistent. He felt her lay her head on his shoulder, and he opened his mouth to demand she leave but only breath came out, his throat dry. She put both arms around his waist, holding him, then when he was sure she was going to leave it at that he felt her take hold of his right wrist and gently draw his hand down toward his groin. He whispered faintly, “We can’t…it isn’t right.”

“I’m not doing anything but holding you,” she whispered against his neck, “and you aren’t doing anything to me, are you?” She had to do something, give him some outlet. She could feel him practically shaking with need, and if she couldn’t have any relief then at least he should. She had gone home to Ulfric after Solstheim and had been regularly enjoying his attentions, while all poor Vilkas had was his own hand. At least this way she was here with him and giving him what she could.

“Damn it,” he muttered helplessly, and he reached down to undo his pants and free himself. Bryn slowly ran her hands over his chest and stomach as he began stroking himself, his face burning with the shame of it and how weak he was. Maybe if he had taken care of it this morning as he usually did he wouldn’t be in this predicament, but he had been worried about oversleeping and didn’t want to get caught in the middle of it by Farkas; his twin usually woke him up then left him alone. Well, he also wouldn’t be in this predicament if Bryn had behaved herself. He was nearly as annoyed as he was aroused, but when she began tenderly kissing along his shoulder and neck the arousal quickly won out. He heard Bryn’s breathy sigh of lust as he bit his lip against a moan of release, barely managing to direct it onto the stone floor and not the clean clothes in his wardrobe. He felt her grip tighten on him as she moved against him, then she went still, trembling. He pulled up his underclothes and fastened up his pants, saying in a quiet, shaking voice, “You should not have done that.”

“I know.”

Vilkas tried to be angry with her, but the meek sound of her voice, the guilt and sorrow in it, stopped him from snapping at her. It was true that this wasn’t technically cheating, but Ulfric would be deeply hurt if he found out. He sighed and pried her arms off, keeping hold of one wrist as he turned around to look at her. He clucked his tongue as her eyes traveled over him then she made a sound of pain and squeezed her eyes shut. He let go of her long enough to grab his shirt and pull it on, then he moved close to her and took her into his arms. She whimpered and held him tightly, quickly loosening her grip when he made a sound of discomfort. There was no armor between them, and he could feel himself threatening to rise again. She was wearing a sleeveless tunic and leather pants, probably her smithing clothes, though they looked new. Her hair was braided back, and he ran its pale blond length through his hand, surprised by how far it hung down her back.

“I’m sorry.” She opened her eyes and lowered them to the floor, and she felt an almost painful tightening in her belly at the sight of his seed spread across the stone. No, she shouldn’t have done what she did, and she could never tell Ulfric, any more than she could tell him how she had thrown herself at Vilkas way back when. Ulfric had been nothing but sweet to her. His lingering racism and refusal to bend any further on it was a frequent bone of contention between them, but their marriage was strong, well able to weather the little storms, and he met her needs more than adequately. But one sight of Vilkas’ skin and all common sense had flown out the window.

“Ah love,” Vilkas sighed. “I’m not angry, I just… This could have been worse. Much worse.”

“I know.” It had taken all her self-control, every ounce of it, to keep it to just that.

“Why did you do it?”

“Because I have Ulfric all the time and you have no one. It isn’t fair. And…I couldn’t…I saw you and I couldn’t keep my hands off you. _Rul Zu’u koraav brit grohiiki, Zu’u los vothni buriis.”_

_“Buriis?”_

“Hope.”

“Ah.” _When I see my beautiful wolf, I am without hope._ He was a bit rusty, though he had tried to retain what he’d learned. The sweet sentiment warmed him, and he held her tightly and murmured against her hair, “I’ve missed you, love. It’s been too long.” He felt her nod. If it hadn’t been driven home to him before, the last nine months had certainly proven that he was completely and hopelessly trapped in a permanent mating to her. His love for her had never wavered, and he had been approached by enough women during that time that it was patently obvious that he simply wasn’t physically capable of doing anything about it. The women were always puzzled, sometimes offended. And he wasn’t breathing a word of it to Bryn. He remembered quite well her possessive anger over Frea’s interest. He asked her, “How is Ulfric?”

“Fine. The same, mostly.” She huffed and said, “He’s really dug in on allowing Dunmer to work in the Palace. I can’t get him to bend on the matter at all. We had a terrible fight about it a few weeks ago and he actually had the nerve to tell me that at this point in his life he didn’t feel he should have to learn to accept it, that I would get to do what I wanted with his Palace soon enough.” Vilkas made a sound of dismay at that. “Yes, it was awful. Truly awful. I started bawling and he instantly felt horrible and apologized, but…he’s so damned stubborn sometimes I feel like banging my head against the wall.”

“Those walls are nearly five thousand years old. Probably best you don’t.” She sniffed a short laugh. He changed the subject by asking, “Did you see how…er, never mind. You’ve been seeing Jergen this whole time.”

“He’s a beautiful baby, but…good grief.”

“Yes, he’s large.” He was actually a little on the fat side, but everyone seemed to think he would lose a few of his rolls once he started walking. He was just now starting to crawl. He was a lovely boy though, with Lydia’s brown hair and her mouth. He had Farkas’ eye shape but his eyes were turning hazel, a color that didn’t run on Lydia’s side of the family, either side. They could only assume it came from one of the twins’ unknown parents, something that made the loss fresh all over again. They would never know, and that was simply how it was.

“I hope Lydia’s prepared to start chasing him everywhere. She needs help here now that Aerin is down at the Bannered Mare.” He and Ysolda had finally purchased it about four months ago, and Hulda had retired down to Bruma to live with her son’s family. Ysolda’s adopted daughter Lucia helped with the cleaning and seemed happy there, and from what Lydia said had actually gotten very attached to Aerin, resulting in some travelers assuming that Ysolda and Aerin were married and Lucia was their daughter. It would have been a tidy solution if Aerin liked women a bit more than he did.

“Yes, we’re not sure yet what to do about that. She doesn’t have time to be a Tilma, and no one would want her to. She’s too skilled a trainer and warrior to be a maid, especially with the baby to take care of. She wants to start running jobs once he’s a little older.” She was a full member of the Companions and had been for over six months now, something that Vilkas had needed to get Balgruuf’s permission for. The Jarl knew damn well that Bryn would never take Lydia out adventuring ever again and had given his reluctant blessing to it, but he had called Lydia in front of him and had made her swear that if Bryn ever needed her that she would be there. Needless to say Lydia had taken affront to any suggestion that she wouldn’t be.

“She told me. It would be good for her.” And Lydia had made it clear that she and Farkas would never do jobs together, or at the same time, to avoid the risk of Jergen losing both parents.

“Did you see Skjorta?”

“Briefly. She’s a bit shy, and it’s been a while.” The toddler was pretty, with light brown hair and her father’s brow and eyes, though green like Aela’s, and when she’d scowled at Bryn it was like a tiny female Skjor standing there.

“She’s a fierce little creature, like her mother. Thoughtful, like Skjor, always mulling something over. I swear sometimes when she’s angry it’s like him looking at you.”

Bryn laughed, “I was just thinking the same thing.” They both fell silent and held each other a while, Bryn thinking about Skjor, how he had died not knowing about his child. She wondered if his last thoughts had been of Aela. She hoped so. Flashes of how they had found him crossed her mind, stuck in beast form and butchered, and she prayed that Aela didn’t remember him that way. She still couldn’t understand how Aela hadn’t wept when they found him. As far as Bryn knew Aela had never shed a single tear over her mate’s death.

After over a minute of silence Vilkas softly asked, “What did you find in Skuldafn?”

“What I was looking for.”

“Did you read the Scroll?”

“Yes. Then it disappeared, finally. It got what it wanted. If such a thing can want.” She felt him fidget, and she waited for him to ask what she had seen, and he didn’t. His self-control was surprising. She carefully said, “Paarthurnax was the one who suggested reading the Scroll one more time.” She snorted a laugh. “With an appalling casualness. As if suggesting I go look out a window. I found his confidence in me touching, and I asked if he really thought that was a good idea, and he stated, ‘It is an idea.’”

She finally loosened her grip on him, and he let go of her with reluctance as he asked, “So what happened?”

“I bent Time to my will.” He grunted at that, frowning, and she sighed and looked away, her eyes landing on the creamy wet spot on the floor. Vilkas made a sound of embarrassment and hurried over to clean it up, grabbing a pair of clean socks to do so, then shoving them back in the wardrobe and closing it. His cheeks were pink when he turned back to her, and she smiled at his discomfiture and how boyish it was. “You feel better though, don’t you?”

“Stop it,” he demanded, folding his arms. “Tell me about what you did. How did you bend Time? With the Scroll?”

“Yes, a Scroll is needed to do such a thing. That particular Scroll is tied to dragon-kind and the Dragonborn. It was one thing when I read the Scrolls to find out where Auriel’s Bow was; then, I passively opened them and accepted whatever they showed me. This time I wanted to know specific things. I wanted to know why I’ve been forced to become so ridiculously overpowered. It was bad enough before, but this thing with Miraak…that pushed things so far that I felt there was a reason. A reason why all of this happened now: my birth, the civil war, the dragons, the vampires, Miraak. The Divines want something from me. The Divines set in motion events that will prevent this world from ending, as it has so many times before, with me at the crux of it all. On the boat, while we were coming home, I kept mulling it over, trying to put all the pieces together, having trouble seeing them all properly. The Scroll helped me do that.”

“But…how?”

Bryn frowned, nibbling at her bottom lip, trying to think of how to explain it. She raised her hands and cupped them, as if holding a ball, and said, “I grasped Time. I…pulled and pushed at it, along the timeline of my existence. I followed the thread both directions, to see the events along that thread. I followed it all the way back to my conception, so that I could see my parents, and I did, and they were… beautiful.” She heard a sound of sorrow from Vilkas but didn’t stop, wanting to get this all out. “I followed it the other direction—“

“To the end? Tell me you didn’t see your own end.”

“No, I did not.”

“So what is your purpose, your fate?” Bryn hesitated, looking reluctant to answer. Not troubled exactly, and she didn’t seem upset about her fate. His eyebrows rose and he asked with mock wonder, “Will you become the tenth Divine?”

She laughed and waved him off, sitting down on the edge of his bed. She had never slept in it as Harbinger, and didn’t think she and Vilkas had ever made love on it. It would have seemed disrespectful to do so, after Kodlak’s death. “No, heavens no.”

He sat down close to her and prompted, “Well?”

Bryn shook her head and said, “Don’t, Vilkas honey. Really. It isn’t bad, it’s just…odd. Hard for some to accept.”

“Who, Ulfric?” _Vilkas honey._ It had been so long since she had called him that. Even on Solstheim she hadn’t called him that.

“Maybe.” 

He took her hand, and she made a sound of happiness and twined her fingers with his. She leaned against his shoulder and reached her other hand over to run her fingers along the bracelet that hadn’t left his wrist in over two years. “I heard he flew to Skuldafn on a dragon. I think it helped his reputation with some people. Made him seem brave and honorable, if still not likable. I think I would have pissed myself.”

“No, I don’t think you would have. He didn’t enjoy it, believe me. He didn’t enjoy much about Skuldafn at all.” She put her hand over Vilkas’, and he put his other on top, and it was as if they hadn’t just spent three quarters of a year apart. It was comfortable. “I passed out for a while, after reading the Scroll. The dragons were concerned and fetched him to care for me. I would have been fine, in hindsight, but right before I read the Scroll I told them to get him if something didn’t seem right. It was brave of him to go there, it really was. When he arrived there were dragons everywhere. Over a dozen. All my beautiful brothers, and Odahviing kept me warm and sheltered from the elements. It was…touching. Strange though, to see his behavior towards me change. All the dragons’ did, to some extent. They saw everything I saw. They know that you will be _ahmuli._ They saw our children.”

“Children,” he whispered. “Children? You saw the vision again?”

“No. I tried to and wasn’t successful. But I saw many other things. I saw the children grown. I saw the boy, he’s…he’s definitely Ulfric’s son. There is no doubt whatsoever of that. I saw our children together, but…I’m not going to tell you about them. Not how many, not their genders, not what they look like, nothing. I won’t ruin the surprise. But they’re beautiful. Brilliant, all of them Dragonborn, Ulfric’s son too. Ulfric’s son will be High King of Skyrim and Jarl of Eastmarch. One of your children will rule the Empire, when I retire back to Skyrim. We retire, I should say.”

“We?” he said faintly, reeling slightly from the revelations.

“You and I will grow very, very old together, beloved.” She felt his hands tighten on hers, and when she looked up at him he was staring at her, breathing unevenly, his eyes shining. She freed one hand to lay it on his cheek. “I should let you know, you’ll age well.”

Vilkas laughed shortly and shook his head, still stunned by all this. “I…can’t imagine how you did it. Grasped Time. Saw all the things you did. Your own parents.”

“I could only move along the thread of my own life, but it was wonderful to finally know what they look like. They were lying in a tent together, naked, on campaign I think, and…you can’t imagine how gorgeous they were. All my other visions were seen from my own point of view, but that one I saw as if I was hovering above them.”

“Perhaps it was your soul, waiting to take root.”

“Blessed Arkay,” she breathed in astonishment. “I…never, I didn’t think of it that way.”

“If Akatosh created your dragon soul, if the Divines caused your birth to come about, perhaps they chose your parents for a reason. Perhaps your soul was hovering there, waiting for the right moment, for life to spark.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m glad you were able to see them. Farkas and I would give anything to know who our parents were. We look at Jergen and see things in him that don’t come from Farkas or Lydia. It’s something we will never know, but I am glad for you. What did they look like?”

“My mother looked a lot like me, but much prettier.” Vilkas scoffed at that. “She was built like me, more heavily built than my father. He was slender, like most mer. Really tall, even for Altmer. Mother’s hair was more of a honey blond, and her eyes were bright blue. Father’s hair was the color of mine, but short. He was so handsome, with high cheekbones and golden eyes. They looked so young. Well, I suppose they were young. And they were so in love. They looked at each other like no one else in the world existed, and I saw the wedding rings on their fingers. Gold rings.” Her expression hardened as she added, “I am very much looking forward to correcting my aunt and grandmother on that account. I should rub their noses in the marriage certificate.”

“Come now, love. They lied and you know they lied. They told you bald-faced lies because it was what they wanted to believe. They couldn’t imagine why an Altmer would want to marry a Nord.”

“Well, I hope they are extremely contrite about it when I see them. And I hope my uncle is there. I do so hope he will be there. I will thoroughly enjoy rubbing his nose in what I am. The girl who was barely good enough to scrub his floors will become his Empress, and he is still nothing but a merchant.”

Hearing the edge to her voice as it began to rumble ominously, and he let go of her hand to put his arm around her shoulders. “Good, I hope you do. Perhaps you will finally be able to find out what happened to your worthless cousin.”

“Maybe.”

“So is it close then?” he asked with worry. “War?”

“Yes. I’m heading to the Imperial City next month. The Emperor is tired of waiting. He’s summoned the Ambassador of the Aldmeri Dominion from Alinor to stand in front of the Elder Council. He’s going to dump the heads of the Thalmor out in front of him.” The Dominion knew what had happened to that Thalmor ship. Word had spread all through Skyrim like wildfire, and therefore had spread through the Empire, and maybe beyond. The Dominion knew, and they hadn’t even acknowledged it. Their silence on the matter was more terrifying than their anger would have been. Bryn was tempted to take some dragons with her to Cyrodiil, to send out as scouts to see just what was going on in Valenwood and Alinor. They were readying for war, no doubt about it, and probably in as sneaky a way as before. Well, she was definitely taking Odahviing; he had let her know in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t leaving Skyrim again without him shadowing her, if only from a distance. She shook her head and went on, “I have no mind for this sort of thing. Troop movements, politics… Ulfric does, but me? Hopeless.”

“You’re a weapon in human form. They’ll just unsheathe you and point you at the enemy.” He watched Bryn frown slightly as she tried to place the familiar quote, then she burst into laughter. Which had been his objective.

“I hope that’s about all they expect of me. I’m really not trained to lead armies. Ulfric has tried to teach me what he knows and I can tell he gets frustrated. He started commanding troops when he was still in his teens and has a natural talent for military matters. I have none.”

“Frankly I think I would have no head for it either. The Companions operate in twos and threes, nothing more than that.” He wasn’t at all looking forward to going to war. Much like Bryn, he would simply have to be told where to go and what to do. At least he had a fairly good assurance that he would survive it. He let go of Bryn as he heard someone come through the door at the end of the hall, and he quietly said, “I notice you never told me your fate. What could be so terrible that Ulfric had trouble with it?”

“I’m going to turn into a dragon.” Vilkas stared blankly at her, as if not sure how to react to the statement, which had been blurted out before she lost her courage. She hadn’t intended to tell Vilkas, but to think she could keep such a thing from him for half a century was laughable. She couldn’t do it. And if anyone had earned her trust it was Vilkas, after what they had been through last year. Vilkas had seen her do things that would curl Ulfric’s hair. She grimaced and said in a rush, “When my time comes, instead of dying or becoming a Divine like Talos I’ll transform into a dragon. The prophecy said the Empire and my bloodline will endure as long as there are dragons, so I’m going to become one and always watch over everything, the dragons and the Empire and our descendants. That is my purpose, and I’m happy with it, but Ulfric freaked out over it, and we had some problems when I first went home because of it, but I think he’s fine now.” And that was all Vilkas needed to know about it. If he figured out more than that on his own over the years, fine, but she wasn’t going to be the one to tell him, and Lydia sure wouldn’t.

“Did…does Lydia know?”

“Yes, she knows everything. But she knows things I haven’t told you. Things I really don’t want to talk about, and would rather she didn’t talk about. Nothing earth-shattering, I promise, just things I had to get off my chest, so please don’t ask her.” Vilkas nodded. She went on in an almost pleading tone, “I know it’s strange, and it means I won’t go to Sovngarde, but some part of me always knew I wouldn’t anyway.”

Vilkas sighed and shook his head, putting one hand on her shoulder as the other cupped her cheek. “You are dragon-souled, love,” he said quietly, a touch of sadness in his voice. “You are a dragon, simple as that. I saw that last year. Ulfric hasn’t seen you in battle, or using your _thu’um,_ or taking a dragon’s soul, as I have. He reacted badly because it was the first time he really realized what you are. You were only Dragonborn to him before, only his wife, but to know that you are more than that…it had to have been hard for him, and if he found out while you were in Skuldafn, surrounded by dragons, I’m sure it was terrifying for him. To know you were one of them.”

“So…you’re fine with it?”

He laughed shortly. “It isn’t my place to be fine with it or not. It is what you are, and what will happen, and it seems fitting, and if it makes you happy then so be it. Maybe when we go to war Ulfric will finally understand what you are.”

“Oh, I think he has a good idea of that, after I Shouted the dragon aspect in our bedroom.” Ah, but her beloved’s words were touching, and reassuring.

“That was mean.”

“He asked for it.” Literally, but she left it at that. She heard Farkas’ distinctive heavy footsteps coming and stifled a sigh of regret as Vilkas let go of her.

Farkas poked his head in the door, and he frowned as he saw his brother and Bryn standing close together. In Vilkas’ private quarters. Vilkas had the decency to look slightly embarrassed by it, but Bryn gazed back calmly, refusing to give away anything. “Uh…the old man’s ready for you,” he told her haltingly, while staring at his twin, who narrowed his eyes at him. “I mean, the Skyforge is ready. To start.”

“All right, big bear,” she murmured, going to Farkas and patting his cheek. “Do you think Eorlund will get upset when I use potions to finish up the armor?”

“Probably, but I guess that’s his problem. Gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Well then, time to get out there.” Farkas grunted in assent, still staring at his brother, and when she hooked her arm through his he shook himself and let himself be led along. She wasn’t going to leave him behind to ask Vilkas what was going on, or what they had been talking about. Vilkas’ emotions were always plain to see on his face, and always had been, and while Farkas would no doubt lay into him later, she wasn’t going to let it happen now. “How many bones and scales were left?”

“Oh…fifteen bones and twenty-seven scales. Plenty.”

“I think I’m going to try reinforcing the scales with Dwemer metal instead of iron or steel. How many ingots does Eorlund have in stock?”

Farkas blew out a breath then thought about it for a moment before grimacing. “Don’t know if he has any. If he doesn’t have enough Adrianne might. Belethor probably carries some too. Probably stock that you sold them ages ago. Might be some stored away in Breezehome too. I’ll ask Lydia.” He glanced behind him and saw Vilkas trailing after them. He should have known when Bryn disappeared where she had gone to. It bothered him that Bryn had come down here and that the two were chatting alone in Vilkas’ bedroom. Vilkas had been blushing slightly too. As if caught at something. Bryn hadn’t, but then being Queen for nearly two years had given her the ability to hide her thoughts and emotions extremely well. Farkas just never imagined she would hide them from him. That she had meant she was hiding something. He knew she would never cheat on Ulfric; if she hadn’t during the trip to Solstheim then she never would. He saw every time he and Lydia visited how much Bryn loved her husband, and Ulfric adored her right back. They made a good couple, even if their strong wills occasionally clashed. But then Bryn and Vilkas made a good couple too. They seemed to make a better one than Bryn and Ulfric in some ways. Vilkas was strong-willed too, but he wasn’t stubborn to a fault as Ulfric sometimes was. Vilkas was able to bend when it came to Bryn. Ulfric usually did too, but only after initially stiffening and digging in a bit. Vilkas handled Bryn with touches of humor and charm that Ulfric frankly didn’t have. Ulfric loved Bryn every bit as much as Vilkas did though, if not more. There was no doubt about that. 

Farkas felt Bryn pat his arm, and he shook himself and said, “Huh?”

“I said, I hope Eorlund doesn’t put up a fuss about my smithing gear either.”

“Oh. Yeah. He probably will, you know how he is. Well, he probably won’t say a word about it, but he’ll get that look on his face.”

Bryn glanced behind them to see Vilkas still following, about ten feet behind them. “I’m going to enchant your armor before we go to war.”

“No you’re not,” Vilkas stated firmly.

“Yes I am, and that’s final.”

“Whatever. I say you’re not.”

As they came to the door she let go of Farkas and looked at Vilkas, who stared back with slight annoyance. “Ulfric’s armor is enchanted to the hilt.”

“He is not a Companion.”

“Mjoll’s sword is enchanted. Everything Lydia owns is enchanted.”

“They came to us later, after they already had those things.”

“Is there a rule somewhere that Companions don’t use enchanted gear?”

“It is a tradition. You know that.”

Upset, she said, “You’re really going to leave yourself vulnerable like that. Let me worry.”

“Come now, you had no reason to worry when we were on Solstheim,” he soothed, putting his hands on her shoulders. “How often was I injured?”

“We weren’t surrounded by hundreds if not thousands of enemies!”

“We fought dragons, four times. A dragon is worth a dozen at least.”

“We’ll be fighting Elves. Who use magic. They all use magic.”

“Yes, and we won’t be fighting alone.” He gave her a gentle shake and moved to kiss her forehead, then he heard a throat clearing next to him. “Eh…right. You have some smithing to do.”

Farkas muttered, “Yeah, we do.” Vilkas’ eyes slid over to him sideways, his twin looking uncomfortable, but Bryn grabbed Farkas’ arm again before he could say anything. He grumbled and went along, but he wasn’t going to just let this go. Vilkas was tampering with someone else’s marriage, and Bryn was letting him. It didn’t matter that there was a mating bond there; there wasn’t on Bryn’s part, and like it or not she was married to another man, a man that Farkas liked. Well, it didn’t matter if he actually liked the guy or not; Ulfric was Bryn’s husband, end of story. Marriage was sacred, no matter how it came about, and it looked like he was the one who was going to have to remind Vilkas of that.


	64. Chapter 64

As Vilkas walked up the steps to Jorrvaskr he felt a zing of anxiety go through him to see his twin standing there, his arms crossed, a deep frown on his face. It was late, way past the time Farkas was usually home with his wife and child, in fact Farkas had walked them home an hour ago so Lydia could put the baby to bed after dinner. Dinner had been pleasant, having most of the Companions present again, and Bryn had sat at his side the whole time, except for a few times that she had gotten up to spin tales in her usual way, as riveting as any Bard’s tale could be; the others had begged for stories of Solstheim, which Vilkas hadn’t been terribly eager to share in a group setting prior to this, but with Bryn there it had been entirely different, and he had added in his comments here and there, more than happy to relive the adventure with his beloved there. Everyone had been delighted, but Farkas had watched him through the whole dinner with a weird expression, one he had done his best to ignore. Well there was no ignoring it now.

“What is wrong?” he asked, sure that he didn’t really want to know.

“Walked her back to the palace, huh?”

“Yes, of course I did. Why wouldn’t I? You think the High Queen of Skyrim should just walk around without a proper escort?” It wasn’t that she needed one; even unarmed she was safer in Whiterun than anywhere else in the world. The people here loved her and treated her like one of their own. She was _their_ Dragonborn. She was always happy here. She had been so happy tonight too, and so beautiful with her pale blond hair loose around her like a maiden, wearing a pretty, simple yellow dress, looking like a ray of sunshine. It had been the complete opposite of how she had looked at the forge, sweaty and streaked with soot and grime, her hair bound up into a bun to keep it out of the way, the muscles in her arms rippling as she worked. She was all business at the forge, her and Eorlund. Vilkas had gone up every so often to see what they were doing, wanting to witness at least parts of the forging of a legendary set of armor, and Farkas had warned him away with his gaze every time. Not that he had let himself get warned away.

“A guard could have walked her back,” Farkas stated. “Mjoll could’ve.”

“And the point of that would be what exactly?”

“Property.”

Vilkas blinked in confusion then asked in annoyance, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“It isn’t proper,” Farkas insisted.

Vilkas sighed and said dryly, “You mean propriety?”

“Yeah, that.” His brother rubbed his hands over his face, huffing in aggravation, and Farkas moved closer to him and said in quiet warning, “You have to stay away from her, Vilkas.”

He threw his hands out to the side and exclaimed, “What the hell do you think I’ve been doing for the last nine months!”

“So keep doing it.”

Vilkas sneered as he said, “Oh, I see. You are her chaperone now, is that it? Guarding Ulfric’s ‘property’ for him? See, that is how you use the word property.”

“I’m going to punch you, asshole.”

Keeping hold of his temper with an effort, Vilkas stated, “She came to me. I was in my room getting ready to leave, damn it. I was going to see if Avulstein wanted to go out on a hunt for a few days, until she left. I’m not going to turn my back on her and ignore her when she comes to me. I can’t do it. I won’t do it.”

“She’s Ulfric’s wife. She’s another man’s wife.”

“I am well aware of that. Believe me, I never forget that,” he said through gritted teeth, trying desperately not to call his twin an idiot. Farkas really would take a swing at him then. Farkas didn’t spend nearly as much time training as he used to, but working at the forge every day had made him stronger than ever, monstrously strong, and if he connected it would do some serious damage. Not that Vilkas would let him connect.

“She shouldn’t have been in your bedroom. I wanted you two to be able to be around each other, but not down there. Alone.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and tell her that then, because I was minding myself when she came in there.” And put her hands all over him, driving him out of his mind. He thanked Dibella and Mara both that she hadn’t done that in Solstheim, because if she had he would have taken her. He knew he would have.

“She’s the Queen, I can’t tell her that.”

Vilkas moved around him and warned, “You need to mind your own damn business, brother. Bryn and I have honored her marriage vows, under conditions that were much more intimate than my room.”

“No, I don’t think they were.”

Hearing his brother follow, Vilkas turned in front of the doors to Jorrvaskr and said in a dangerous tone, “She and I could have done whatever we wanted the entire time we were in Solstheim and Ulfric never would have known the difference. We kept her vows because of our own honor, because she didn’t want to hurt him. I don’t like him all that much, but I don’t dislike him either, and no matter what I feel for her, no matter that I feel that she is my wife, by law she is _his_ wife, and I have never slept with another man’s wife, even at my worst.”

Farkas sighed, “I know that, but—”

“But what? Because I have no idea what you’re getting at. I’ve stayed away from her. I haven’t even asked about her when you visit her. I stayed away from her this time too, and she came to me, and I’m not going to turn away from her when she’s right there in front of me. She is a Companion and a member of the Circle, and she is my…”

“What, mate?”

“I’m not an animal!” Not any longer. His soul had been clean for so long that he almost couldn’t remember what it had been like to be one…to always fight the urges, to always fight to keep his mind focused on the task at hand, to keep his temper in check, often failing. Aela was still content with what she was, but she was a rather dispassionate person. Vilkas felt things too keenly to tolerate having beastblood. He was the worst possible person to have ever taken it on.

“Yeah, neither am I, but Lydia is my mate just as Bryn is yours, and its forever, and maybe the problem is that I don’t want you and Bryn hurting each other. Not on purpose, just because of how things are.”

“She and I got over the hurt long ago.”

“How?” Vilkas frowned at him, looking suddenly wary. “Tell me how you two worked all that out. Tell me why you’re so damn calm about things. You have been since Riften. I know I still don’t have the whole story. I’m sick of being left out of everything. You and Lydia know everything, so why don’t I? I’m not smart enough to know, is that it?”

Vilkas sighed and said with regret, “You know that isn’t why.”

“It hurts that Bryn didn’t tell me. You two used to tell me everything. You two used to trust me.”

“That isn’t it at all,” he said painfully. “It isn’t all mine to tell. There is more than just me and Bryn involved.”

“You and Bryn aren’t involved, Vilkas.”

“Yes, we are. There are different kinds of involvement. We’re emotionally involved. And Ulfric is caught up in it, but he and I made our beds and now we’re lying in them. Bryn should have come back to Whiterun after Sovngarde, but it wasn’t her fault that the letter got lost, stolen, whatever. She did nothing wrong, and if I had wanted her bad enough, if I hadn’t been a coward, I should have gone after her the moment I knew she was alive. But I didn’t, and I lied about not getting the letter, and so did Ulfric, and so we’re all doing the best we can. I can’t control that she’s asking about me every time you visit, and the Divines only know what she’s talking to Lydia about when they’re alone, but I can’t control that. I can’t control what she does. No one can.”

Farkas made a sound of frustration and asked, “But _why_ is Bryn still emotionally involved with you?”

“Why wouldn’t she be?”

He grunted and said, “You think kinda highly of yourself.” Vilkas rolled his eyes. “I mean she has no mating bond to you. So she knows about the one you have, okay, fine, but she doesn’t have one, so she should’ve been over you a long time ago and thinking of you as nothing but a friend, and all along she hasn’t been able to do that. So she would’ve picked you if you two had told her about the letter, yeah, I get that too. But she should be over you by now, and I want to know why she isn’t, because you know why, and so does Ulfric, and so does Lydia but I can’t make punkin tell me.” His wife was his biggest weakness, other than the baby, and the thought of confronting her about anything filled him with an overwhelming anxiety. Well he had no such problem with his brother.

“I don’t want to tell you either,” Vilkas said quietly, “and it isn’t because you’re stupid, because you aren’t.” If Farkas was stupid he wouldn’t have put all this together. He took longer to come to some conclusions, but he did come to them most of the time, and while he did end up staring off into space at times it was because he was thinking hard about something, not that he wasn’t thinking at all.

“Then why? Is it ‘cause you don’t trust me to keep my mouth shut about it?”

“No, not at all. You’ve never broken my trust or anyone else’s, ever.”

“Then what?” he asked in exasperation. Vilkas chewed at his bottom lip and Farkas could sense him weakening. “I just want to know, okay? I won’t talk to anyone about it, even Lydia. I sure as hell won’t talk to Ulfric about it. I won’t even let him see it on my face.”

“You might not be able to help that.”

“I don’t have your problem.”

“This…this is a big deal,” Vilkas said with worry. Gods how he wanted to tell his brother. Farkas was right that they used to tell each other everything. Farkas still told Vilkas everything, even things Vilkas wished he wouldn’t. Well, Farkas had kept the Circle’s secret for nearly fifteen years, when Skjor and Aela had both worried he wouldn’t be able to. Vilkas had argued quite passionately that Farkas could be trusted with anything, that there was no one more trustworthy. Farkas had never proved him wrong.

“Yeah, I kind of guessed that.”

“It’s something that causes Bryn an enormous amount of pain, Farkas. She hates talking about it. She does her best to not even think about it. It’s something that nearly destroyed her, that still might do so. If she knows that you know she will get very upset. She might even cry.”

“I hate it when women cry.”

“Yes, me too.” Farkas stared at him expectantly, waiting. “That dream I had,” Vilkas began. He supposed this was just how it had to be. “The one where Bryn had just given birth to a baby girl and I was holding our older son.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“It wasn’t just a dream. Bryn was reading the Elder Scrolls right then, and because I was asleep my mind was open to it, because I was there in that vision. She saw the same thing I did, from her point of view. The girl was mine, but the boy…he’s Ulfric’s son, and the room was their bedroom in the Palace of the Kings. It was a vision of the future. The…not very far away future, because she says I didn’t look any older than I do now.” That still gave them a few years.

Farkas’ expression crumpled, and he whispered with grief, “Ulfric’s gonna die?”

“Yes. Bryn read the Scroll again in Skuldafn, and it showed our children grown up, and Bryn and me, growing old together.” He took a deep breath and went on, “And I’m terrified over this war. Not for my own sake, but for his. Going into battle is not an older man’s game. Ulfric is fifty-one. I’m not particularly young either, but I spend every day training and sparring, and I am not being vain when I say that after Solstheim I’m not sure anyone but Bryn could take me down, and even then she might have to use Shouts to do it. I’m not young, but I’m still in my prime. Ulfric is not.” Farkas looked heartbroken, and Vilkas put his hands on his shoulders and gently said, “Now do you see why we didn’t tell you?”

“Yeah.”

“Ulfric knows, and he has faced it with more bravery than I would show, but Bryn was devastated over this, and just two weeks before Aela’s wedding, when she finds out about the letter. It nearly ruined her marriage. She told me she would have chosen me, and Ulfric has said as much. If she had stayed with me she wouldn’t have felt such grief over losing him, but as it is now she loves him even more than she loves me.”

“You really think so.”

“Yes I do. They’ve been married a year and a half. They’ve been through hardships together. He has helped her become the Queen she is, and she has helped him try to get over his past. Someday she will come to love me every bit as much as she loves him, if not more, but I will always be competing with a ghost.” Farkas shuddered at the morbid statement. “It is hard to look at him and know this, but we all keep on as we must. He operates on the belief that his time with Bryn has been a gift, and I can’t help but believe it myself. If he hadn’t responded properly to Bryn’s overtures, if he had proven intractable and refused to stop his war effort, Bryn would have gone to Tullius. She wouldn’t have joined the Legion per se, but she would have put herself at Tullius’ disposal and ended the war on her own terms, and that would have meant Ulfric’s death. And Galmar’s, and probably Ralof’s. Bryn nearly killed Ulfric, you know. That dinner they had, when she gave him the dossier. She nearly assassinated him right then and there, and only her pity and compassion for him stayed her hand, and so here we are today.”

“Ah shit,” Farkas said in a choked voice. He hadn’t known any of this. He really wished he didn’t know.

Vilkas petted his brother’s hair, seeing how upset he was. He hated doing this to him, but Farkas could be as tenacious as a sabre cat when he got his mind fixed on something, and he wouldn’t have let up until Vilkas told him, so better to do it now, when he wasn’t due to see Ulfric for a while and could mull things over. “This is why Bryn asks about me, I think,” Vilkas went on. “It’s a comfort to her, knowing that we will be together again someday, that she won’t be left alone to grieve and raise the boy on her own. I’ve already promised them both that I will care for him as if he’s my own son. She asks if I’m doing all right because it reassures her that she will be all right. She came to see me today because she missed me and looking at me no doubt comforts her, because she knows we will grow old together, raise a family together.” He let his hands fall away. “But in the meantime, she craves a child and doesn’t dare get pregnant, somehow thinking that as long as she doesn’t Ulfric will live. She is certain that getting pregnant will mean the death of him.”

“But…it’s not like getting pregnant is what will kill him.”

“I’ve told her that. Lydia has told her that. So has Ulfric. It makes no difference. And so it torments her, desperately wanting a baby of her own yet knowing when it happens that it is the beginning of the end, in her mind.”

“She’s seen Sovngarde though. She’s been there.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t help much. She has seen that she’ll live a very long time. Without Ulfric. Knowing he’s in Sovngarde won’t help her here and now.” Especially knowing that she would never go there again to rejoin her husband. She would outlive her own children and descendants, something he wasn’t sure she had let herself contemplate. He gently slapped his brother on the back and said, “Go home to your wife and child, and try not to worry. There are enough other people doing so without adding you to it.”

“Yeah, like I’m going to be able to do that,” Farkas muttered. 

He turned away and went down the stairs, hoping he would be able to keep the knowledge of Ulfric’s fate off his face while working with Bryn tomorrow. She was very good at reading people and might figure out something was wrong. But then maybe she would just think he was still thinking about her and Vilkas being alone together. Farkas had always wanted his brother and Bryn to be together, but not like this, not at the cost of Ulfric’s life. It filled him with a terrible sense of dread, one that he knew couldn’t compare to Bryn’s. He didn’t know how she lived with it day in and day out. Maybe knowing Vilkas would always be there for her really was the only thing holding her together, and it made Farkas feel bad for being so disapproving of her visiting Vilkas if that was what gave her comfort. It was no wonder why she had been so depressed and anxious in Riften, and why Vilkas had behaved as he had. And Farkas was sure that he hadn’t even heard the half of it all. Well he’d be damned if he asked anything else. This was all more than enough for him to manage.

He went inside the house, locking the door behind him, the house dark except for faint candlelight upstairs. He slid his boots off then tiptoed upstairs as quietly as he could, which really wasn’t very quietly at all. Lydia was in bed with Jergen, both of them asleep, the baby with a nipple still in his mouth and one tiny hand on his mother’s breast, every so often giving a little suckle as he slept. Farkas stood at the end of the bed and watched them sleep, suddenly feeling near tears, something that didn’t happen very often. It wasn’t considered unmanly for a Nord man to show his feelings like that; he just rarely had any reason to cry. He felt like it now though, grieving Ulfric’s fate, grieving that he and Bryn and Vilkas were caught up in some horrible, inescapable love triangle. 

Looking at his wife and child reminded Farkas all over again how lucky he was. He had a beautiful, strong, smart wife and a handsome, healthy son, and he worked at a job he enjoyed more every year, and he was still a Companion, still a respected member of the Circle, still a strong warrior. He had a simple, wonderful life. Every once in a while he envied his brother, wished that he was just like him as he had been when they were babes, before that witch smashed him against the wall, but he didn’t remember any of that, and it seemed Vilkas’ brains got him into more trouble than they got him out of. Farkas didn’t want Vilkas’ responsibilities, his worries, his complications, because damn if the situation he was in right now wasn’t about as complicated as it got.

Farkas sighed heavily and changed into his summer nightshirt then slid into bed, and the creaking of the wood frame woke Lydia, though not the baby. She smiled sleepily at him, her blue eyes sparkling in the candlelight, and he grimaced in pain and petted loose hairs back from her face. He was such a lucky man. The luckiest in the world.

“What’s wrong, Farkas honey?” she whispered.

“Nothing. I just…I just love you. You and Jergen.” And that was no lie.

“Oh sweetie,” she sighed, touched. “I love you too.” He was such a kind, loving man. He didn’t often say it, but when he did he was really feeling it, and he always showed it. He leaned over the baby to kiss her, and when she felt his hand slide up her thigh to her hip she was more than happy to be awakened.  
-  
“Fantastic,” Ulfric breathed as he circled the mannequin. Bryn stood nearby beaming with pride, and it was well-deserved. This set of armor was somewhat like her last set, but the joints between the scales gleamed gold. “Is this…Dwemer metal?” he asked in astonishment. He had seen little of it in his life, but most of it that he had seen had been in Bryn’s homes…one full set of Dwemer armor in Honeyside, another in Vlindrel Hall in Markarth. He had not at all enjoyed being back in Markarth after twenty-some years, though the Silver-Bloods had been thrilled by his visit. He hadn’t particularly liked having that handsome housecarl Argis around either, one-eyed or not. Bryn hadn’t been comfortable around the man, which had unsettled Ulfric further. Argis didn’t seem to notice, behaving with perfect professionalism, if anything seeming wildly relieved to finally have something to do.

“Yes it is. I thought Eorlund was going to have a heart attack when I suggested it.” She ran her hand across the overlapping scales and went on, “Dwemer metal is an alloy that never rusts or tarnishes. I don’t know what was in that filthy slop that Neloth and I swam through in Nchardak, but it did something to the iron. I was able to recondition it but it was never quite the same after that. Time to retire the old set forever, I think.”

Seeing her happiness dim at that, he nodded and said, “That armor has served you well, precious.” He looked at this new set with a critical eye; he knew nothing about smithing, but he knew armor. This provided more protection, with less of a skirt, less exposed leather and more scales, fewer horns, and the pauldrons were more rounded. The backs of her legs were now protected with scales as well, the finer, more flexible scales from the serpentine dragons she had killed. He could see the faintest sheen of magic when he touched the armor. “What enchantments did you place on it?”

“I fortified the regeneration of health and stamina on the body, enhanced one-handed weapons and archery skill on the gauntlets, muffled and increased the carrying capacity on the boots. I also enchanted this ring to help quickly regenerate my magicka, and added waterbreathing.” She was wearing it right now, crafted of ebony to match her wedding ring, set with a sapphire. She had created a new Dwemer metal and dragon tooth circlet at the Skyforge to wear in the normal course of things , a light crown rather, enchanted to fortify her destruction and restoration skills, but she would be unable to wear it under Konahrik, the dragon priest mask that she would be wearing into battle. She had commissioned a cloak matching the colors of the mask’s hood: black and gold. She was going to look sinister as hell in the ensemble, and the thought was delicious. She had ordered cloaks for her two Guards and Rikke as well.

She couldn’t help worrying a bit however as to how Ulfric might react to the other items she had commissioned from the Dunmer, once they were finished, which should be any day now. A Queen had to have a banner, and there was no way she was riding into the Imperial City under Ulfric’s. She had designed the pattern that would embellish it, and the cloaks, with a textile artist’s help, a talented young mer named Arvesi Hlaalu, a member of the defunct old House Hlaalu. Ulfric wouldn’t at all be happy about a Dunmer having a hand in creating the crest of the High Queen of Skyrim, one that would follow her daughters and their descendants. It was unfortunate, as it wouldn’t change anything. Bryn liked the Dunmer as a whole a great deal and had every intention of forming strong bonds with the government of Morrowind. The East Empire Company here in Windhelm under the leadership of Adelaisa Vendicci owed Bryn favors and was willing to listen to trade propositions, especially since fresh ebony deposits had been found in Raven Rock mine. Bryn had to think ahead to the future of not only Skyrim but the Empire, and the Dunmer and Morrowind could very well be bound up in that.

“Waterbreathing,” he said in confusion.

“After the Thalmor ship incident and the ride to and from Solstheim, I keep worrying about falling into the water in my armor. I watched Vilkas standing by the railing and all I could think about was how he would sink like a stone.” Ulfric nodded, understanding her reasoning. She was a strong swimmer, but nothing could save you if you had armor dragging you down.

“Did you see him?” She grumbled, her expression darkening, and he quickly said, “All right, never mind.” He mentally kicked himself for even bringing it up, the first time in over half a year.

“I had dinner at Jorrvaskr the first night, with all the Companions, and the babies. I did sit by Vilkas, and we talked. I told everyone stories about our adventures, and he filled in some details I had forgotten. He went on a hunt the next day with Avulstein Gray-Mane. They got back right as I was finishing the gauntlets, a few days later. I spent the next day crafting a new circlet and the ring and finishing up some details on the armor. The day after that I spent at Dragonsreach visiting with Balgruuf and enchanting everything.” Watching her double enchant items had Farengar’s eyes nearly popping out of his head and begging her to show him how it was done. He had lost his arrogance towards her long ago; he was somewhat young for a court mage and some of his demeanor had been the posturing of insecurity. And just general social cluelessness.

“All right. I’m…sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

The tone to her voice told him to leave the matter alone, as did the guarded expression on her face. If her interactions with Vilkas had consisted of a dinner with all the Companions and their children then he had no cause for complaint. She had clearly been much too busy to spend much time with him. Ulfric turned his attention to the circlet on the mannequin’s head and saw that it was more a crown than anything. It was somewhat similar to the Jagged Crown, which Bryn still refused to wear, in that it was decorated with dragon teeth, however these were perfectly matched so that they formed a symmetrical semi-circle along the back of the crown, which gleamed in Dwarven metal. Gold no doubt would be too soft and easily damaged. “This is magnificent,” he said in all honesty. “A worthy heirloom to pass down to the Queens of our line.”

“Yes, I had that in mind when I was crafting it.”

“Was Eorlund offended by your methods?”

“If he was he kept it to himself. He was an enormous help. I couldn’t have forged the set without him. Farkas was right there the whole time too, bringing materials and pumping the bellows. He says hello, by the way.”

“Ah.” He had only seen Farkas not quite a month ago, but the sentiment was kind. 

The sound of Hjerim’s front door opening and closing drew their attention, and Hadvar called, “My lady, my lord, Jorleif says dinner is being laid out.”

Bryn called back, “Thank you, we’ll be right down.”

Ulfric moved to take Bryn into his arms, and her reserved demeanor melted as she smiled at him, reaching up to run his braids through her fingers. He loved how her body felt in a dress, something she didn’t wear as often as he would like. “It’s a shame your time is here,” he murmured. “We still haven’t properly broken in that bed.” She had been gone for nearly a week in Whiterun and he had missed her, their longest time apart in nine months. It would have been nice to send Calder off on some errand and have some time alone.

She giggled and said in a girlish voice, “Jarl Ulfric, that’s scandalous!” He laughed loudly in surprise at that. She added, “Besides, Lydia and Farkas did that a long time ago.”

“Oh, I’m certain of that.” He took her hand and led her downstairs, asking her, “Do they plan on having more children?”

“One more, but Lydia wants to space them about three years apart. She wants to have time to do jobs in between, and Jergen is still nursing. If Farkas had his way they’d have a whole litter of children, but Lydia never really wanted kids all that much to begin with, so Farkas will be lucky to get two. Besides, neither of them have time for more than that. And at least Farkas will probably end up with at least one child to follow after him.” Eorlund seemed content to pass on the Skyforge to Farkas; he had told Bryn in private during this last trip, while Farkas was buying more materials from Warmaiden’s, that Farkas was ‘capable’, which was high praise from the old man. She hadn’t seen Eorlund bark at him even once during the process, and Farkas focused completely on the task at hand, which pleased the Master Smith. Eorlund trusted Farkas around the forge, giving him none of the wary looks he had given Bryn early on. He had given her some strange looks this last time, especially every time she chugged down a potion to fortify her smithing skill, or when she had first pulled on her newly enchanted smithing gear. Well, as Farkas had said, that was Eorlund’s problem, not hers. Where she was going the armor had to be absolutely flawless, and she didn’t care what it took to make it that way. And whether Vilkas liked it or not, his armor was getting enchanted even if she had to sneak into Jorrvaskr one night and steal it to do so.

Later that night as Bryn slid into bed next to Ulfric, she quietly said to him, “I really missed you, darling.”

“And I you,” he replied warmly, taking her into his arms. “I would have gone, but I don’t think Balgruuf could handle hosting me yet again.” There was mutual respect there, but still not any amount of actual liking involved, and there never would be. Balgruuf couldn’t help looking at Ulfric sometimes and obviously thinking _I can’t believe you were going to take my city!_ and Ulfric couldn’t help looking at the other Jarl and thinking _I can’t believe you’re fucking your grayskin housecarl!_ It would simply never change between them and that was that.

“Probably not. He…well, he wondered why you didn’t come along.”

“Let me guess, he had something sarcastic to say about it.” Bryn shrugged and laid her head on his chest. He petted her hair and let the matter go, not particularly caring. He smelled fresh lavender in her hair, still slightly damp from the bath. He combed his fingers through it, simply enjoying laying here with her, and after a few minutes he felt her hand straying towards his groin. He softly said, “There’s no need for that, sweetness. I’m glad just to have you here again.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, quite.”

“In the morning, then?”

He laughed quietly and asked, “Why are you so determined?” He had lost the vast majority of his anxiety in that regard many moons ago, in fact he and Bryn rarely wore the Amulets of Dibella anymore. He simply no longer needed it. He had made sure though that when they were in Markarth that he had gone to Dibella’s temple and left a large donation along with Bryn, and the two had knelt at her shrine and given the Divine their heartfelt thanks. Dibella was not a Nord goddess, but she had her sphere of influence, and she had done wonders for him, in the form of his wife.

“Well…I, um…” She bit her lip, feeling herself blush, wondering if he could feel her cheek growing warm against his chest.

“Yes?” he drawled.

“I ah, just…thought it would be nice to…try something, ah, new.”

“Hm, that sounds rather mysterious.”

She grimaced, glad he couldn’t see her face right now. She took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice steady and nonchalant as she said, “Well, there’s this thing. That Lydia told me about. She, well, she’s, ah, very, um, experienced—”

“Yes, I’ve gathered that,” Ulfric said dryly. Farkas had told him things that he probably shouldn’t have, after a few drinks too many. The big fellow was quite proud of his wife, in a number of ways.

“Well she told me about this…um, thing. That some men like. Back, er, you know...” She fell silent, feeling him shift the slightest bit beneath her, his body suddenly slightly tense.

“I see.”

Her cheeks hot, she mumbled, “It’s just that…the dream you had. About Vilkas. It can’t ever… but, I would do that for you. If you wanted me to. I’d…I’d be happy to do that to you, if you wanted me to.” A year ago she wouldn’t have been able to bring herself to do it, but a great deal had changed between her and Ulfric since then. They were no longer newlyweds, and there were no longer any barriers or shyness between them, though it had been nearly impossible for her to spit out what she was offering, just now. When he didn’t answer right away she whispered, “Well, I thought I would offer. It’s all right.” 

He sighed and she could hear him lick his lips as he rubbed her shoulder, and she said nothing more. It was one thing to dream about it, another entirely to allow it, or at least part of it; Lydia had told her during this last visit, when they were having some time alone together to talk and Bryn had asked about this, wanting to try it on Ulfric, that there was actually something you could buy at the Temple of Dibella to simulate a man’s part. That it was often what women who loved other women used on their partners, or what women used on their male partners who were into that sort of thing. Lydia had said she’d never tried it on Farkas but had known all about it, having dallied once in a while with other women in the past. Bryn had never even guessed such a thing existed. She’d never even heard of it, but then Lydia was the only one who ever really told her such things, though Mjoll would have been glad to do so. Mjoll would have put it a lot less delicately than Lydia had. Then Bryn had started wondering about Mjoll and Aela’s sex life, and she’d had to put an end to the discussion, mortified, though Lydia had thought her reaction hysterical.

Ulfric haltingly said, “I…wouldn’t mind it, precious. It would be…ah, interesting. I would have to wear the amulet for that though.” He felt her nod and squeeze him. He could tell it had taken a great deal of bravery on her part to broach the subject, and he found her shyness about it charming. He wasn’t in the mood, but he wasn’t against the idea, though it was one that made him rather anxious. It was the last bit from his past that he hadn’t yet had to face. It was something he had never had done to him willingly, unlike everything else, and he could only hope that after all this time with Bryn that it wouldn’t trigger a bad reaction in him. It had clearly taken her time to work up to this, so the least he could do was try. He patted her back and murmured, “All right.” 

Bryn got up, motioning for him to stay there, and he did so, glad that there was only the dim light of a single candle. She went to the wardrobe, reaching up for the box the amulets were kept in, but when she came back with a jar of Dwemer metal he asked in confusion, “What is that?”

“Dwarven oil. Lydia…um, says it’s good for that.” She cleared her voice when it cracked a bit, glad that the low light wasn’t enough to show how red her face was, or at least she hoped so. Ulfric said nothing and she kept her eyes off his face, feeling so embarrassed about all this she could hardly stand it, but she wanted to do this for her husband. Who knew, he might not even like it and it would never come up again, but she had to at least attempt it. She had come to enjoy it a great deal, but it was different for a man, or so Lydia had said. Not every man liked it either, in fact most weren’t even willing to try it, but Lydia had said Farkas came completely undone every time she did it, though she didn’t do it often, wanting it to be a somewhat special treat. Bryn didn’t really like imagining Farkas like that, handsome as he was, since she considered him a brother. Well, she would see how Ulfric handled it and hope that it didn’t upset him.

Bryn put the amulet on then handed the other to Ulfric, and after he put it on he caught her wrist and pulled her down for a kiss. She obliged, thinking that perhaps he had to work himself up to the idea. He kicked off the covers as he kissed her deeply, and that encouraged her that he really was willing to do this, and when she reached down to touch him he was already hardening slightly. He kissed her more deeply, winding his fingers into her hair as he pushed against her hand. It sent a frustrating surge of lust through her that she really couldn’t do anything about. She had never slept with Ulfric, or Vilkas for that matter, while she was bleeding, finding the very notion repugnant. Well, this was all about her husband, not her, so it didn’t matter how in the mood she got. With the amulet on he was much more enthusiastic, and when her hand slid down his stomach he reached down and pushed his pants and underclothes off himself. She smiled against his mouth and murmured, “Relax, _kodaavi.”_

“I’m not sure I can.”

“Let me do everything. Just let me know if any of it bothers you.” She felt him nod. She kissed her way down his stomach, his breathing quickening, and she nearly laughed at how eager he was. They had only been apart a week, but he was so used to their constant togetherness and frequent lovemaking that any sort of break in it at this point probably felt like deprivation. It was a shame though that her time of the month had fallen right before returning home. Ulfric had known it too, well aware of her cycle and when it fell, regular as it was. There was a comfort in how well they knew each other after two years together, a comfort and familiarity that she hadn’t imagined they would ever have. It sent a pang of grief through her that they wouldn’t grow old together, that he would never see their child grow up, or see his grandchildren, but then as old as he was he probably wouldn’t have lived to see his grandchildren born anyway. Such was the choice she had made.

Bryn took her time kissing and petting him, trying to get him to relax, and when she finally ran a finger ever so lightly beneath him he sucked in a sharp breath and tensed all over again. She supposed he just wasn’t going to relax into something like this. She supposed she never did either. It was strange to touch him there, the only part of him she had never touched. She moved around to kneel in front of him, gently pushing his legs apart, glancing at him to see that he had his eyes squeezed shut, biting his lip, but he didn’t resist her. She opened the jar of oil, setting it between her knees so it didn’t spill, then dipped her finger in. When she lightly rubbed her finger over him again he drew in another sharp breath. She dipped her finger once more than gently worked it in, hearing his breath coming in short gasps, and once it was in far enough she began tenderly feeling around for that certain spot Lydia had described, and she knew she had hit it when she pressed against it and Ulfric’s eyes shot open with a loud grunt of surprise.

She kept her eyes off his face as she leaned down to kiss along his length and massage inside him at the same time, slowly and gently, then she took her finger out for more oil. She took her time working a second finger into him, and this time when she began rubbing against that spot, hooking her fingers slightly, he let out a long, deep groan that made her insides twist almost painfully. She hadn’t ever heard such a sound from him before, so different from any sound he had ever made that it almost didn’t sound like him. She laid her cheek against his thigh and kept doing it, seeing him hardening beyond belief, and when she pressed harder he cried out and his hands hit the sheets, bunching them in his grip. She risked a glance at his face and his eyes were closed, but he had a look of pure bliss on his face, his mouth open as he panted. As she continued she felt sweat break out on his body as he moved beneath her, the sounds he made alternating between whimpers and moans, his total surrender to it surprising and unbelievably exciting. She hadn’t dreamed he would react this way, especially to something that had been done against his will so long ago, but then she was the one who had his trust. She had earned it.

“Please...” He simply couldn’t take any more, feeling as if he was going to explode and completely unable to. He felt an oil-slicked hand wrap around him, and with only a few strokes he saw stars sparkle across his vision.

Bryn blinked in shock as Ulfric cried out as loud as she ever did, his back arching as he just about tore the sheets from the bed. She gently slid her fingers out of him as he lay there shuddering, staring at the ceiling breathlessly, his eyes wide open with a look of bewilderment on his face. She wiped her hands off on the washcloth and wished she had tried this long ago if this was how rewarding it was. She had never imagined a man could respond like that to anything, though Vilkas had always submitted quite sweetly to being made love to. 

“Bloody hell!” Ulfric breathed in amazement. He heard Bryn giggle and felt a tender kiss on his knee. He shivered at the touch, feeling echoes of pleasure ripple through him every so often. He felt a cooling wetness on his neck and wiped it off then stared in disbelief at the seed on his hand. He hadn’t been able to do that since he was a teenager. Bryn began cleaning him off, and he blew out a long breath and let his hand fall, suddenly feeling his whole body go limp, spent. She got up and put the oil away then brought him a clean shirt, and she helped haul him upright to change into it. He felt absolutely boneless.

Bryn laughed at his listless movements and murmured, “Wow.”

“No shit,” he whispered, still stunned. She laughed again and he caught her as she turned away. He pulled her against him and laid his head on her chest, wrapping his arms around her waist. _“Umriidi.”_

_“Ahmuli,”_ she answered warmly, running her fingers through his hair.

“Tell Lydia thank you next time you see her.” Bryn laughed gaily at that, kissing the top of his head, and Ulfric held her tightly, feeling suddenly near tears. He had no idea why, either. He wasn’t upset, he just…

Feeling her husband shudder as he buried his face in her chest then went too still, Bryn whispered, “Are you all right?” He nodded but didn’t answer. She didn’t push him, knowing he would talk about it if he wanted to. It was possible he wasn’t even upset about the past, that he was just having a delayed reaction to the intensity of the experience. She had reacted like that at times with Vilkas, when he had given her such delirious pleasure that she ended up bursting into tears afterwards, for no reason other than just release. ‘The little death’, Vilkas had called it, reassuring her that he knew she wasn’t bawling for any other reason. He had always been touched by it, flattered and just a bit too pleased with himself. Ulfric had never taken her quite that far, and just didn’t have it in him to do so, but this…this had been beyond wonderful. He had completely, utterly given himself up to her, and that meant the world to her.


	65. Chapter 65

Bryn did her best to smile at the folk lining the road into the Imperial City, held back by lines of Imperial troops, and when she raised her hand and waved a cheer went up that made her smile genuinely. She heard cries of ‘Dragonborn!’ and tried not to let it stroke her ego. Her progress though Cyrodiil, led out of the Pale Pass by General Tullius and a cohort of Legion soldiers, had been followed the entire way by the common folk, who had either stared silently, even fearfully, from their homes in more rural areas, or had turned out in droves in the larger towns. Bryn had wanted to stop and talk to people and Tullius had forbidden it, telling her to save it for the trek home, and she had deferred to his judgment in that. She might have grown up in Cyrodiil, but she had rarely left the area surrounding the Imperial City and didn’t know the country well.

Bruma especially had been welcoming, the citizens there almost entirely Nord, as was their Count, Ingmar; the man had gotten the position after his predecessor Plautis Carvain had gotten murdered somewhere in Skyrim on the way to Vittoria Vici’s wedding, or so everyone assumed when he and his wife never showed up at the ceremony and were never heard from again. From what Bryn could tell Count Carvain wasn’t particularly missed, and neither was his wife.

The statue of Tiber Septim still stood in Bruma, as it always had, but the Chapel of Talos next to it was nothing but a pile of rubble, torn down by the Thalmor not long after the White-Gold Concordat was signed. They hadn’t been satisfied when presented with the option of dedicating the Chapel to a different Divine; they had wanted it utterly destroyed, with no chance that services of any kind could still be held there. Bruma had been the scene of frequent Thalmor ‘visits’, looking for signs of dissent and secret Talos worship, and they were despised there no less than they were anywhere in Skyrim, as nearly everyone had a friend or family member that had gotten dragged away in the night. People had stared in slack-jawed disbelief when the High Queen’s party had ridden into town wearing Amulets of Talos openly, all of them. It hadn’t taken long for the gasps to turn to roars of approval when Bryn had made a point of setting a wreath at the statue’s feet then had turned to stand in front of the destroyed Chapel and loudly declared, “This will not do.”

Count Ingmar had not been thrilled with Bryn’s actions and had not seemed to enjoy hosting her and her retinue. Ulfric had sourly suggested at bedtime that the Count hadn’t appreciated seeing ‘true Nords’ in his city and looking weak and inadequate in comparison. He had then gone on to wonder if the man had ever even been to Skyrim, had wondered if he had ever even gone into the Jerall Mountains nearby, and probably would have continued in that vein if Bryn hadn’t begged him to stop, her head starting to ache. She had made sure to say hello to Hulda and meet her family the next morning, then they had gone on their way again. She had considered meeting Anghilde, Balgruuf’s lawful wife, but had decided against it, and the woman had made no effort either.

She had known that this trip wouldn’t be enjoyable, mostly because of Ulfric. She didn’t blame him for his mood; he was stressed being back in Cyrodiil, and the closer they drew to the Imperial City the worse it got. He became withdrawn and sullen, his temper short, a perpetual scowl on his face, and Bryn didn’t know how to help him. He refused to have sex with her or even fool around, didn’t even want to be touched for platonic comfort, and it made her wish that she could have found some graceful way to leave him at home. Galmar and Rikke were deeply worried about him, knowing the cause of his distress, and Ralof and Hadvar were wary of his mood, guessing it had something to do with the war and old wounds. 

Of all of them Ralof was the only one who had never been to Cyrodiil, and Bryn could tell he was trying desperately to not look like a wide-eyed country bumpkin, though anyone who would dream of teasing a tall Nord warrior wearing dragon armor deserved whatever they got. As they rode Rikke quietly pointed out the Ayleid ruins, explained certain customs of the locals, told him about the battles from the Great War that had happened in that particular area. When they reached the Red Ring Road she fell silent, and Ralof did as well, knowing better than to say a word. The Battle of the Red Ring had been the bloodiest in Imperial history, with nearly an entire generation of Nord soldiers lost, along with innumerable Breton and Imperial soldiers, but the Nords under General Jonna had been hit the hardest. 

Bryn spared a glance for her husband as they started across the bridge into the Imperial City, and his face was like stone. It was better than the scowl he had worn for the last several days. She would have to force him to talk tonight, or in the morning after he had gotten some sleep. She didn’t expect any lovemaking while they were in Cyrodiil, but she expected him to at least allow her to comfort him, and that he hadn’t allowed it since leaving Skyrim worried her, though she hadn’t pressed too hard up to this point. It made her wonder why he had even agreed to come along, other than the obvious obligation as her spouse and consort, if he was going to cause her stress by forcing her to watch him struggling like this. Well, luckily she was a much better actor than he was, and she kept a serene expression on her face as they came to a stop at the stables and dismounted. They were all stiff and sore from the ride, though not as much as they had been a few days ago.

The gates to the city stood open, and Tullius moved in front of them, seeing Commander Maro and his men coming towards them down the broad avenue to take over the High Queen’s security while she was in the Imperial City. Tullius thought anyone who approached her would be a fool to do so; while Hadvar seemed comfortable, the blond guard was extremely tense, out of his element, scanning the surrounding area with itchy fingers as if an attack was inevitable. The Queen seemed calm, poised, while her husband looked so stiff and brittle that it seemed he could snap at any moment. Tullius had found his pity for the man growing against his will over the last several days, the depth of his distress obvious, and the General couldn’t help but wonder over and over again how the hell Ulfric had managed to hold himself together all these years. No doubt it had been much easier in his own homeland, and easier still in his own hold and city where he ruled, where he had control. Here he was a guest, at the mercy of the Empire once again, in a way. Tullius could only hope that Bryn found some way to help him get a grip while they were here, because they were going to be here for a while. The Queen didn’t need the distraction of worrying about her husband’s mental state.

Bryn resisted the urge to hold out her hand for Ulfric, knowing he wouldn’t take it, having insisted that he would walk behind her as he had in Solitude. Galmar fell into step beside him, Rikke on the other side, and Bryn hoped it would help steady him a bit. She smiled at Maro and said, “Commander Maro, it’s good to see you again.”

He bowed to her then swept his hand behind him, saying, “Welcome back to the Imperial City, Queen Brynhilde.” She and her people struck an impressive image, one that would leave a mark as they passed through the city. The dragonscale armor she wore was obviously new, as was the banner that Hadvar carried: a black field emblazoned with the golden head of a dragon crowned with silver lightning. The Queen, her two Guards and Rikke were wearing matching gold-trimmed black cloaks with the same crest upon them. Yes, that was going to leave a distinct impression on anyone who saw it.

“Thank you.” He held his arm out to her and she took it, and she let him lead her down the street of the Tiber Septim Plaza district, feeling goose bumps rise on her skin at the thought of where she was, again. Perhaps one of the first orders of business after ripping up the White-Gold Concordat would be the rechristening of this section Talos Plaza, as it had been before the treaty. As they walked Bryn waved to the people, some of whom threw flowers in front of her. It was a strange sensation, considering how she had left here in the dead of night, slipping out of the house with her cousin, leaving behind only a note so she wouldn’t have to deal with her aunt’s histrionics. Thinking of her, Bryn quietly asked Maro, “Have you heard from my family?”

“Yes my lady, I was going to bring that up later,” he answered just as quietly. No one would be able to hear them with the noise the crowds were making. “Your aunt and grandmother would like to see you. A meeting has been arranged two days from now, once you’re settled in.”

“Ah. But not my uncle? I should so like to see him again.”

The dangerous tone to her voice made him snort in amusement. He was quite sure she did want to see the mer again, and the uncle would not enjoy it. “I’m afraid not, my lady. He and your aunt have gone their separate ways. Not quite a year ago, she says. He dissolved the marriage agreement when she made it clear that no more children would come of it.” Bryn made a sound of acknowledgment. “Your aunt has taken up residence in your grandmother’s home, however your uncle has retained the house you grew up in.”

“Well then, I will just have to make a point of visiting him, won’t I.”

“Er…as you wish. I’ll see what I can arrange.”

“Thank you.” She had spent a great deal of time fantasizing about that meeting, but in the end she would simply let him see what she had become, no thanks to him, then leave. Anything more than that gave him more importance than he deserved. She would like to see the townhouse where she was raised and show it to Ulfric. Her uncle would most likely look at Ulfric and get that haughty look he always got when it came to Nords, thinking them barbarians. He could think whatever he wanted; he would still be nobody at the end of the day. Her aunt and grandmother, well, that could be a different story if they played their cards right. A great deal depended on just how they treated her two days from now. If either of them mentioned her weight she would never talk to them again.

When they arrived at White Gold Tower, a massive crowd was being held back by ranks of Imperial Guards and Penitus Oculatus soldiers, leaving an open space before the Tower’s entrance. There stood the Emperor, flanked by four battlemages, one of whom she recognized as Guillaume, and she saw with delight that he was wearing the amulet she had crafted for him in Solitude. Octavia was nowhere to be seen; perhaps the Emperor had tired of her. Titus Mede II smiled brightly at her and she could see the touches of relief in his expression. As he came forward she bowed deeply to him as she threw back her cloak, and as she sank to one knee she heard the crowd go deathly silent, other than a few shushing sounds. She stilled her nerves and let the fullness of her Voice unfurl as she thundered in greeting, “Sire, High Queen Brynhilde Stormcrown of Skyrim, at your service.”

He responded in not quite as impressive a voice, “As your Emperor, I accept that service gladly, Queen Brynhilde.” He held his hand out to her, and as she took it and raised her head he added, “Welcome home, my child.” He heard whispers and murmurs spread through the crowd as he bent and kissed her forehead. She had been expecting all this, just as he expected her theatrics, in fact he was counting on them. Still, it all had the intended effect. He knew as well as she did how the people needed this sort of spectacle, and he wasn’t immune to being stirred by it. He pulled her to her feet, her people rising behind her, and waited, feeling a thrill of anticipation and feeling a bit of the fool for it. Well, at his age he was entitled. He also couldn’t help feeling a bit amused by what a puny figure he probably appeared to be standing next to her. That was part of the plan too, he supposed.

“My liege,” Bryn continued, as loudly as she dared with the Emperor’s ears as close as they were. “I have come here to pledge the fealty of my countrymen to the Empire. More importantly…I place myself and all my power at your disposal, by the grace of Talos the Divine.”

A peal of thunder sounded overhead in the cloudless summer sky, shocking the hell out of the Emperor, and when the crowd roared wildly he let out a shuddering breath and stared into the girl’s golden eyes, and when the golden aura of a dragon appeared around her for a split second he gasped, “For the love of Akatosh!” He could tell from the cries of wonder around him that he wasn’t the only one who had seen it either. He swallowed against a lump in his throat, his eyes stinging. _Praise the Divines, I’ve done the right thing,_ he thought fervently. He heard gasps, and when he saw people pointing up at the sky he glanced up and saw a dragon flying far overhead. There was no mistaking it for anything else. He whispered to her, “All right then, do it.” And he could only pray that Thalmor operatives were present in the crowd. Well of course they were. They always were.

Bryn stepped away from the Emperor, and as he took up position next to her, his hand on the small of her back, she raised her hands to the sky and Shouted, _“OD AH VIING!”_ The dragon had followed them at a great distance, trying to be as indiscreet as a dragon could be, hiding during the day then following at night, able to cover in hours what took riders on horseback all day. He had been quite thrilled, in his own way, by the role he was being asked to play. For a dragon, all attention was good attention.

Mede kept himself calm by force of will as the red dragon spiraled down. He had expected this as well, has asked for this show of power, and yet it was still terrifying. All his people had been warned that she was going to call her dragon, and they had warned the guards and soldiers right before this, knowing they might be called upon to keep a frightened populace in order, and indeed people were frightened, only the calm of the Emperor and his people keeping them from scattering in a panic. The dragon landed on top of White Gold Tower and spread its wings to Shout fire into the sky. “By the Nine,” he whispered in a choked voice. He had expected it and yet he might as well not have, the sight bringing tears to his eyes. A live damned dragon breathing fire on top of White Gold Tower, prophecy unfolding here and now before his very eyes… He wasn’t going to sleep a wink tonight, and this was just the beginning. The circle was closing, and he would make right so many things that had gone wrong. Even if he died tomorrow he would know that those things would be made right.  
-  
Ulfric felt Bryn’s hand tighten on his as the door to the sitting room opened. His wife had been a nervous wreck all morning, which had not helped his own mood any, but for her sake he was keeping a lid on it. She had made him well aware yesterday morning that she was at her wits end with him. She had done it with sympathy, in all kindness, stating that she knew quite well why he had been acting the way he had since coming to Cyrodiil, and telling him that if he wasn’t going to talk to her about it and let her help him that he was a liability to her. He had countered that if she knew so well why he was upset then there was no point talking about it, and that had gotten him absolutely nowhere, resulting in a bit of a spat, but once he had let off that steam he found himself willing to talk, and he felt better. Only the slightest bit better, but it was more manageable now. Barely.

Hadvar came into the room and said, “My Queen, you have visitors.”

Bryn tensed as the two Altmer women came into the room, clinging to each other, as they always had it seemed. She moved to rise but Ulfric’s other hand came down on her shoulder, keeping her in her seat. This was one of the Emperor’s private sitting rooms, and while the chair she was in wasn’t a throne, it was big and impressive and meant to make it clear that the person sitting in it was in charge of the room and everyone in it. She was wearing her dragonscale armor, though not the crown, feeling that was over the top, though she would put it on later when she and her retinue headed out for a tour of the city, at the end of which she would pop in to give her uncle a delightful surprise. He had been warned she was coming, and had been given no choice in accepting her visit.

Hadvar led the two mer to the Queen, seeing the tension around her eyes no matter how cool her expression. Ulfric had a look of barely concealed distaste on his face, only noticeable because Hadvar was familiar with the Jarl. The two women though only had eyes for Bryn, their own large gold and green ones wide with shock at her appearance, though they had been thoroughly informed long ago of how she had changed. All of Tamriel knew of it, though most probably still thought it an exaggeration. Nothing ever was when it came to the Queen. Hadvar discreetly studied the two Elf women, looking for some resemblance to Bryn, and there really wasn’t any that he could find. They were both lovely, the slightly younger-looking one quite beautiful in fact, both taller than the Queen, slender and graceful in their movements, like willows swaying in a breeze. Poor Bryn had probably felt quite awkward compared to them growing up, knowing how she was.

Hadvar bowed deeply to her then left to take up position outside again with Ralof, and Bryn took in a deep breath and continued gazing impassively at her kin. She was so used to Nord faces and bodies that the two women seemed alien to her, even though she had spent most of her life with them. They were trembling ever so slightly, holding hands, staring at her with such open disbelief that she could feel her blood start to boil, but she was stopped from saying anything by her husband barking at them first, making them jump.

“You will bow to the High Queen of Skyrim!” Ulfric demanded.

“Ulfric,” she said in disapproval. “No they will not.” She saw him fuming, and she added, “They are my kin, and we’re not in public.” Ulfric fell silent, but she saw her aunt and grandmother’s fresh shock at the sound of her voice. She let go of Ulfric’s hand and let her own fall onto the arm of the chair. “Ulfric, this is my grandmother Ariwyn, and my aunt Elluhrine.” He grunted, not acknowledging them in any other way. It annoyed her, but then she supposed she had caused all this by telling him in too much detail how these two had made her the insecure, whiny mess she had been a few years ago. “Grandmother, Aunt Elluhrine…this is my husband, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Eastmarch, Prince Consort of Skyrim.” It was a formal title he never used, and that she had never thought to use, but technically it was what he was.

The two women inclined their heads nervously and Elluhrine murmured, “Jarl Ulfric.” He grunted again, and she took a deep breath and whispered painfully to Bryn, “Darling…oh my poor darling--”

“Where is Yancarro?” Both women recoiled at that, and her hands tightened on the arms of the chair as she leaned forward in it and repeated, _“Where_ is Yancarro?”

“We don’t know!” Ariwyn said in a pleading tone.

“Did he return home afterward? What story did he tell you?” They shivered and moved closer together, if that was possible, and their timidity made the dragon in her rear up furiously. “Do you know what he did to me? Lulling me into complacency with false kindnesses, leading me to believe that we were making peace with each other…do you know how happy that made me? He offered to help me reach Skyrim safely, and the moment we left the Serpent’s Trail he charmed me, dressed me in rags, bashed me in the head with a mace, then he handed me off to an Imperial patrol, pretending to be a Thalmor officer and passing me off as a Stormcloak sympathizer. I nearly got my damned head chopped off, and it’s only because of those two men outside the door that I lived!” They peeped fearfully as her Voice rumbled, and she forced it back with an effort, saying angrily, “He didn’t have the spine to simply murder me, but I promise you that if I ever find him that he will die by my hand, and if I find out that you have sheltered him or given him any kind of aid that you will never know a moment’s peace ever again.”

“Brynni!” Elluhrine wailed in horror as tears welled up in her eyes. Bryn stared back implacably, coldly angry.

Ariwyn lifted her chin and stated in hurt offense, “Yancarro is dead to us for what he has done, and it…it simply _wounds_ us both that you think we would hide him, or help him in any way!” Bryn leaned back in the chair, still staring at the two of them, hardly recognizable anymore. It was as if almost every trace of their sweet baby girl was gone.

Ulfric sneered as the older woman’s chin trembled, and Bryn put her hand on his arm, stopping him from saying anything. “So,” Bryn went on, “what did he tell you when he returned?”

Elluhrine said in a miserable voice, “He said you were attacked by ogres, in the Pale Pass. He said you blundered into—” She swallowed as Bryn made a barking sound of bitter, amused disbelief. “He seemed terribly upset about it. He brought back your braid, with…with your blood on it, and your jewelry, and said he had buried you under a cairn. I told him I wanted to see it, I wanted him to take me there, and…” She licked her lips, her expression hardening while still filled with grief. “He refused to do it. Even your uncle Sindicar wanted him to take me, to give me closure, and Yancarro wouldn’t do it. He said he refused to subject me to that kind of emotional distress, and when Mother began pushing him for it as well he…he grew angry and said you had gotten what you deserved for being…”

Her aunt couldn’t finish, and Bryn sputtered and said, “What, for being stupid and clumsy? Being a bumbling, intellectually-challenged Nord cow, is that it?” Their silence was her answer. “So when did his lies start to fall apart? Was it before or after I destroyed Alduin and saved the whole goddamn world? Think about that, would you? Think of what would have happened if that idiot had actually had the courage to just stab me in the back or slit my throat!”

They were silent for a few moments, then Ariwyn haltingly said, “Sindicar…he told Yancarro to run.” Elluhrine seemed to wilt, closing her eyes, though she had already known this. “Your uncle has no love for the Thalmor or the Dominion, but he told Yancarro that if he wanted to live that he had better leave human lands and not look back.” Bryn leaned her elbow on the chair and motioned for her to continue. The imperious gesture was grating, hurtful, but neither mer was in a position to protest it. “It was sometime in First Seed 202. I don’t remember the day. People in the market were talking, saying there was a new Dragonborn in Tamriel, in the North. There had been rumors for months but that was the first time we heard that…that it was a half-Altmer, half-Nord girl named Brynhilde who had escaped Helgen. Who was originally from the Imperial City.”

Elluhrine continued in a heartbroken tone, “Mother and I went to Sindicar’s shop, to confront Yancarro about it, and he was already gone. Sindicar had already heard about it and told him to leave Cyrodiil. I…I didn’t know what to think, or feel. I was happy that you might still be alive, but…it meant my son was a liar and a near murderer.”

“He’s always been a liar,” Bryn said in contempt.

“I know, but your uncle… Sindicar always overrode me. I never believed half of what Yancarro said—”

“Half!”

She put her nose in the air and said, “Yes, half, because sometimes you _were_ sneaking about the district at night, or trying to get into the sewers to explore, or trying to get through the gates, or talking to boys—”

“Dibella’s sake! Of course I was trying to talk to _men,_ because I was a woman, a grown woman. Human women reach adulthood in their teens and you were still putting ribbons in my hair at twenty-five! Well guess what, I got deflowered on the floor of a burial crypt by a parentless mercenary first chance I got, and it was fucking fantastic!” Her aunt and grandmother gasped and went pale gold, horrified. She heard a strangled snort from Ulfric and resisted the urge to look up at him, glad that he was getting some amusement out of all this. She was getting some satisfaction, she wouldn’t deny it, but she was still hurt and angry at the sheer cluelessness of her kin.

When they kept staring at her in complete dismay, she softened her tone slightly, saying, “I’m _not_ happy about how I was raised, as you can no doubt guess, but I know that you both loved me and did the best you could with me. However I do not appreciate being told that I was a mistake, or an accident, when I have my parents’ marriage certificate. You _lied_ to me about them not being married. They married well before I was ever conceived.”

Ariwyn made a sound of sorrow and said, “Your father was already matched to a nice Altmer girl from Anvil. We…I, thought that he had made up being married to Heska to get out of fulfilling his obligations. He was such a talented, handsome young mer with so much potential, and he never brought Heska around after the first time.”

“Hm, I wonder why.” Her grandmother at least had the decency to look embarrassed about that. “Well, whatever you two may think of me at this point, most of Tamriel does not consider me an accident. The Emperor certainly does not.”

Ulfric finally cut in, saying gravely, “You are the blessed daughter of Akatosh. The Dragonborn are never accidents.”

“Yes, _ahmuli,_ that is true.” Ariwyn and Elluhrine stared at her sadly, still holding each other. She considered asking them if they saw her dragon. All of the Imperial City and its surrounding area would have seen Odahviing up there, and anyone who hadn’t seen him would have heard Bryn Shout. She put her chin in her hand and asked, “So, Auntie and Grandmother, what do you think of your grubby, loud-mouthed, pie-gobbling little half-breed now? Does what I am horrify you?”

Elluhrine made a sound of offended hurt at the suggestion, while Ariwyn said in dismay, “You’re Dragonborn and the High Queen of Skyrim, and you have the Emperor’s favor! Of course not.”

“And yet when you were approached about me you locked yourselves in your houses and disavowed any knowledge of me.”

“Only because we thought they might be Thalmor agents!” Elluhrine protested. “And you,” she added in a wounded, angry voice, “you would have let us go on believing you were dead! Not one word from you, no letters, nothing!”

Bryn’s right eyebrow rose as she drawled, “When I arrived in Skyrim I was convinced that I was a talentless, unattractive, fat, clumsy, pitiful mongrel, because of you two and Uncle. By the end of my first week there I had killed my first dragon and was declared Dragonborn and thane of Whiterun, and even then, _even then,_ I still felt like it had to be a mistake because I was nothing and nobody, and I would never find a husband because no one would want me because I’m mixed. I could barely bring myself to eat enough to keep doing my job properly because I was afraid I would get fat. You two tried to turn me into a proper little Altmer girl, even knowing it was impossible, and you nearly ruined me.”

“We were wrong,” Ariwyn said in a lowered voice.

“Damn straight you were. Funny how you two always bemoaned that I couldn’t learn anything and yet within a year and a half, with the proper teachers and encouragement, the people of Skyrim chose me as their High Queen because of my accomplishments.”

Ulfric chimed in, “Dragonborn, destroyer of Alduin, thane in eight holds, Harbinger of the Companions, Archmage of the College of Winterhold, destroyer of the Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves Guild, champion of Azura and Meridia, Agent of Dibella and Mara. She cleansed Skyrim of vampires. She freed Solstheim from an ancient Dragonborn. She is an honorary member of House Telvanni and House Redoran.” He glanced at his wife and wryly asked, “Did I forget anything?” Gods, he was enjoying this. This entire encounter had lifted his mood quite handily. He had fretted that Bryn would fold in the face of the two women who had ruled her life so heavily the first twenty-seven years of it, and instead she was quite satisfyingly putting the Altmer in their place. He knew that she had mulled over this encounter for a very long time and he was glad that she was finally getting her due.

“No darling, I think that covers it.” The other Daedra that she had unwillingly championed were more than happily forgotten, and she was sure Ulfric had deliberately left out that she was Blood-Kin to the Orsimer. She took his hand when he offered it, and she rose to her feet, seeing her aunt and grandmother look over her dragonscale armor and her obvious musculature with almost fear. They would learn soon enough just how very terrifying she was capable of being. They wouldn’t see it first hand, but they would hear about it. “Auntie, Grandmother…I will leave it up to you to decide if you would like to see me again. I’m not…averse to it.”

“Not averse to it!” Elluhrine said in a distraught tone.

“You might find that I am no longer the kind of being that you would find comfortable associating with.” It occurred to her that her aunt and grandmother would live long enough to see what was coming at the end of this life. Well, they had to get through many more pressing things before that became an issue. She was sure as hell not taking these two back to Skyrim with her, even if they were by some stretch of the imagination interested in such a thing. Which they were not.

Ariwyn said in disapproval, “What a hurtful, spiteful thing to say, Brynni.”

“I’m saying it in an effort to spare you two. If you saw what I truly am now it would horrify you. This, what you’re looking at now, the eyes, the Voice…it is _nothing._ You’re getting only the barest glimpse of what I am now. There has never been a being more powerful than me. The Shezzarines, maybe. Maybe.” Actually they probably had been, Whitestrake definitely, but she was making a point.

“You’re still our Brynni,” Elluhrine stated sorrowfully. “Aren’t you?”

“Do you want me to be?”

She clenched her golden fists and said in a wounded voice, “I raised you as my own child! Ennescar and Heska entrusted you to me and I gave you all the love and care I would give me own child, no, more, because I took you gladly, of my own free will, while Yancarro was forced upon me. I am sure my parenting was inadequate, but I did the best I could, considering I was barely more than a child myself!” She was satisfied to see Bryn’s coldness falter at that, and her mother fidget at her side. She had her own issues with her mother, and perhaps that was also part of the problem, but she was trying here. She let go of Ariwyn and clasped her hands together in front of her as she tentatively approached Bryn, who watched her with wary eyes, eyes that were no longer the familiar golden-hazel color her brother’s had been, but the face was the same, if more filled out. She was much more filled out altogether, what would be considered chunky in a mer, but Bryn was not mer. Elluhrine had always known that, that a half-breed child always took after the mother. Bryn was Nord, and they all had to finally accept that. “You were the child of my heart,” Elluhrine whispered painfully. “Am I not your mother? Do you feel nothing but contempt and resentment anymore?”

Bryn felt Ulfric’s hand tighten on hers as he huffed, probably aggravated by the Elf woman’s nearness and words, but both those things broke Bryn’s heart. “Yes, you are my mother,” Bryn replied in soft Altmeris, “but how can you accept that you have a monster for a child?” She could tell from her aunt’s expression that Elluhrine knew that Bryn wasn’t referring to Yancarro. She reverted to Tamrielic as she continued, “I’m trying to spare you any further distress. I do love you, you and Grandmother, but how can I let you two back into my life only to risk growing reattached to you then losing you again when you realize just what I am? Because I am not going to hide my nature. I’m done doing that, with everyone. I have the soul, blood and Voice of a dragon. I’m here to start a war. I’m here to destroy the Aldmeri Dominion, and the way I’m going to do it will be the stuff of nightmares.”

“You’re my child,” Elluhrine insisted. “You are right, I don’t know what you are, but I know that you’re my daughter, more surely than the murderous liar I gave birth to.”

Bryn’s eyes flicked to Ariwyn, and the older Altmer woman stated in a guarded tone, “I am sorry we handled your upbringing poorly. In hindsight… Well, what’s done is done, and we can only make amends.”

Seeing his wife’s expression soften, Ulfric hissed, “Do not believe a word they say. They will only weaken you.”

Bryn tiredly answered, “Yes, loving people does tend to do that, however is that always a bad thing, _kodaavi?”_

“They lied to you!” Her eyes slowly moved over to him, and he suddenly realized the irony in what he had said. She raised her eyebrows and made a small sound of acknowledgment then looked away again. He kept his mouth shut as Bryn let go of his hand, and like so many other things he wished he could take back what he had said, but he couldn’t. He could only fight to keep the sneer off his face as he looked away from Elluhrine’s grass-green eyes and try to ignore the other Elf’s cool stare. He would simply have to not be around for any further meetings, and would have to trust that his wife was strong enough emotionally to not let her female relatives get to her. From their whining it was a wonder that Bryn wasn’t a complete basket case.

Bryn moved closer to her aunt, studying the face that had dominated her life so thoroughly for twenty-seven years. She had to admit her aunt was a beauty, as beautiful as Bryn’s father had been handsome, with wide green eyes, high cheekbones, a pouty little mouth and elaborately curled hair that was so fair it was nearly white. Bryn reached out a gauntleted hand to gently lay it on Elluhrine’s shoulder, the bones within feeling as fragile as a bird’s. As her aunt gazed at her with mixed fear and love, Bryn sighed and couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. It had never occurred to her that Elluhrine had been in her early thirties when she had taken in Bryn and therefore too young to properly care for a child, especially a boisterous, active human child that didn’t behave in the ways Elluhrine’s instincts told her a child should act. There was no doubt a good reason Nature made mixed-race children take after the mother, so that a mother was raising children that made sense to her. She murmured in Altmeris, “Yes, I suppose you both did the best you could.”

“I swear to you that we did, Brynni,” Ariwyn said tremulously in the same tongue.

Bryn nodded slowly, her eyes still on her aunt, both women’s eyes on the same level. At least around Altmer she never felt freakishly tall. “Well then…I really can’t help but forgive you. Agent of Mara and all that.”

“One would hope that familial bonds would be enough!”

“Familial bonds weren’t enough to keep Yancarro from nearly murdering me.” Elluhrine made a sound of pain, and Bryn let her hand fall away as she said with regret to her aunt, “I’m sorry. And I’m certain this is no comfort, but you’re still young, and you’re beautiful. No one should marry for anything but love, and no child should be born of anything but love. When all this is done and over…live for yourself for once. Please.”

Elluhrine whispered, “Will this ever be done and over?”

“Yes. I will make certain of it. When it’s done and over the Aldmeri Dominion as it is now will cease to exist.” Her aunt shuddered. Bryn slowly leaned in to kiss Elluhrine’s cheek, well aware of how nervous the Altmer woman was, but Elluhrine accepted it, giving Bryn a brief smile when she pulled away. Bryn tried to put a kindly expression on her face and wasn’t sure she succeeded, neither mer relaxing much. She patted her aunt’s shoulder, making her wince, and Bryn murmured, “Sorry,” and let her hand fall. Well, they were trying, and that was all Bryn ever expected of anyone. She raised her voice and called for Hadvar, making the two mer flinch, and the Guard came in, bowing to Bryn. She said to her aunt and grandmother, “I…appreciate your willingness to come see me, considering everything you must have heard about me. I would like to see you again.”

Elluhrine brightened at that, and Ariwyn nodded and came to take her daughter’s arm. “We would like that as well, Brynni,” she said with a fleeting smile. “Soon.”

“Yes.”

Hadvar showed the two mer women out, and once they were gone and the door closed Ulfric said in a tense voice, “Call me an ass if you will, but your grandmother will use you. Perhaps your aunt’s intentions are pure, but your grandmother only sees the advantage in being related to you.”

“Yes darling, I believe you’re right,” she mumbled. Her grandmother did care, in her own way, but she was more calculating than Elluhrine.

He grunted, studying his wife for a moment, seeing the sadness in her, but it wasn’t that great a sadness. He tentatively reached for her hand, and she returned his grip, relieving him. He gently pulled her close, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “I am sorry for my outburst, but…I do not trust your grandmother. She may have some care for you, I will admit that, but she cares more for the prestige of being the grandmother of a potential Empress.” The Emperor hadn’t yet declared Bryn his heir, but her Dragonborn nature combined with the favor he showed her had had people talking for a year now. Bryn nodded, and he said, “As long as you’re aware of it. Your aunt is not the sharpest sword on the rack. Perhaps it is only that her mother has damaged her as you were damaged in turn. Ariwyn seems controlling.” And that was all the concession he was willing to give.

“I would say that yes, Grandmother is very controlling.” She sighed. “Poor Auntie. It never occurred to me how young she was when she took me in. Elves aren’t considered full adults until they’re thirty, and here she was given a child of a different race to raise with no clue how to go about it, and Grandmother was always hovering in the background, questioning every decision she made.”

“It is a wonder your father was able to get out from under her thumb.”

“From what my aunt and grandmother have told me, he was extremely strong-willed. Like Grandmother.” Bryn’s Altmer grandfather had died when Elluhrine was a baby, thrown from a horse, and Bryn knew as little about him as she did her Nord grandparents; Ariwyn had always dismissed Bryn’s questions with ‘He was nobody.’ Elluhrine was a follower, first following her brother into the Legion, then falling back under Ariwyn’s influence. If nothing else was accomplished with her family, Bryn wanted her adoptive mother to achieve some independence and create a life of her own. Because her aunt was young and beautiful, and with the right husband Elluhrine could be happy. The Agent of Mara was all about making people happy. There was one person though that she was looking forward to making absolutely miserable.  
-  
“Hello, Uncle.”

Ulfric had to force down the near giggle that was bubbling up in the back of his throat as he watched the dark-haired Altmer bow stiffly to Bryn. He would never, ever tire of watching Elves bow to humans. Ever. He looked around the stone townhouse and tried to imagine his wife growing up here, and it made him wonder if it was part of the reason she loved Whiterun and Riften so, with their warm wooden buildings. The place was well-appointed, Sindicar a mer of obvious means. Bryn had stated often that she had wanted for nothing material growing up, nothing but love and acceptance. Well, she had gotten plenty of love from her aunt, but not the right kind, and never real acceptance. She still might not get it.

Sindicar cleared his throat and said in controlled Altmeris, “It is good to see you are well, Brynhilde.”

“Mm-hm. I’m sure it is.”

“I…” He took a deep breath, and when she cocked her head, waiting, he said in a rush, “I don’t know where Yancarro is. I swear that upon all that his holy to me.”

Ulfric sneered and said, “If anything is.” The mer flinched but didn’t look at Ulfric, and he snorted and went silent again. He hadn’t spoken Altmeris and refused to, but he sure as hell understood it, and no doubt the Elf was shocked that a barbarian could.

Bryn put her hands on her hips and said, “Oh, I am certain that you made quite sure that you had no idea where your son was running to. Perhaps he ran straight to Alinor, or Valenwood. Perhaps he tried to join the Thalmor. Perhaps they laughed at his attempts, when they realized he was the incompetent result of poor breeding.” Sindicar stiffened at that. “Or perhaps, and most likely, he tripped into a puddle and was killed by mudcrabs the day after leaving here.” He didn’t respond, keeping his eyes lowered and his hands folded before him, though she heard a snort of amusement from Ulfric. “So tell me, did you feel any regret at all that the child who was raised in your household was dead? Were you glad to have one less mouth to feed, or were you annoyed that you’d lost a target for your insults?”

“I never wished you harm,” Sindicar replied in a shaking voice.

“Yes, I’m sure. It was never personal, was it? Because I wasn’t a person to you. I was a fat, dirty mongrel, a mistake of breeding. How it must have absolutely galled you every time you heard news of me from Skyrim. I can only hope that Yancarro, if he lived, has heard the same. Believe me Uncle, I know that your contempt for me was never personal and that you didn’t wish me actual harm, or you would find that you had bought a one-way ride on dragon-back to Skyrim and all kinds of Nordic delights.” Sindicar shuddered, looking nearly green beneath his golden skin. “So you’ve heard nothing at all from Yancarro since he left?”

“N-no, I swear to you,” he whispered tremulously. “I swear by the Eight—”

“Nine,” Ulfric stated firmly. “There are _Nine_ Divines.”

“Of course. Yes, the Nine.”

Bryn stared at her uncle, finding the entire thing unsatisfying, anticlimactic. If the mer had had any kind of fight in him, even a hint of contempt or defiance in him, she could have enjoyed this, but he didn’t, and she couldn’t. How typical of bullies to fold in the face of greater strength. “Well then,” she said quietly, “I am done here. I thought to go see my old room, but no. I don’t think I will ever be coming back to this house. Unfortunately I will be spending more time in the Imperial City than I ever wanted to, but I have no reason to come back here, or see you ever again. If you ever need gainful employment however, I would be glad to hire you to scrub the floors in any of the many houses I own.” He looked pained, and she left it at that.

She turned and left the house without saying goodbye, ambivalent about the entire meeting. She slipped her hand into Ulfric’s as they walked down the avenue, Hadvar and Ralof falling into step behind them, four Penitus Oculatus soldiers in twos on either side of them watching the gawking populace for any signs of trouble. The constant security while out in the city was flattering, if more of a giveaway than she wanted. They were the Emperor’s personal guards and they were following Bryn everywhere, but none of the other Elder Council members. Well, it was Mede’s call, not hers, and if she wanted to slip out of the Palace in the middle of the night and roam the city she could. She wouldn’t do that, knowing Ulfric would throw a fit, but it was nice to know that she could. She could leave any time she wanted, Odahviing still perched at the top of the tower, spending most of his time sleeping, curled like a great cat at the center, probably visible from a distance, though not up close.

Ulfric grunted and said, “I expected much greater trouble from him.”

“So did I,” she replied. “It’s rather disappointing.” Ulfric glanced sideways at her, frowning, and she realized she was still speaking High Elven. “Sorry darling,” she murmured in Tamrielic. He sighed and looked ahead again as they walked. She took a deep breath of the air, finding it a bit cloying, though sweet. High summer wasn’t the best time of year for a Nord to come here, her entire party finding it much too warm, but their quarters in the Imperial Palace were cool, at the heart of a building of white stone that reflected heat. She could tolerate daytime warmth if she was able to sleep in coolness. The warmth made the greenery and flowers here lush, tended to lovingly by the folk who lived in this neighborhood, aptly named Elven Gardens. Not that only Elves lived here; they made up only about half the populace of this district, but she could tell Ulfric didn’t like being only halfway surrounded by mer, in fact it seemed he wasn’t seeing the beauty of this place at all. She prompted, “It’s pretty here.”

“Hm. Yes, I suppose.” He preferred Skyrim’s clean, sharp beauty to the gaudy flowers and intense colors here. He tried to imagine Bryn here as a child and couldn’t. He tried to imagine her as a teen in fine silk dresses with ribbons in her hair and failed miserably. What was hardest of all was knowing his wife’s steel will and trying to imagine her not even four years ago submitting to her aunt and grandmother’s orders. It must have been a constant battle for her to override her nature.

As they approached the gate the sweet fragrance of sacred lotus wafted towards them, and Bryn made a sound of happiness and breathed deeply. She heard a smothered sound of distaste from Ulfric but ignored it. Ignoring him was sadly all she could do. And it was sad. She had known he would hate it here. He was a Son of Skyrim through and through, and his old memories kept him from finding even the smallest pleasure in anything here. Ralof wasn’t comfortable here either even after several days in the city, and Bryn wasn’t sure what to do about it. Ralof would conceivably still be guarding her when she became Empress and had to move here, at least for part of the year. Well, that was then and this was now. Ulfric still had another couple weeks to tolerate here, another couple weeks of too-warm weather in a city he despised. She could only hope that he was able to find some enjoyment at some point in all this. Well, there was one day he would enjoy. Four days from now was going to be a day that a great many people would enjoy. In fact someday she thought she might declare it a holiday.


	66. Chapter 66

Feeling Ulfric tremble next to her, Rikke discreetly patted him on the arm, and he whispered, “Not hiding it well, am I?”

“You’ve waited a long time for this, old friend,” she replied softly. “We all have.” Ulfric had waited longer than Ralof, Hadvar or Bryn had been alive. Over half a lifetime Ulfric had waited for this day, one he had probably believed would never come. Rikke glanced to the other side of Ulfric and Hadvar and Galmar were scanning their surroundings, again, never letting up their guard; neither was Ralof on the other side of her. The gallery was packed with people and it would be all too easy for an assassin to work their way close to Ulfric, who was much more vulnerable than the Queen. Bryn was embroiled in a discussion with a Breton council member, the young brown-haired man standing much too close to her, and his six or seven inches less in height forced Bryn to literally look down her nose at him. Her expression was one of cool politeness, but Rikke knew her well enough that he could tell she was annoyed.

The loud hum of conversation went briefly silent as horns sounded at the entry to the council chamber, and Bryn felt a nervous flutter in her gut as young court pages spread through the room and began showing the Elder Council members to their seats. The Breton who had waylaid her, Amaund Motierre, inclined his head respectfully then let himself be led away. Bryn watched him go, keeping her expression neutral. She did not at all trust the man. She expected some of the other members to try to curry her favor, and several already had, most of the Empire well aware that the Emperor was taken with her and might name her his heir, but there was something about Motierre that sat wrong with her. He would be one to keep an eye on for sure.

A young girl curtseyed to her, and Bryn smiled at her and followed her to a seat at the right hand of the Ruby Throne. The lengths Mede was going to didn’t make Bryn altogether comfortable, and the lack of fuss over it she had encountered so far had been baffling, though there was a swell of hushed conversation when it became apparent where she was sitting. She gathered that the positions in the circle shifted based on the Emperor’s favor and that there was some competition involved for the positions, but other than that she was at a loss. She really was a fish out of water here, and she wasn’t sure how she would ever be able to tolerate it. She could only hope that the Emperor lived to a very ripe old age and spared her having to take over the job until she was older and wiser, because at this point she didn’t know what the hell she was doing.

Horns sounded again, and Bryn took a deep breath in an attempt to calm the butterflies in her stomach. _Julianos give me wisdom,_ she silently prayed. He wasn’t a Divine she often gave much thought to, but she could use his help now. She remained standing at her seat as the Emperor was escorted to his throne. She had always expected it to be a bit grander than it was, though it was certainly impressive, a high-backed seat of gray-streaked white marble set with rubies, with a seat cushion of deep red velvet. She wasn’t sure what she had expected…maybe something in solid gold, something a little flashier. The seats of the Elder Council themselves were all thrones, each set front and back with a large hexagonal ruby and cushioned in red velvet, the dark wood elaborately carved. The thought that she was just one of many Council members didn’t help much to calm her, and when the Emperor arrived to take his seat she could feel all eyes on her, calculating, measuring, trying to read every nuance in her expression. It was nearly intolerable, but she had no choice but to tolerate it. Ulfric had warned her during their very first week together that becoming High Queen of Skyrim meant being a nominal member of the Elder Council. She wasn’t expected to attend every session, having an entire province to run, and so would have a representative here, but for important gatherings like this there was no escaping that obligation. Not that she would dream of missing today.

Bryn hurried to bow deeply to the Emperor at the same time everyone else did, and when he motioned for her to light the ceremonial fire at the center of the stone table she felt her skin crawling with the feel of so many eyes on her. It had been different when she had first entered the Imperial City; she had never doubted her ability to connect with the common folk. Here she had…rivals. That was the only way she could think of the other Council members until she got to know them better. Bryn gathered flames in both hands then sent a ball of it rolling towards the pile of incense and scented wood, and the look of surprise on a great many faces deeply aggravated her. The expectation that she was little more than a barbarian aggravated her. She supposed she wasn’t helping that image in her dragonscale armor and crown of dragon’s teeth. _Be what you are…_ She heard her husband’s words whisper in her mind, and she clung to them as best she could. It was all she could do not to look up at the balcony that ringed the rotunda and try to find him, to take comfort in his presence. She knew he was there, watching, and that had to be enough.

Titus Mede II nodded curtly and motioned for everyone to sit. He remained standing as the room fell silent except for a few hushed whispers in the gallery above. He scanned it and saw the Nord contingent, impossible to miss, all of them half a head taller than most of the folk around them, Ulfric leaning on the stone railing with a look of almost feral intensity on his scarred and weathered face, his body tight as a bow string. The man’s blue-green eyes bored into the Emperor’s dark ones as if urging him on. Well, Mede wasn’t about to rush one moment of this.

He turned his gaze on the folk at the table, men and women of high birth or rank: the High Queen of Skyrim next to him, three Kings and two Queens of the five kingdoms of High Rock, the Counts and Countesses of Cyrodiil, and scions of old wealth whose families had held Council positions for decades if not centuries. There were a number of faces there that didn’t bother to hide their unhappiness with Bryn’s position next to him. Unfortunate, and irrelevant. None of them had ever had any chance at all of rising to Emperor or Empress, not with the excessive fecundity of his siblings. It was his own family that was the true concern, one that he had been wrestling with for over a year now, and one that he would continue to wrestle with until he was on his death bed. He could only be glad that most of his kin were too indolent to put enough effort into much of anything to be a true threat to him or his chosen heir.

“I call this Council to order,” he stated, his voice carrying through the room. “I called this session with a two-fold purpose, but in the end it all comes down to one thing, and one thing only: the future of this Empire. The Empire that Tiber Septim built and that his bloodline sustained until Martin Septim’s noble sacrifice not five hundred feet from here. The Empire that my own ancestors took by force of arms and have tried to hold together for over a hundred and eighty years. But I ask you…how much of an Empire is it at this point?” There were gasps at that, and he nodded. “Shocking, isn’t it, to hear your own Emperor say those words. They are words that I have murmured to myself at night for nearly forty years.” Mede looked around the circle then up at the balcony. Ulfric was still staring at him intently, his fists clenched on the railing, the Queen’s chamberlain at his side with her hand on his shoulder, as if trying to steady him. Quite touching, really. Old friends become enemies become friends again.

He looked back to the Council and leaned his hands on the round stone in front of him, looking at each member in a measuring fashion as he murmured, “So what are we going to do about it?” His gaze came to rest on the young woman seated next to him, and she met his eyes, her unease hidden well, but not perfectly. She didn’t want this. Well, anyone who really did was out of their mind. He looked back to the circle and most of the Elder Council was staring at Bryn, and he stated, “I’m here to tell you what we’re going to do about it. What _I_ am going to do about it.” He kept his eyes on the small fire at the center of the table, now burned down to little more than ash, though its sweet scent still permeated the chamber, and he straightened up and held out his right hand. He felt more than heard her move, and as the dragonscale gauntlet slipped into his hand he saw several expressions tighten in either offense or anger, or both, though there was no surprise in them. The room was utterly silent, even in the gallery, and as his eyes roamed the room he saw a collective holding of breath, every man and mer present well aware of the gravity of the moment.

“The Empire cannot thrive, cannot survive, without a Dragonborn bloodline on the throne,” Mede stated. “Akatosh himself has given us one last chance to make things right. And so I will.” He held up Bryn’s hand. “Today I name my heir: Brynhilde Stormcrown, High Queen of Skyrim. Ysmir, Dragon of the North, Dragonborn, as was Tiber Septim, the man who founded this Empire. The man who became Talos, the Ninth Divine.” There were the expected gasps, even a few outraged murmurs, but the rumor had been floating about for the last year, a rumor that he had started with his visit to Skyrim, and which the Penitus Oculatus had fostered. “If any in the Council would gainsay this, do it now, or forever hold your peace. But be warned, what you say will be weighed by the public here today.” It was silent, for long enough that Mede felt surprised that no one was speaking up, then an elderly Colovian woman slowly rose to her feet, supported by a cane. “Countess Arvina Matius of Kvatch, you are recognized.”

“Your Majesty,” she replied with a curtsy. She turned her dark eyes on the young woman and said with misgiving, “I do not gainsay this decision. It is one that clearly has had a great deal of thought put into it. Perhaps it was even inevitable, in a way. My concern is your own kin, Sire. Skyrim recently went through a civil war. A full-scale crisis was only narrowly averted. What is to stop the Medes who feel they have been cheated of the throne from staging a coup and embroiling Cyrodiil in a civil war?”

“A valid concern, of course. I have spoken at great length with my relatives. Most have no interest in the position. The few who do want it, want it for the wrong reasons. They would be dealt with as any other usurpers. I have chosen my heir.” He let go of Bryn’s hand but motioned for her to stay where she was, standing at his side. “My heir is not particularly happy with my choice, of course. My heir is not even particularly thrilled about being the High Queen of Skyrim. However she sees the necessity of it. None of my kin have the strength to hold the Empire together more than another generation at most. If Brynhilde hadn’t put a stop to Skyrim’s civil war our ‘Empire’ would be down to Cyrodiil and High Rock, and how long do you think the Bretons would be able to hang in there, separated, at a distance?” The five rulers of High Rock gave away nothing, their expressions polite neutrality. “Eventually we would have no Empire at all, and would be only Cyrodiil, and then…then the vultures who have been waiting the last thirty years will swoop in and pick apart the remains.”

“Yes, and--please, excuse me for being indelicate--was the Queen not raised by Altmer? The populace may not take terribly well to one of mixed heritage considering how we all feel about the Thalmor.”

Bryn couldn’t help snorting in derision at that, and when Mede motioned for her to finally speak she stated, “If the Nord people accepted me, somewhat set in their ways as they are, would not the people of Cyrodiil do the same? If Nords can tell the difference between Thalmor and Altmer, surely the people of Cyrodiil can.” The Countess frowned, and Bryn added in a curious tone, “Perhaps it isn’t the populace’s opinion of me that is at issue, Your Grace.” The old woman lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes at the implication. “I assure you, Countess Matius, I do my best to stay attuned to the opinions of any populace I find myself amongst. I’m most at home among the common folk, due to my humble beginnings. And after all, even the most noble of families were started at some point by commoners, were they not? Perhaps even a certain Captain of the guard?” The Countess’ ancestor Savlian Matius had been instrumental in holding together a terrified populace and rebuilding a devastated city during and after the Oblivion crisis, and was afterwards rewarded for his exemplary service with a title, seeing as how the Goldwine family that had ruled the county was wiped out.

The Countess stared at the young woman for a long moment, then she said with begrudging respect, “You have done your homework, I see.” She put both hands on top of her cane and said, “All right then, young lady. So have I. It isn’t me that has the problem with your heritage. I am a student of history, and I know full well that one of the most beloved Empresses this Empire has ever seen was Katariah, a Dunmer. Nearly half a century she ruled, and the Empire hasn’t known such peace and prosperity before or since. That is all that should matter.”

“Yes, Your Grace. I have tried to follow her example in Skyrim. I travel the province frequently and make certain the people know I’m there for them. As I said before, I’m most at home among the common folk. It is the common folk that are the backbone of any society. They _are_ the society.”

“Yes, I am in full agreement on that.”

“Any ruler, be it of a county or an Empire, should be a servant of the people.”

“I am in full agreement on that point as well, Queen Brynhilde. Kvatch has never had cause for complaint under my rule.”

“Then where are we not in agreement, Countess?”

“The timing of all this. I only brought up your mixed blood to see how you would react to it.” People gasped and she ignored it. She was old enough to not care what people thought of her. Instead of being offended Bryn laughed softly, the sound echoing through the chamber as her voice did. The girl was completely unfazed, though it was hard to see her as a young woman when that voice was resonating off the walls and those golden eyes glowed so eerily. The Countess couldn’t help being somewhat relieved that at her advanced age she wasn’t going to live to see the Dragonborn become Empress. Thankfully her own daughter took after her in temperament and wouldn’t be easily cowed by the creature. Matius turned her attention to the Emperor, who had watched the exchange as he always did: measuring, conniving. He connived for the greater good, but it was conniving all the same. “Sire, the _timing,”_ she stressed.

“There will never be a better time, Lady Matius,” Mede said in a tone of utter seriousness. “I’m not handing her the keys to the kingdom today. Or next year, or ten years from now, Arkay willing. However events are in motion.” He looked around the stone table and firmly repeated, “Events _are_ in motion. Whether we will it or not, fate cannot be stopped. Everything that has happened in the last two centuries has been leading up to this. The Empire cannot stand without a Dragonborn ruler on the throne. I will not let everything that my ancestors held together fall apart out of sheer selfishness and greed. I love this Empire and her people, and it is out of that love that I have made certain that a new Dragonborn dynasty will follow the Medes. I will not squander this opportunity that the Divines themselves have put before me!”

Into the perfect silence that followed, Matius said with a nod, “As well you should not, Your Majesty.” She inclined her head and sank back down into her seat, satisfied. For now.

Mede slammed his hands on the stone table and said, “I pray to the Divines, all Nine of them, that you all have been paying attention the last few years to what has gone on outside the borders of Cyrodiil. Do you think the Aldmeri Dominion has been idly sitting by, twiddling their thumbs? What do you think Hammerfell has been doing? Or Morrowind? We have heard nothing, _nothing,_ from Alinor for a year and a half, much like the seventy year silence that preceded the Great War. I tell you there is no better time for what we do here today, and we had best get our own house in order, quickly.”

The Count of Bruma stood, and when the Emperor nodded to him Ingmar said, “With all due respect, Sire…” He looked at Bryn and went on, “Speaking frankly, perhaps we would not currently be on the brink of war if the Dragonborn had not so rashly provoked the Thalmor.” He heard sharp intakes of breath and sounds of offense from the gallery, the loudest of them recognizably Ulfric’s. Bryn stared back evenly, her expression going cold, though a smirk played at the edges of her mouth. “And I don’t mean just the incident on the ship. I’m certain we’ve all heard the tales of her running about Skyrim killing their Justiciars every chance she got. She stood at the center of my city and told my citizens that she would have the Chapel of Talos rebuilt. She is the one who will end up bringing them down on us, again!”

When the Emperor didn’t respond, Bryn stated in a ringing voice full of contempt, “You’re an even greater fool than I suspected. Either that or your pockets are lined with Elven gold.” People gasped at her words. She had never heard a crowd so incredibly prone to gasping.

“How dare you suggest it!” he hissed. “My city has suffered more than any other the last twenty years! There is no one who hates the Thalmor more than I do!”

“You are mistaken, Ingmar. You are quite, quite mistaken in that regard.”

“That is Count Ingmar to you.”

“Then you will address me as Queen Brynhilde, or Dragonborn.” The man stared resentfully at her. “No? Then we’re at an impasse, it seems. So, you really think that if I had let all those Justiciars go on their merry way that the Thalmor would leave us all alone. I should have turned a blind eye to the poor souls that were being dragged away to be tortured and murdered. I should have lain down and let the Thalmor death squads that were sent after me do their jobs and assassinate me. Should I have done all that, Ingmar? Is that what you would have done?” He didn’t answer, because of course there was no good answer. “I blame no one for being unable to stop the Thalmor. I don’t blame you or Count Carvain for being unable to keep them out of your city. But I was able to stop them, and so I did. I will _not_ stand by and watch the innocent suffer harm. I will _not_ tolerate the Thalmor dictating what other people are allowed to believe.”

He cried, “And so we will end up fighting another war we can’t possibly win!”

“Clearly someone has not been _paying attention!”_ she yelled, her Voice making the stone beneath their feet tremble. There were smothered cries of shock as Ingmar and the other Council members recoiled, but she was too angry to do more than distractedly wonder if the aura was there again. She didn’t spare a glance at the Emperor to find out. She pointed at Ingmar and said, “I am telling you, all of you…” She gestured to the other Councilors. “The Thalmor have been planning all this for over two hundred years. The Oblivion gates only gave them the opening they were looking for to gain influence in the Summerset Isles, in Alinor. Everything they have done for the last two centuries has been with one purpose, and one purpose only: to destroy mankind and unmake Mundus.”

Mede stated into the stunned silence, “And they very nearly did. Very nearly.” He made a scoffing sound and went on, “The Thalmor never intended to leave us alone. Where have you been all this time, Ingmar, under a rock?”

The Count said in an impassioned voice, “I have been in Bruma trying to hold together the people who have suffered most in all this! Not six months goes by without Justiciars sweeping through my city, going house to house looking for family shrines and Amulets of Talos, looking for any excuse at all to drag someone, anyone, away!”

Bryn quietly said, “Not six months, hm? How long as it been now?”

“A year and a half, but that brings us right back to where we started and what I was saying! There will be retribution, mark my words!”

“Yes, there will be retribution, and it will be ours, not theirs!” she countered, leaning forward with her hands on the table.

“We don’t have the forces!”

“Yes, we do.” Ingmar made a sound of disbelief and shook his head. “What numbers do you think Elves have, who breed so slowly? Why do you think they fostered civil war in Skyrim, behind the scenes, if not to whittle away at our numbers, because they knew we could build them up again much more quickly than they could?”

“They have the Khajiit as well, do not forget that.”

Bryn rolled her eyes. “As if they can be organized into any kind of effective army past their own borders. They excel at guerrilla warfare, so unless anyone plans on marching into Elsweyr, which I certainly do not, I think your fears unfounded.” Ingmar made a sound of frustration. “I’m not trying to be difficult here, really, but what would you rather we do? Continue on as we have, cowering and praying that they leave us alone? They have no intention of leaving us alone. They never did. Please tell me you don’t believe that they were going to eventually just leave us alone.”

“Only a fool would believe that,” he said in offense.

“Well I’m glad of that.” She stood up from the table and looked at the Emperor, who nodded slightly, and she took the cue and left it at that.

Ingmar rubbed his forehead and sank back down into his seat, and Mede stated, “We’re going to do this, people. The longer we wait the more prepared they get and the more their numbers recover. They no longer have Alduin’s destruction on their side. The dragons that are left have been reined in, and how many do you have at your disposal, Queen Brynhilde?”

“Seven, Sire,” she answered.

“Only seven?” a Nibenese noble said in dismay.

Bryn laughed quietly as she heard sounds of derision from her husband and the rest of their group up in the balcony. “If you had any idea what one dragon could do, sir. You did see my friend sitting at the top of this tower, did you not?”

“Yes, but frankly a sleeping dragon isn’t particularly impressive.”

“Suffice it to say that he could tear this Tower apart if he wanted to. A dragon can cover in hours by air what takes anyone else days. They have incredibly powerful fire and frost breath. I can also call an undead dragon into battle.” The Councilors looked at each other with either wary or stunned expressions. “And then I have my own Shouts and abilities, which are not inconsequential.”

A Breton Queen raised her voice and said, “I would not be averse to a demonstration, Dragonborn. Of one of your Shouts, perhaps.” Bryn hesitated, frowning. “Not since Tiber Septim has the Voice been heard in this hall, and even then his Voice was silenced young. If you would be our Empress, then show us how you would defend your Empire. Give us something tangible to believe in.” The young woman wasn’t pleased at all to be put on display, but she was on display, and she had better get used to it.

Bryn glanced at the Emperor, and he raised his eyebrows and motioned for her to go ahead, which irked her, hoping he would put a stop to it. She should have known he wouldn’t. “All right then,” she said in a tone of quiet menace. She climbed onto the stone table in a swift movement, making people gasp or sputter at her audacity. Too bad. She walked to the center of the table, facing the older Breton woman, and she smirked at her in annoyance before lifting her head to the tall ceiling and Shouting, _“YOL TOOR SHUL!”_ Fire boiled out of her mouth with a crack of thunder as the folk in the balconies screamed and fell back in terror, though once the flames passed they leaned back in again with wide eyes. Bryn was glad to see that she had judged the distance correctly and hadn’t caused any damage to the building. She cocked her head at the other Queen and asked, “Satisfied?”

“Yes, Queen Brynhilde, quite,” she said with a sniff, her hands tight on the arms of her chair. Yes, she was quite satisfied, though it had been all she could do not to react in fear at the demonstration. It had been necessary. The people needed to see what the Dragonborn was capable of. The people needed hope. And any Medes in the room needed to see what they were potentially up against if they got any ideas about going against the Emperor’s chosen heir. Her fellow Breton rulers had also needed a reminder of where they all stood. Mede had been right about one thing: if Skyrim had seceded from the Empire, High Rock would not have been far behind. 

As Bryn returned to her seat, a look of resignation on her face, her cheeks pink, Mede nodded and said, “Well then, I’m glad we have that settled. That was but a small taste of what the Dragonborn can do, as she has Shouts that are even more destructive than that, I assure you. She has seven dragons at her command, perhaps more if the others can be convinced to follow her. She has a unified Skyrim at her back and the might of the Nords at her hand.” He glanced over to the side of the room and gestured for someone to come forward. “You are all familiar with General Tullius. General, what is the state of our Legion?”

Tullius came to stand beside the Ruby Throne and stated, “We still aren’t to pre-171 levels. We never will be with Hammerfell out of the game. However our Legion is healthy, enough to hold the center and patrol the borders with Valenwood and Elsweyr.”

Mede nodded. “Yes, Hammerfell. As you all know, we have a…complicated relationship with the former province. They refused to send representatives here, as is their right, however we have assurances from them that there is no way in Oblivion that Dominion forces will be able to pass through any part of their lands. The Dominion will have to come at us from the Gold Coast or up through the south.”

A Breton King asked in a skeptical tone, “What is to stop them from attacking High Rock or Skyrim directly?”

“It’s the Ruby Throne they want,” Tullius stated. “The White Gold Tower. They want to rip the heart out of the Empire. They may make feints into the other provinces, but it’s Cyrodiil and the Imperial City they’ll go after. With Alduin gone they no longer have any chance of unmaking Mundus, so they will do everything in their power to subjugate Man and resume what they feel is their rightful place in the world.” He hadn’t believed any of the ‘Nord nonsense’ about the black dragon from Helgen being the World-Eater, and hadn’t dreamed that the Dominion’s ultimate goal was anything other than Altmer wanting to enslave humanity, much as the Ayleids once had. The documents the Dragonborn had salvaged from Elenwen’s ship had quickly disabused him of both notions. He went on, “Each province of course must do what they feel necessary to secure their own borders. However, the center must hold. Neither High Rock nor Skyrim are easily assailable, and the Sea of Ghosts is impassable nearly half the year. If we—”

Tullius went silent at a commotion from the locked chamber doors. An Imperial Palace guard came striding into the rotunda, saluting to Tullius, who nodded for her to speak. “The Aldmeri ambassador has arrived, General Tullius. Your Majesty,” she stated, her voice as steady as she could make it.

Mede nodded slowly as he took a deep breath. “Let him in,” he ordered. He leaned back in his seat, willing his heart to not pound, only partly successful. This was the moment they had been working towards for the last thirty-some years. It was one he hadn’t had much hope of seeing in his lifetime. The room went deathly silent, even the normal unobtrusive whispers in the gallery silenced. The Emperor’s gaze flicked up to Ulfric and the man was visibly trembling, his fists clenched so tightly that Mede was surprised he couldn’t hear the bones creaking.

The doors swung open and the guards parted, and into the perfect silence strode a tall Altmer in black Thalmor robes, though more heavily ornamented than the ones Bryn was familiar with. She had to admit he was incredibly striking, one of the most handsome mer she had ever seen, nearly seven feet tall with eyes of amber, his hair a perfect golden blond, as was the full beard he sported, telling her he had to be at least several centuries old. He was flanked by female warriors in glass armor, trailed by two wizards and another set of warriors in glass. He practically reeked of power. And arrogance.

“What is the meaning of this summons?” the mer asked haughtily as he strode towards the opening in the chairs that faced the Ruby Throne across the stone table.

“Greetings, Ambassador Arendil,” the Emperor stated calmly. “I hope your journey from Alinor was uneventful.”

“As uneventful as it was unnecessary, I’m sure,” he drawled. His eyes flicked to Bryn as he asked with a sneer, “What is _that_ doing here?” The Dragonborn stared back with a cool expression.

“High Queen Brynhilde of Skyrim is here as a member of the Elder Council.”

“Yes, I suppose she is, technically, however the creature is wanted for crimes against the Aldmeri Dominion. The Thalmor find her presence here an affront.”

Bryn asked in derision, “Is there anything the Thalmor do _not_ find an affront?”

Arendil lifted his nose and ignored her, saying to Mede, “She is wanted for the murder of First Emissary Elenwen and fifty-two Thalmor Justiciars.”

“That many?” Bryn said in delight. “Thank you, I’d lost track.”

He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “The Aldmeri Dominion demands that she be handed over to stand trial for her crimes, in Alinor.” There were sounds of shock at that.

Bryn held her tongue, waiting, and Mede made a sound of polite interest. “I see,” he said thoughtfully. “You realize of course that this would require the Dragonborn to willingly hand herself over to you.”

“You have the authority to order her arrest.”

“Yes, this is true, however she would resist that arrest, which would result in the deaths of those attempting to arrest her. Honestly, if the Thalmor themselves were unable to apprehend her in Skyrim, when she was much less powerful than she is now, how on Nirn do you expect anyone else to do so?” It was patently obvious that the Thalmor expected no such thing; it was a pretense, nothing more, as so many of their statements were. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tullius motion discreetly behind his back, and he felt a wave of anticipation like little else he had felt in his life. Ah, such times they lived in!

“The creature must be held accountable for her actions,” Arendil insisted.

“The _Dragonborn,”_ he stressed, “was placed here at the hands of the Divines. Her very conception was brought about by Akatosh himself. Who are we or the Dominion to hold her to our standards?”

“She must be made to pay for her crimes against the Dominion!”

Mede shrugged then waved his hand at Bryn. “Then by all means, take her away.”

“The Empire are responsible for subduing and apprehending her, since you are the ones who have allowed her to run rampant, when she should have been apprehended and executed immediately upon her discovery.”

“For what, pray tell? Simply existing?”

“She escaped from Helgen, where she was slated to face the executioner. She was never cleared of the crime that sent her there.”

Tullius spoke up then, saying, “The charges against the Dragonborn were spurious. Yes, she was cleared of them.”

Arendil was silent for a moment, then he said in a tone of quiet menace, “The creature must—”

_“Zu’u los Dovahkiin!”_ Bryn shouted as she stood, the sound cracking and making the stone walls around them tremble. The Altmer stiffened, and she stated in thundering Altmeris, “I am the blessed daughter of Auriel! How dare you gainsay the will of the Divines!” Arendil stared at her with cold hate, and she continued in Tamrielic, “I tire of this pathetic charade. You and everyone else present know that I will not meekly hand myself over to be put through your sham trial. You knew that coming here. You know that neither the Empire nor the Dominion have the ability to contain me. Do not waste our time with these childish games. I have no patience for it, _Kriisfahliil.”_

_“You_ have no patience for it,” he sneered. _“You,_ some mongrel. As if I should have any care or concern for the patience of a half-breed.”

She smiled serenely at him and answered, “You should, because it is my patience, and my good manners, that are keeping me from making an example of you.”

The Elf sniffed in disdain, and Mede added in a dangerous tone, “You should because the being you are treating with such contempt is my heir, Ambassador.”

Arendil’s nose wrinkled as he stated, “You’ve made _that_ your heir? Truly, it is sad the state that the Empire has fallen into.”

“And yet it is still the Empire. It will always be the Empire.” Mede found the Thalmor’s lack of surprise at the statement somewhat disappointing, though not unexpected.

“The Empire exists because we allow it to exist.”

Bryn laughed, “Do you all have a handbook with scripted lines you read from?” She leaned her hands on the table and murmured, “You exist because _I_ allow you to exist. You, Arendil.”

“Is that so.”

“Yes, that is so.”

“My, you’re quite terrifying,” he drawled.

She shrugged as she stood straight. “Would you like to face me in single combat in the Arena?” At that Arendil finally looked somewhat taken aback then he composed himself again. “I’m sure a loyal, dedicated member of the Dominion such as you would be eager to have this chance to prove Elven superiority over a mere mongrel.”

“And I’m sure no trickery at all would be involved.”

“Of course there wouldn’t, however you would never believe that. Those who live and breathe lies are completely incapable of recognizing truth when they hear it.” She sank back down into her seat, tired of all this already. Arendil smiled thinly then sniffed and turned his attention back to the Emperor. Everything about the mer rubbed Bryn the wrong way…his expression, his mannerisms, his speech, even the way he breathed aggravated her. She was sure she could have handled the encounter better than she had, disappointed in herself, but she really wasn’t good at verbal skirmishes like this. She was much too direct a person to tolerate it.

Arendil clasped his hands in front of him and said to Mede, “Well then, if your little hound can contain herself for a moment, shall we get down to business, Emperor?”

“We shall,” Mede replied. The Ambassador was being much more confrontational than he had in days past, deliberately so. “Do you know why I requested your presence here today?”

“I’m sure I can’t possibly imagine. To show off your new pet, I suppose? I’m not particularly impressed.”

“That’s…unfortunate. Truly, it is. I honestly thought that the fact that she was capable of completely dismantling the Thalmor presence in Skyrim single-handedly might impress on the Aldmeri Dominion the extreme gravity of your situation.”

“Clearly First Emissary Elenwen was not up to the task of dealing with the matter.”

Bryn stated, “Clearly, neither are you.”

Arendil ignored her and went on in mock confusion, “Your statement about the supposed gravity of the Dominion’s situation troubles me, Emperor. I can’t imagine what you might be getting at.”

Mede took a deep breath, said a silent prayer to Talos, then looked up at Tullius. “Enlighten him, General.”

“With pleasure, Your Majesty,” Tullius said gravely. He turned and motioned behind him, and the four burly Imperial Guards waiting at the back of the room came forward, carrying a large crate between them. He walked around the table, the Guards following, and stopped about twenty feet away from the Altmer. The crate was set on the ground next to the General then the Guards took up position in a semi-circle behind him. Well, if this went pear-shaped the Guards wouldn’t be much protection, but the Thalmor wouldn’t leave White Gold Tower alive after that.

Mede stood, resisting the urge to glance upwards at Ulfric, certain that the Jarl was nearly beside himself at this point. “Ambassador Arendil,” he stated coldly. “A gift from the Empire.” The High Elf stared back with equal coldness, no doubt knowing that he was not going to enjoy the ‘gift’. Tullius pried off the already-loosened lid, and when it came away and Arendil glanced down at it in contempt then went pale gold the Emperor felt an almost sexual thrill of ultimate satisfaction. Arendil had been part of the contingent who had dumped the heads of the Blades at Mede’s feet decades ago, so no doubt the irony was not lost on the Elf. When Arendil slowly turned his head and fixed burning amber eyes on the Emperor, Mede said in a ringing voice, “I declare the White-Gold Concordat null and void…by the grace of Talos!”

“Praise Talos!” Ulfric shouted, followed immediately by the same cry from Galmar, then Ralof and Rikke and Hadvar. The cry was taken up and raced through the crowd, and he felt Rikke’s strong grip on his arm then her lips on his cheek. He took in a shuddering breath, tears filling his eyes, and he roughly scrubbed them away, not about to miss one second of the sight of the Thalmor seething impotently in front of a box of the frozen heads of their compatriots. Ulfric looked down at his wife, and she was staring intently at the Elves, her hands on the arms of her chair as if she would launch herself out of it at any moment. She understood the danger quite well, as did the other Council members, and the Emperor’s battlemages had moved close to Mede, taking position on either side of him, hands at the ready to cast protective magics around him. Ah, but he could die a happy man after this!

Arendil’s eyes slid over to Bryn, and he hissed into the quieting room, “This was your doing, half-breed bitch.”

“She was the Emperor’s hand,” Mede barked. _“My_ hand.”

“You have made a grave tactical mistake, Emperor. You have guaranteed that the Aldmeri Dominion will not rest until every filthy human neck is under an Elven boot.”

Bryn sneered, “Elenwen gave me that line. Right before she pissed herself on the back of a dragon.” She stood and added, “I do hope you have adequately passed on those superior genes of yours, Ambassador.”

Arendil said furiously, “If I am not back in Alinor before month’s end—”

The Ambassador stopped himself, and Mede said, “What, you’ll go on the offensive? As if that isn’t what you’ve been preparing for the last thirty years? The last two years? Don’t insult my intelligence.” He made flicking motion. “Leave my city, Ambassador. Quickly. We are at war.”

“We have been at war all along, fool,” Arendil retorted. He raised his arm and pointed at Bryn. “You. You had better hope you die in battle. You had better _pray_ that you do.” She sniffed in derision at the threat. He smiled coldly at her. “And you had better pray that your husband does as well.”

“Unfortunate that I will never know what you mean by that,” Bryn said in a thoughtful tone. Arendil turned on his heel and strode out of the room, and once the doors closed behind his group she finally looked up at her husband. He grinned at her, a wild look in his eyes, but he was happy. She wished she could be. She was satisfied by the Thalmors’ reaction, but she couldn’t be happy. Of course the Dominion would know that their odds of taking her out were practically nil, so Ulfric would make the most sense to go after, and losing him would hurt her most. It made all the sense in the world. Well then, he would never go anywhere without her, or her without him. She wasn’t about to lose him one second before the Divines willed it.

She pulled her gaze from her husband to the Emperor, and his expression was as grim as her own. She murmured to him, “I could make certain that their ship never makes it to Alinor, Sire.”

“Of that I have no doubt, my dear,” he answered. “However unpleasant Arendil is though, he is still an Ambassador. If he sets foot on the battlefield, he’s all yours.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Mede leaned his hands on the round stone table and looked around the circle, holding the gaze of each Elder Council member in turn. He finally said, “We are going to do this, people. We are going to finish this once and for all.” There were nods and sounds of agreement, but several Councilors said nothing, didn’t respond in any way. He knew this wasn’t a unanimous decision. It didn’t need to be. He turned and looked at Bryn, and she gazed back evenly. He stared at her as he repeated, “We are going to do this!”

She stated, “Sire, by time we are done with them, there will no longer be an Aldmeri Dominion.”

“Yes. Yes!” He laughed and she finally smiled at him, her eyes glittering and golden, looking predatory and in fact rather frightening, if he didn’t trust her implicitly. He held his hand out to her and she inclined her head respectfully and took it. He gave it a squeeze and waved his other hand at the Councilors. “Session dismissed. We will gather again tomorrow, in private.” The Council members rose as one and bowed deeply to him then were escorted from their seats by their pages, most of them unable to help taking a peek at the crate of heads as they walked by. Mede kept hold of Bryn’s hand as he softly said to her, “Tullius and the other Generals would like to meet with you after this.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Impress on them what you and your dragons can do.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“On the way home, and once you get there…watch your back. And for Mara’s sake, watch Ulfric’s too.” That had not been an empty threat on Arendil’s part, but then the Thalmor never made empty threats. Killing Ulfric would wound Bryn more than anything else possibly could.

“Yes, Sire. However I would hope that the Thalmor understand that if they kill Ulfric, the streets of Alinor will run red with Altmer blood.”

Feeling a chill run over his skin, Mede whispered, “No my dear, I’m afraid they don’t.”


	67. Chapter 67

“Kynareth preserve me!”

Bryn rubbed under Odahviing’s chin and said to Legate Fasendil with a grin, “Come now, didn’t you tell me you joined the Legion to see the world?” The poor mer was a pale grayish-yellow color that made him look ill, and beads of sweat stood out on his brow as he stared at the red dragon in terror. Everyone did the first time they got close to her _dovah kulaan._ Bryn didn’t think any less of him for it, and after all, he had willingly agreed to this duty. As the only Altmer Legate attached to Tullius’ Legion, the General had hand-picked him for the job, and Bryn was certain her familiarity with Fasendil was also a factor. He was not a young mer, nearly two hundred years old, and had studied the Thalmor his entire life, so he was the best person for this job, which she was woefully unprepared to undertake alone. Hadvar had offered to go with her, but there was no way in hell she was taking even one bit of protection away from her husband.

“I…I did say that,” he stated with as much strength as he could muster. He flashed her a smile that came out as a pained grimace instead. “And I said I wanted to keep an eye on the Thalmor.”

“Yes.”

Odahviing shook his wings and grumbled, _“Zu’u laan lokke._ I tire of this tower, Nukfahgrah.” He had spent much too long up here, sleeping and waiting, and now he wanted to fly. He saw Ulfric stiffen at the name, and he pulled his head away from Bryn and looked sideways at him. _“Rek los kulaasi, yuvon judi, kodaav bronjun._ Accept this.”

Ulfric replied coldly, “As if I have a choice. _Zu’u los joor.”_

“Yes. You are. _Rinik.”_

Seeing her husband starting to seethe, Bryn went to him, putting her hands on his shoulders. He was upset about the duty she had been given, and rightfully so. And it was hot as hell up here on top of White Gold Tower. She felt like a clam being roasted in its shell inside her dragonscale armor, but it wouldn’t last once they were airborne. “I shouldn’t be away for more than a week or two, darling.”

“That is a week or two longer than we planned on being here,” Ulfric complained. The moment the words came out of his mouth he felt like a petulant child. “I…know this is necessary,” he muttered.

“I wouldn’t leave you here like this otherwise,” she replied softly, so quietly only Hadvar and Ralof on either side of him could hear it. During Bryn’s conference with the Generals after the declaration of war two days ago, one of the Generals had bemoaned the lack of information on the Dominion’s movements, their scouts along the borders unable to detect any massing of troops inside Valenwood or Elsweyr. Bryn’s mission was to visit the outposts along the borders, putting herself at the disposal of the Legates in command there; it would be much easier to detect Dominion movements and encampments from the air on Odahviing. Fasendil had the military training and experience to interpret what they found and guide Bryn in her scouting then make a detailed report when they returned. She was glad to have the mer along, but it wasn’t going to be easy on either of them.

“I will find some way to fill my time.” He looked past her at the Legate, who was unable to take his eyes off the dragon. He didn’t envy the Elf one bit. He would have to be stuck in a life-or-death situation to get on a dragon ever again. She kissed him tenderly but briefly, neither of them comfortable displaying more than that in front of the Legate, and when she pulled away he turned his gaze on the mer. The lines in Fasendil’s face and around his bronze eyes showed his age. At least he didn’t speak in that haughty, foppish tone so many Altmer used, in fact if Ulfric closed his eyes he wouldn’t have known that the Elf wasn’t a human Imperial. Fasendil was dressed in leather and chainmail armor, with nothing identifying him as belonging to the Legion, armed with a one-handed sword and bow. Bryn was dressed in her dragonscale armor, geared up as if she were going on any of her ordinary adventures. When Fasendil finally pulled his gaze away from Odahviing and noticed Ulfric’s regard, the Jarl stated roughly, “Guard my wife with your life, Legate.”

Fasendil inclined his head and said in a wry tone, “I think we both know how such an encounter would go, Prince Ulfric, but yes, I will. You can count on it.” Ulfric frowned at the honorific, but it was his title whether he liked it or not. Bryn gave her husband one final kiss on the cheek, murmured some parting words to her two young Guards, then she slung her pack on her shoulder and returned to the dragon. It roused itself, an eager gleam in its eye, or so it seemed. Fasendil cleared his throat and she gripped his shoulder, giving him an encouraging smile. He appreciated the gesture, touched by the familiarity. This trip, if nothing else, would be a fascinating opportunity to get to know the Dragonborn. She was certainly a likable young woman, from what little he knew of her. He wished he had been able to help her learn more about her parents, but what could one do? It wasn’t as if every Altmer knew each other.

“Ready, Fasendil?” she asked.

“I’m never going to be readier, my lady.” She laughed, getting exactly what he was saying. He waited while she leaned down and murmured something to the dragon in their language, and when he glanced at Ulfric the man had his nose wrinkled as he watched them. There did seem to be some odd rivalry between him and the dragon that Fasendil found perplexing and intriguing, though he knew better than to ask. The Queen straightened up then Odahviing lowered his head, letting her mount, and when she held her hand out to him he whispered a chain of prayers to Kynareth and Akatosh and Talos then mounted behind her with her assistance and grabbed onto her armor at the waist. Another glance at Ulfric showed the Jarl glaring at him, and Fasendil stifled a sigh of forbearance. The man did seem very possessive of his wife, and with good reason.

Bryn pointed out over the city and cried, _“Mu bo, zeymahi! Amativ, sedin!”_

_“Undagaar,”_ Odahviing muttered.

Fasendil stifled a shriek of terror as the dragon simply walked off the edge of the tower and dropped. When it seemed they were about to crash into the buildings below its wings opened with a crisp snap and they glided over the city. He could vaguely hear cries of alarm and some screams from the streets below and the dragon’s rumbling laugh in answer. As if it took pleasure from terrorizing people.

Bryn turned her head slightly, feeling Fasendil shuddering against her, his arms locked around her in a death grip. “Everything all right back there?” she asked kindly. She could feel his breath in her hair, labored and uneven.

“No. No, not at all,” he whispered, his eyes squeezed shut. “But I’ll manage.”

“Give it a day or so.”

“I just hope my heart lasts that long.” She laughed and patted his arm. He realized that his hold on her was entirely inappropriate but at the moment he couldn’t care less. He could feel the strength in her beneath the armor, her body constantly adjusting to the dragon’s movements as a rider would on a horse. He kept his eyes shut as he asked, “What is the dragon’s level of endurance?”

“We’ll make it to Fort Black Boot before dusk with no problem.” It was noon now.

“Amazing.” It took a day and a half of steady riding to get that far south. Couriers had gone out to all commands the day after Bryn’s arrival in the Imperial City that the Dragonborn was in Cyrodiil and that it was absolutely forbidden to attack any dragon unless it attacked first. Fasendil hoped that in the moment of panic that a landing dragon would engender that no one forgot that directive. “Will it need to eat?”

“Yes, _he_ will need to eat soon.”

“Pardons, my lady. He.”

“Dragons don’t eat often. They’re magical beings, partly, and immortal. They could theoretically never eat and not starve to death, but they pay a price for it. Their teeth start to fall out, they start looking worn and old… _Dov_ are very aware of their appearance.” Bryn slid a hand under the scale in front of her and rubbed the pebbled skin there, making Odahviing rumble in pleasure. “And _kulaani_ is the most beautiful of them all, aren’t you?”

Odahviing stated, “ _Geh._ Yes, I am.”

Bryn laughed then went on to the Legate, “Odahviing is the only red dragon who has ever existed. A prince among dragons, _kulaansedov.”_ The dragon rumbled in assent.

“The dragon language…did the dragons teach it to you? Or the monks, ah, the Greybeards?”

“No. It came to me gradually, on its own. After I returned from Sovngarde. Paarthurnax, Alduin’s brother, told me _dov_ learn the language as a bird learns its song, with time and by instinct. _Zu’u los dovah,_ I am a dragon, so there you have it.” He made a sound of amazement. She smiled over her shoulder at him as he loosened his grip slightly, and she saw that his eyes were open. “I think after this trip you are going to be an expert on dragons, Legate.”

“I can only hope for that honor, my lady.”

“Please, you don’t have to do that. It’s just us.”

“As you wish.” He took a deep breath and sat up more fully, holding onto her waist tightly, then he braced himself and looked down. Lake Rumare glistened below them in the summer sunlight, a few little boats visible here at there. Folk on horseback were visible as well, Imperial Guards from the glint of their steel plate. “How ah, high up do you think we are?”

Bryn thought for a moment. “Hm…five, six hundred feet. High enough that the average archer won’t be able to hit us. The Legion has been warned not to fire at any non-aggressive dragons, but the populace hasn’t.” She rubbed the dragon’s neck again and went on, “Odahviing flew too low once over an Orsimer stronghold and took an arrow between his scales. Nothing more than an annoyance to him, really, but I had to remove it for him. It would take a Master archer or a highly enchanted bow to bring down a flying dragon at much more than two hundred feet, but better safe than sorry.”

“Indeed.”

The hours literally flew by as Fasendil grew more comfortable with the Dragonborn and began asking her innumerable questions, at first only about dragons, and some of them she wouldn’t answer, then about her famous assault on Elenwen’s ship, then anything else he could think of. He was so fascinated by her adventures that he was barely aware of his physical discomfort until the sun began to go down and the leading edge of Elsweyr began coming into view beyond the West Weald.

“There,” he said with relief, pointing over Bryn’s shoulder to the southeast. The fort, or what was left of it, was lit with torches. It looked as if some repairs were being made to at least the outer walls; the Emperor had ordered all forts along the borders with even a semblance of usefulness left to them reinforced and garrisoned. It was close to dusk and Fasendil was suddenly, urgently aware of the pain in his thighs and between his legs, along with a similarly urgent need to relieve himself. When Bryn motioned for him to plug his ears he quickly complied.

“Ho the fort,” she called, letting out the fullness of her Voice. “The Dragonborn is come, and we need to land.” She saw torches scurry about suddenly in the fading light, and she patted Odahviing’s neck and said more quietly, _“Bo kenlokke, kulaani.”_ She wasn’t going to land until she was given some signal that they wouldn’t be fired upon. It quickly came in the form of several short blasts from a horn.

Fasendil gripped her shoulder and said, “That was the all clear from the buccina. It should be safe to land…there, that should do.” He motioned toward an open area about two hundred feet from the fort, far enough way to keep both the soldiers and the horses from panicking. “Gah!” He cried out and grabbed onto Bryn for dear life as the dragon started to dive, then as it evened out and began to glide to land he heard the commotion from the fort. He was certain that this was going to be a visit that the Legionnaires here would recount for the rest of their lives.

Bryn waited for the Legate to dismount first, and when he made a sound of dismay and sank to his knees on shaking legs. She slid off and cast healing upon him as she pulled him back to his feet. “All right?”

“Yes my lady, thank you,” he whispered. He felt odd, still feeling like he was in the air, like a man who had been at sea getting his landlegs back. He saw torches coming towards them and Bryn motioned for him to lead, and he did so, Bryn following close behind. He trusted that the dragon could look after itself out here. There were rather large and dangerous bears in this part of Cyrodiil, West Weald bears, but they were nothing compared to the bears of Skyrim and would pose little threat to a dragon.

The group of Legionnaires stopped roughly a hundred feet from the dragon and waited, and when the two came into view the Legate in charge let out a breath of relief and gave him a brief smile. “Legate Fasendil,” she said warmly, clasping his forearm.

“Legate Micheline,” he replied, giving the Breton woman’s forearm a squeeze in return. He let go and motioned for Bryn to come forward. “I have the pleasure of introducing High Queen Brynhilde of Skyrim.”

“The Dragonborn,” Micheline breathed. She could hear the excited and/or reverent murmurs among her people. The Legate felt a zinging thrill go up her spine as the younger woman came more clearly into view in the torchlight. By the Nine the woman was tall though, dwarfing the tiny Breton by a good seven inches. She was built, too, her strength obvious even under the odd armor… _Dragon scales,_ she thought in shock. Micheline could hardly wrap her mind around the other woman’s presence here.

“Dragonborn, and our Majesty’s heir, declared in front of the Elder Council on the 1st. Right before the Emperor declared the White-Gold Concordat null and void.”

“The Nine be praised,” Micheline said fervently, the sentiment echoed behind her. “We’d hoped…well, we’ve all hoped. So we’re at war, then.” And about damn time.

“That we are.”

The woman nodded then turned her attention to Bryn, bowing deeply to her. “My lady, it is my great honor to welcome you to Fort Black Boot, such as it is.”

Bryn smiled and replied, “Thank you, Legate. I look forward to seeing the fort and meeting everyone. I hope I didn’t interrupt mealtime.”

“Not at all, my lady.”

Fasendil stated, “We could use a bite to eat ourselves.”

Micheline nodded and motioned for them to walk with her, bowing again to Bryn. As they headed back to the fort she asked, “Will your…ah, dragon, be all right out here?”

“Oh yes, fine,” Bryn stated. “He might take off at first light for a bit though. He’s been asleep on top of White Gold Tower for most of the last week so he’s a bit hungry.”

“Um, yes. My lady.” She left it at that, afraid to offend the Dragonborn with her concerns about the beast’s appetite. She had to trust that Bryn had full control of the creature and wouldn’t let it rampage through the many farms, vineyards and small villages that dotted the fertile West Weald. So much of the news that had come out of Skyrim the last two and a half years was hard to fully believe in, but if she had the Emperor’s blessing and Fasendil’s trust that was enough for Micheline.

Fasendil asked, “Any action out this way?”

“Not a peep from across the border. No movement whatsoever. It worries me.”

“How do you feel about Queen Brynhilde and me doing a reconnaissance flight tomorrow?”

Micheline’s eyes widened then she smiled broadly. “That would be marvelous. We could use the intelligence.”

“That’s what we’re here for. We’re going to visit all the commands along the borders, see if we can figure out what the Dominion is up to.”

“What if they come at us a different direction this time? They could try harassing Skyrim while the Queen is away.”

Bryn smiled coolly and said, “I’ve asked my brothers to keep an eye on our sea borders.”

“Brothers?”

“The dragons.” The Legate’s light brown eyes widened then she blew out a breath and nodded. “I have six other than Odahviing here who have agreed to follow me. More than enough to watch the northern shores for Elven ships and set fire to any that approach the coast. If the Dominion is going to strike from that direction they will do it now, before the Sea of Ghosts starts to freeze up again. However General Tullius is convinced they will strike at the heartland.”

Fasendil nodded, saying, “And I must agree. As an Altmer myself, I say with all honesty that change is not easy for mer, Altmer especially. They will be nothing if not predictable. The Imperial City, and White Gold Tower especially, are the seat of the Empire’s power. That will always be their ultimate goal: control of the center.”

As they reached the shelter of the fort Micheline asked, “How did the Aldmeri Ambassador take it all?”

“Let’s settle in with a bite to eat and I’ll let Queen Brynhilde relate the tale. I didn’t have the extreme pleasure of attending.”

Micheline snorted a laugh. “I can only imagine the satisfaction of it. I look forward to it.”

She led Bryn and Fasendil to the center of the fort, what remained of it. She noted that her people were all drawing in, quietly clamoring to see the Dragonborn up close, a few of them not going about their business as they should, but she didn’t reprimand them for it. They might never have the chance to do this ever again, and it was good for morale. A tour on the back of a dragon along the borders would buoy the Legion immensely. Skyrim was far, far away from here, and it was often difficult to separate out the tall tales from the truth of what had really gone on up there over the last few years. There was no doubting the very terrifying truth of a dragon landing outside your fort.

Micheline watched the young woman move through the ranks of soldiers, patting them on the shoulder, a smile for everyone, meeting everyone’s eyes, refusing someone’s camp chair and standing by the main cooking fire instead. When the Legates looked at each other and Fasendil smiled, his eyes shining, she finally let herself really believe that they stood a chance. She could see, could _feel,_ the excitement spreading through her troops. That hope and excitement would spread command by command, fort by fort, until the entire Legion was infected with it. The first sparks of it had started when Bryn had put a stop to Skyrim’s civil war, preserving tens of thousands of Legionnaires and Nord warriors, but this, this was something else entirely.  
-  
Bryn felt Fasendil stiffen behind her then his excited squeeze on her shoulder. He pointed down and she saw a wide, well-maintained stone road cutting through the thick forest, nothing but a narrow ribbon from this height. She hadn’t imagined that Valenwood would be nothing but a seemingly impenetrable sea of greenery. Flying a dragon over it was only slightly less useless than sending in scouts, but how fascinating it was! Far off to the southwest, barely visible, was the city of Falinesti, towering over the rest of the forest, an entire city inhabiting the branches of a monstrously immense tree. _Graht-oak,_ she reminded herself; she could see a few here and there, off in the distance, bigger by far than all the trees around them, but Falinesti was the largest. It was said that one by one they had rooted themselves over the last century, for the first time in recorded history. Bryn was certain it was for an unsettling reason, but a moving tree was more unsettling still.

This matter of the road though was at least some kind of halfway useful information. The Legate in charge of Fort Istirus, Cassius, would hopefully find it useful, anyway. Bryn liked him about as much as she had liked Tullius at first. The man resented his post in a dilapidated fort overlooking a whole lot of nothing, an attitude that she could tell had offended Fasendil. It definitely annoyed her. She had to admit that the fort was in a particularly remote area, in the hills overlooking the deep, narrow canyon of the Strid River that formed the border between Valenwood and Cyrodiil, but it seemed to her that someone who had risen to Cassius’ rank should have been a little less whiny about the command he was given.

“The Dominion has clearly been maintaining the old Imperial roads through Valenwood,” Fasendil stated. “These are the only way to move bodies of troops through the province.” He made a sound of frustration. “I wish we could fly lower. See if there’s any movement on the road. But there could be thousands of Bosmer in the trees and we would never know until it was too late.” The Wood Elves were good enough archers on the whole that even a fast-flying dragon could be a hittable target. They had avoided flying anywhere near the city of Arenthia to the east for that very reason.

“How are they keeping the road clear? I thought Bosmer weren’t allowed to harm any plants inside their borders.”

“They aren’t. The Green Pact forbids it. It must be Altmer doing it. They revere Jephre but aren’t held to the Pact.”

“And the Bosmer tolerate that?”

“The Bosmer have no choice.” He motioned for her to direct the dragon west, and she patted Odahviing’s neck and did so. Fasendil went on in a tone of dread, “The Thalmor have been undertaking the same purges here as they did in Alinor. Some of us fear that one day the Bosmer will get pushed too far and another Wild Hunt will be created.” He felt Bryn shiver with dread. “Yes, no one wants that, useful as it would be in the short term. The Hunt may not stay within Valenwood, though it would likely burn itself out before it got to that point.”

“I knew a Bosmer whose family had gotten ‘cleansed’ by the Thalmor. Malborn. I think he fled to Morrowind.” She shook her head. “Is life really so unpleasant for the Thalmor that they feel so driven to do all this? I still can’t grasp what the point of all this is. Once Alduin was destroyed they lost any chance they had of unmaking Mundus.”

Fasendil sighed heavily and patted her shoulder again. “I wish I could explain it to you,” he said with regret. “My being the same race doesn’t give me as much insight as you’d think. I wasn’t raised with the mindset that some accident of birth made me better than everyone else. Even you, who was born with a Divine purpose, don’t think you’re better than everyone else.”

“Whoever told you that?”

He laughed at that and heard a quiet giggle in reply. Spending so much time together in close proximity with nothing to do but talk had given him enough familiarity to know she was joking. She was certainly a very charming creature and he had come to like her immensely, as had most of the Legates and soldiers she had met over the last week. The Legionnaires took to her immediately, overjoyed to meet the Dragonborn and future Empress in person, warmed by her easy familiarity with everyone no matter how low in rank. Fasendil knew she did it without an ulterior motive, but he also knew she was aware of the effect it had. Each one of the Legionnaires she made an impression on would keep the encounter in mind and fight all the harder for it, and for the hope she had given them.

He continued more seriously, “I think the entire purpose at this juncture is simply to prove a point. They know they’ve lost any chance to rejoin Aetherius. They blame Man, and you specifically, for that. If they can’t unmake Mundus, then they’ll make certain that they order Mundus to their liking, with them at the top of the food chain. They see themselves as greatest, with the Bosmer next, the Dunmer a distant third, and the Orsimer and everyone else ranking down from there. They use the Khajiit to their own purposes, and the Argonians are little more than animals to them, their only use keeping the Dunmer down.” He sighed heavily. “I’ve lived long enough, seen enough, to know that every race has their strengths and weaknesses. The Altmer lifespan is a boon and a curse. The longer we live, the more set in our ways we become. The young on Alinor are restless, desperate for change, and they’re suppressed ruthlessly. Another terrible crime of the Thalmor’s: ingraining the belief that children are disposable, if they prove defective or troublesome. After all, with our lifespans, we can always have more.”

“Horrible,” Bryn murmured in agreement. She was now well aware of why it seemed the Altmer birth rate was so low; it wasn’t terribly low, but the number of babies allowed to survive was. Elves truly didn’t procreate as rapidly as humans did, but the High Elves went that one step farther. From what she could tell the tactic wasn’t working. She knew enough about breeding to know that the more ‘purely’ bred an animal was, the weaker the bloodline became. With enough time, enough culled babies, enough purges, the Altmer were going to eventually breed themselves out of existence. Bryn still couldn’t fathom why they continued to waste the lives of their own people in such a fashion, no matter how Fasendil tried to explain it.

Over the course of the next several hours they found a total of three clear roads, all of which stopped uncomfortably close to the Cyrodiil border and the Strid River. Whatever bridges had previously crossed the river had been destroyed during the Great War. Bryn’s limited military knowledge left her unable to fathom what the Dominion was up to.

“I can tell you exactly what they’re up to,” Fasendil said as they sat eating lunch in a remote area overlooking the river, and the forest across it. “Those roads are capable of funneling troops straight into the south of Cyrodiil. They’re finished just far enough from the border to be undetectable from this side, yet close enough that it would take the work of only a week or so to push through the rest of the way. All at once.”

Bryn frowned as she chewed her food. She never would have guessed such a thing. “And the river?”

“Not too difficult to pre-build bridge sections then put them together overnight. Doesn’t have to be built for permanency, just long enough to get troops over the river.” He took a drink from his canteen, and as he capped it he went on, “Combine that with an assault by sea… Well, anyone can put that together.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

He hit his knee with his fist. “I wish we could get better intelligence. Get an idea of a time frame.” Bryn made a sound of assent as she bit off a strip of jerky. “Those roads stop about half a mile from the river. If only we could fly a little closer. See what they’re up to.”

“I could sneak over there.” To his credit, Fasendil looked at her sideways, not particularly horrified by the notion.

“Maybe so, but several people would have my head if anything went wrong. I was specifically ordered to not allow you to put yourself in harm’s way.”

“Ulfric has told me that a good officer knows when to disobey orders.”

“I’ve been told I’m a good officer.” She grinned at him, her gold eyes sparkling, and he laughed and slapped her on the back. “Well then, I know better than to question your abilities. Do you want to do this in the light of day, or at night?”

“Day. I don’t have any way of seeing at night.” She knew of a spell called Night-Eye, but it wasn’t taught in Skyrim, and her Illusion skill wasn’t high enough to cast it. She popped the last chunk of jerky in her mouth then stood, dusting off her rear. “And no time like the present.”

Fasendil stood, and when Bryn headed for the edge of the canyon he followed, intrigued, wondering how she was going to get across. It was fairly narrow here, and the edge wasn’t particularly steep, but there was no way she could get down that slope, across the swift-flowing river, then up the other side without getting wet and making a substantial mess of herself. They were both looking rough around the edges after a week on the borders, but he could tell the Dragonborn was enjoying herself a great deal. Gods knew he was enjoying himself.

Bryn scanned the thick wall of trees then whispered, _“LAAS YAH NIR!”_

He sucked in a breath as thunder rolled softly around them, barely audible. Her eyes narrowed as she stared intently across the border. “What do you see?”

Bryn grimaced and said, “Too much, unfortunately. It’s a Shout that works somewhat like Detect Life, however…there is a _lot_ of life in there. Most of the shapes are clearly animals, but…” She blew out a frustrated breath. “Too many to count. I see nothing mer-sized though. Or at least nothing mer-sized that is standing upright on two legs or squatting in the trees.”

“Fascinating! I didn’t imagine that a Shout could be a whisper. Amazing.”

“I think I’ll be all right over there. Worst comes to worst I’ll call all those animals to my aid, or calm them, with Shouts.”

“Amazing,” he repeated. “A Shout for nearly anything, it seems.”

“Just about. It’s why I hadn’t bothered honing my magical skills until this year. There really is very little I needed magic for until recently, except healing or charging soul gems. However Shouts for the most part are quite loud, and I suppose I can’t always be loud.” She secured her equipment as her Voice regained its strength, then she turned and walked about thirty feet back. “Wish me luck.”

Fasendil nodded and opened his mouth to ask what her plan was when Bryn suddenly turned and began running. Her long legs carried her with inhuman speed toward the river, and when she leapt into the air he nearly cried out in horror of her falling, then she Shouted and shot across the canyon.

_“WULD NAH KEST!”_

“I’ll be damned,” he whispered faintly, bewildered. Bryn’s landing wasn’t the most graceful, but she picked herself up, dusted herself off, grinned at him with a wave then turned and disappeared into the woods. Fasendil stayed where he was for several minutes, not knowing what else to do. The dragon was off hunting, needing to eat about once a week, but surely Bryn could call it if needed. The Legate would be no help if things went bad. Fort Istirus was too far away for help, and even then they would have the same problem he did: no way across the river canyon. Bryn was completely on her own.

A tremor of anxiety went through him as he realized that the High Queen of Skyrim was now sneaking around inside the borders of the Aldmeri Dominion. And he had encouraged it. His life wouldn’t be worth spit if the Bosmer or Altmer got their hands on her. No one’s life would be, since the war hinged on the Dragonborn, though if she died down here at Elven hands the Nords would no doubt go berserk. Ulfric would be so hell-bent on revenge that Fasendil wasn’t sure what he would do. Those two very burly and devoted young Guards of Bryn’s would go ballistic as well. Nords were absolutely terrifying when they were enraged, but unfocused, and that could be ineffective.

Nearly an hour into his woolgathering, the sound of thunder cracked through the forest at some distance, making him gasp as he jumped to his feet. Birds shot up out of the forest in all directions, screeching. Well, panicking would do him no good, nor the Dragonborn, and so he waited, pulling out his bow and readying arrows in case he needed to provide suppressive fire when she reappeared. 

Thunder rolled again and smoke began to rise from the forest in a column, and at that Fasendil felt real fear. It was high summer and the woods would be dry. There was little danger that the fire would jump the canyon into Cyrodiil, but the Bosmer could interpret it as an attack upon Valenwood itself, which could enrage the Bosmer to the point—

He gasped as a deafening peal of thunder, the loudest yet, ripped in all directions, and the sunny sky instantly became gray with clouds that seemingly came from nowhere. They swirled ominously above the point where Bryn had to be, then the sky opened up and it began to rain heavily over the forest.

“Kynareth bless,” Fasendil whispered, feeling himself start to shiver in a cold sweat, though he was out of range of the rainfall. The smoke quickly died down under the downpour, which lasted several more minutes then tapered off, though the sky still churned ominously. More than anything else, to Fasendil the power of the Dragonborn was the power of the storm. It wasn’t for nothing that Bryn had chosen Stormcrown as the name of the dynasty she would one day found.

When Bryn appeared a painful hour later at the edge of the forest, Fasendil noticed she had a thoroughly bedraggled mer with her. An Altmer woman. A wizard. Thalmor. The mer’s hands were bound behind her back and her robes were torn, her reddish-blond hair in disarray, and her mouth was gagged. Well, getting her across the canyon could prove a difficulty.

_“OD AH VIING!”_

_Or not,_ the Legate thought wryly. He saw the Altmer begin struggling and Bryn Shouted frost at her, making her crumple to the ground. Within a few minutes Fasendil heard the _whump_ of dragon wings and he bent and covered his head as Odahviing skimmed over him, the draft of the beast’s passage nearly knocking the Elf off his feet. He watched in bemusement as the Dragonborn loaded her half-frozen bundle onto the dragon then mounted. They glided over the canyon and landed long enough for Fasendil to mount behind her, still dumbfounded by it all, and within minutes they were back at Fort Istirus, surrounded by bewildered Legionnaires.

After Fasendil dismounted, Bryn slid off then dragged the Altmer woman after her, the Elf stumbling and dazed. One of the officers called for Legate Cassius but no one approached Bryn as she led the mer towards the rundown fort. She directed the woman to sit on a log where the High Elf sat shuddering, her pale green eyes wild. The Colovian Legate came running out of the double doors leading out of the fort’s interior, and when he saw the Thalmor prisoner his eyes nearly came out of his head.

“Where…did you get that?” he asked in a tight voice.

“Valenwood,” Bryn replied calmly.

Cassius flushed scarlet as his eyes widened further. “You went into Valenwood? You entered enemy territory? Who authorized that?”

“I authorized myself. Court martial me, if you’d like to try that.” The man’s dark eyes slid over to Fasendil, and she stated in warning, “This was my idea, not Legate Fasendil’s. Of course, if you’re more interested in fussing over rules and regulations than finding out what happened, I’d be glad to pack up my dog and pony show and take it to Fort Strand.”

“Of course not,” he muttered.

Fasendil came to stand by Bryn, saying, “We did a high aerial reconnaissance of northern Valenwood. We found three recently repaired Imperial roads leading towards our borders.” There were dark glances at each other among the soldiers at that news, though no real surprise. “The roads are open and maintained until just shy of the border. Wouldn’t take much time or effort to push the final distance and funnel Dominion troops into the Gold Coast.”

“Dare I ask how you obtained a Thalmor prisoner?”

Bryn stated, “I wanted to see what was going on at the end of one of those roads. I jumped the river and headed into the woods—”

“Alone?” Cassius exclaimed in dismay. “The Emperor would have my head if you were killed or captured in my area!”

Bryn stared at him coldly for a moment before she stated, “Well, I’m sure we’re all very concerned about your head, Legate.” The man’s eyes narrowed as he fidgeted. “With all due respect to Legate Fasendil, having him along would only increase our chances of detection. I am undetectable when I’m moving alone. Having him along would have slowed me down and given me someone else to worry about than myself. I had to Shout myself across the river, too, so there was no way to get Legate Fasendil across it as well.”

She stared at him, waiting, then he nodded curtly. “Understood, Dragonborn.” She inclined her head and gave him a slight smile, and he stuffed down his resentment, knowing it was unwarranted.

“So. Once I was inside the woods I kept myself oriented south as best I could, no easy task I assure you, but the remains of the old road are still there. It was slow going as I didn’t want to startle the wildlife unduly. It took me an hour to travel half a mile, but I found the leading edge of the open road. There was a Dominion camp there, building bridge sections.” Just as Fasendil had suggested, and when she glanced at the Altmer he met her gaze, troubled, and nodded.

Cassius blanched, whispering, “For the love of Talos!”

“I would imagine much the same activity is going on at the end of the other two roads.” She glanced down at the Thalmor wizard, who had ceased shivering and was glaring hatefully at Bryn. “I found this little treasure in command of…eh, thirty-five? Forty troops, all Altmer. All dead now, except for her.” She heard murmurs and whispers of amazement, but she wasn’t showboating, just relating the facts. It had been a wonderfully entertaining little battle, though exhausting, trying to keep any of them from getting away.

“What are your plans for her, Dragonborn? We could try to get some information out of her now, or…”

The man’s tone of voice wasn’t lost on Bryn, who firmly said, “I will not allow anyone, _anyone,_ to torture her, or any other prisoner. Not now, not once the fighting starts, never. Remember who I am married to. I will not let us stoop to the level of the Thalmor. I’ll take her to the Imperial City in the morning and let the Generals and the Emperor question her, with me there.” She shook her head and knelt down at the Altmer woman’s side, and after holding up her hands she reached out and worked free the gag.

“Half-breed filth!” she screeched. “Go ahead and parade me in front of your—”

_“GOL HAH!”_ The soldiers gasped as the words cracked around them, and the Altmer woman relaxed, blinking. Bryn smoothed the reddish hair back and gently asked, “What is your name, my friend?”

“Myrawen.”

“Good. Tell me what your people were building today, in Valenwood.”

“Sections of bridges. To span the Strid.”

“Why?”

“To attack the Empire, of course. You burned my bridge, but we can build another one.”

“When are you planning to do this?”

“The 15th of First Seed.”

There were sounds of alarm at that. “Why First Seed?”

“Farmers will be preparing their fields for sowing, and…and…” 

The Shout wore off and Myrawen screamed in horror. Bryn sighed and replaced the gag as she stood. Cassius stared at the Elf with a look of disgusted fascination then his dark eyes slowly moved up to Bryn. “Give me a minute and I can do it again.” The mer began to thrash in a panic and Bryn motioned for a couple soldiers to take charge of her.

Cassius shook his head curtly and whispered harshly, “Take her to the Emperor. Now.” He quickly added, “Please, Dragonborn.”

Bryn nodded, seeing that he was truly worried. “I will take her to the Emperor right away, I promise you that, but I want the bulk of what she knows out now, while we have the opportunity. Like it or not, she could find some way to throw herself off the dragon or cause some kind of mischief. I want her interrogated now so you can send runners to the other forts and we can get a jump on this.” He nodded, grimacing, and she added, “I won’t pretend to know your business, Legate. You are the expert in matters of warfare, not me. I’ll do what you think is best.”

Cassius recognized a peace offering when he saw one, and he said, “No Dragonborn, this works. Get what you can out of her then get her to the Imperial City.”

Bryn inclined her head, and when her Voice had regained its strength she Shouted again to bend the mer’s will, firing off the questions more rapidly. “Why First Seed?” she pressed.

“The farmers and their holdings need to be liquidated. The Gold Coast and the West Weald are the Heartland’s breadbasket. If the planting of next year’s crops are delayed or stopped we could potentially cause a food crisis.”

“Will the Dominion be attacking from the Abecean Sea as well?”

“Yes, also on First Seed 15.”

Fasendil whispered in dismay, “Damn, I knew it!”

“Will any attacks be coming from Elsweyr?”

“Not at this time. There is internal friction between Anequina and Pelletine. Strife seems to be the natural state of Khajiiti society.”

“Will Hammerfell, High Rock or Skyrim be attacked?”

“Not at this time. First we must control the center.”

_Just as Tullius said,_ Bryn thought. “Are any covert operations currently ongoing?”

“Of course. We have agents everywhere. However I am not privy to their objectives or their movements.”

“Are the Thalmor still trying to unmake Mundus?”

“No, we realize that objective is no longer obtainable. If we cannot return to Aetherius, then we will make the world here to our liking. We will reduce human populations to a manageable level and put them in their proper place. That was the Ayleid’s mistake: letting humans become too numerous.”

“So you intend to enslave humans again.”

“Well yes, of course. It’s the natural order of…of…”

Bryn shoved the gag back in Myrawen’s mouth before she could start screaming again. She looked around and the Legionnaires around her were all either horrified or enraged, pale or flushed, many of them a mixture of both. Well, it wasn’t anything she hadn’t considered. White Gold Tower had been the fixation of the Dominion for some time, both now and long ago. To them it was symbolic of Elven status in the world; as long as humans ruled from there Elves couldn’t truly reign superior. If they couldn’t have immortality, then they would have supremacy.

She sighed heavily and waited for her Voice to be ready again, fighting the urge to try to reason with the Thalmor wizard. The Thalmor simply couldn’t be reasoned with. She wasn’t sure what lay at the root of their collective insanity, but it would simply have to be squashed and its influence removed from the Altmer race. It was unfortunate, wasteful, and gods knew she hated waste. Well, she was able to see Time as the _dov_ did, just a little, and those who died would simply head off to the afterlife to be born again one day, and once she became a true _rekdovah_ this wasteful cycle of war would be broken. She wouldn’t be able to stop small-scale skirmishes, but all-out warfare would end after this Second War. She would settle for nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an immense amount of fun writing this chapter, but...eek, I hope I didn't screw up any of the lore or the geography of southern Tamriel. I spent a lot of time researching the information in this chapter and can only hope I didn't make any major mistakes.


	68. Chapter 68

Balgruuf embraced Bryn tightly, slapping her on the back, and when he let go of her to hold her out at arm’s length she said, “Thank you for hosting this, _fahdoni.”_

“All roads lead to Whiterun,” he stated. “It is the least I can do.” It didn’t hurt that the Queen was paying for the food and bards, considering he had borne the price of the Moot not long before. He glanced around the main hall of Dragonsreach, seeing all the Jarls of Skyrim gathered to talk of war, one that was right around the corner. All the Jarls but one. Falk Firebeard had come in Elisif’s stead, the girl pleading illness, an obvious lie. The redheaded steward looked deeply uncomfortable about it, too. “So,” Balgruuf muttered, and Bryn grunted as she followed his gaze. “Mighty convenient to have all the Jarls together, eh?”

“Yes, quite. War isn’t the only matter we’ll be discussing.”

He nodded, relieved. He moved his gaze over to Ulfric, who was being led into a quiet corner by Idgrod Ravencrone. “How did he take the trip down south?”

“Not well. He did his best, though. No unpleasant scenes, though I think he finally reached his limit when we sat for a painting. I really thought he was going to lose it.”

“I’m sure he left quite a nice expression for posterity.”

She burst into laughter at that. “The artist was…diplomatic.” The painting was actually quite beautiful and hung on a wall in the main hall of the Palace of Kings, something she would cherish the rest of her life. It had been painted in the same rich sitting room where she had greeted her aunt and grandmother; Bryn had sat in a chair in her dragonscale armor and crown with her black and gold cloak pooled around her, and Ulfric had stood next to and just behind her, his hand on her shoulder, wearing his ebony armor with the Shield of Eastmarch at his feet. The artist had managed to capture the exact color of Ulfric’s lovely eyes, and the painting was realistic while flattering. Ulfric could complain all he wanted about having to sit for it, but she found him staring at it frequently with a soft expression on his face.

“I look forward to hearing about your trip, friend. I’m going to go have a word or two with Falk. Feel him out.”

She nodded and he gave her another pat on the back then walked away. Her eyes sought out her husband again, and he was embroiled in an intense discussion with the Jarl of Hjaalmarch, the old woman leaning close to him and gesturing curtly while Ulfric scowled. Bryn frowned, wondering what they were discussing, then her attention was pulled away by someone entering Dragonsreach through the main doors. Someone unfairly tall, dark and handsome. His light gray eyes immediately went to her and he smiled broadly, making a fluttering warmth go through her. At some point he had changed out the cloth trim of his armor from black to the gold-trimmed red of Jorrvaskr’s banner, and had added a matching cloak. He wore a bar of deep red war paint across his eyes, also new. Every eye followed him as he strode through the room, and he knew it too, the vain man.

Vilkas stopped in front of her and went down on one knee, murmuring, “My Queen. I am yours to command.”

“Oh stop it,” she demanded. Vilkas laughed and rose to his feet, taking her hand briefly to kiss it then letting go. “I see you found something to spend your money on.”

“You told me all about the Dunmer textile artists while we were in Solstheim. I visited Windhelm while you were away in Cyrodiil. I have no complaints. I ordered one for every Companion.” The Dark Elves hadn’t even flinched when he told them he wanted Wuuthrad as the pattern on the cloak. They were talented craftspeople, he had to admit.

“Did you ever get the sauna up and running?”

“Yes, and I’ve had nothing but trouble keeping the Companions out of it. And Balgruuf. And Hrongar. I’m thinking about charging admission.” She chuckled at the thought. His smile faded and he quietly said, “So we go to war.”

“Yes. The Dominion plans to attack from two directions on the 15th of First Seed. I’ll tell everyone about it at the same time.” Vilkas nodded slowly, folding his arms as he rubbed his chin. “We’ll also be discussing who should be the new Jarl of Haafingar.” He grimaced in dread, and Bryn said in annoyance, “I have _had_ it with Elisif. Absolutely had it. Sending Falk to do her job at a time like this!”

“He’s been doing it all along. Might as well make it official.” He nodded his head towards Jorrvaskr. “I already have everything taken care of. Mjoll will lead the Companions while I am away.” Vignar had been assured that she wouldn’t make any major decisions without him, but he didn’t know that it was up to Mjoll to decide what was major. Even with her extreme lack of tact, Mjoll was a born leader, and like it or not a bit more worldly than Vilkas was. He would need her to run the Companions with him when… Well, it didn’t bear thinking about right now.

“Good.”

“So…you’re doing well, _lokali?”_

The soft question drew her attention back from her husband, who had escaped Idgrod only to be descended upon by Skald and Thongvor Silver-Blood. She smiled at Vilkas and said just as softly, “Yes beloved. I’m doing well.”

“Did you see your family?”

“Yes, Auntie and Grandmother and I visited a couple times. Saw my uncle once and had a few choice words for him but otherwise left him alone. Grandmother…” She sighed. “Well, she’s Grandmother, and she’s difficult. Aunt Elluhrine was fussy, as usual, but at least with her I feel some hope that things could change. After the war I might bring her back up here with me for a while. Get her away from Grandmother.” Her eyes widened as her expression suddenly brightened. “Maybe I could introduce her to Viarmo!”

“The Bard?” She grinned, and he shook his head at her.

“Mara works in mysterious ways.”

“There is nothing mysterious about your meddling, woman.” She laughed, unrepentant. “Did Ulfric meet them?”

“Once. The first time. He didn’t like the reminder of my heritage, I think. Not that it bothers him; he just doesn’t want them to have any influence on me. And they don’t.” Bryn sighed. “The trip was hard on him. So many reminders of the past. You should have seen him though, when the Emperor declared the Concordat null and void. I’ve never seen him so…well, happy isn’t the word for it. Satisfied. Deeply and intensely gratified.” She motioned towards Falk and said, “His first duty as Jarl will be to have the Shrine of Talos reinstated in the Temple of the Divines. I’ve already told Count Ingmar of Bruma to start drawing up plans to rebuild the Great Chapel of Talos and told him I would help fund it. He isn’t one of my greatest fans, but he’ll do what he’s told if he knows what’s good for him.”

Vilkas stated, “By Ysmir, you’re bossy.” Bryn laughed merrily at that then shook her head at him and walked away, heading towards Jarl Korir of Winterhold, who seemed to have arrived without his wife. Vilkas looked around the room, wondering what to do with himself, supposing he should mingle to keep up appearances, and keep the contracts flowing in. As he did he caught Ulfric’s eye, and the Jarl gratefully extracted himself from Skald and Thongvor and headed his direction.

Ulfric held out his hand, and as Vilkas took it he quietly murmured, “Harbinger.”

“Jarl Ulfric. And no, I won’t go anywhere to talk in private with you, so don’t ask.” Ulfric rolled his eyes. “Bryn tells me that Elisif will get unseated today.” The older man grunted and nodded. Vilkas frowned at the Jarl, who seemed deeply troubled by something, refusing to meet Vilkas’ eyes for long. Ulfric was watching his wife intently, and if Vilkas didn’t know better his eyes were shinier than usual. Vilkas followed his gaze, saying, “She seems in good spirits.”

“Yes. I…am glad for that.” When his voice caught, he cleared it then forced himself to turn his attention to Vilkas. The younger man gazed back warily, still frowning, clearly concerned. Ulfric quietly said, “I hope when it comes time to fight that you will stay close to us. I will be commanding the bulk of Skyrim’s forces. Brynhilde…she will feel better, knowing you are nearby.”

“I had planned to fight at her side, yes,” Vilkas said in confusion.

“Good. She tells me you two fight well together.”

“We have complementary fighting styles. We spent a great deal of time training together, in the early days. We understand each other’s movements. Solstheim only reinforced that.”

“And other things.”

Vilkas hesitated then quietly said, “Yes, but we have already gone over that, haven’t we.”

“Yes. But some things bear repeating.” The Harbinger grumbled in annoyance. “I will say what I have to say, Vilkas. Stay close to Brynhilde, once the fighting starts. If she tries to keep you from doing so, ignore her. Do not let her put you at a distance, or push you away.”

Vilkas frowned more deeply. “I do not like where this is going.”

“And yet it can only go one way.” Vilkas stared intently at him, openly worried, and he murmured, “I would watch my expression if I were you.”

“You know I cannot do that!” he whispered. He turned slightly so that Bryn couldn’t see his face if she looked over. “What are you trying to say to me, Ulfric?” The Jarl’s jaw clenched, and Vilkas asked, “Did she see something?”

“No she did not.”

“Did someone…” He trailed off, feeling a sudden realization: _Idgrod._ No one paid much attention to her supposed ‘visions’, simply preferring to believe her bloodline was a bit mad. But Vilkas had seen her talking to Ulfric, off to the side in private, looking very intense, as if trying to talk Ulfric out of something.

Seeing Vilkas’ expression, Ulfric crossed his arms and murmured, “The next time I leave Skyrim will be my last. I will not survive the war.” Vilkas stared at him in dismay, all color leaving his face.

“Idgrod--”

“Yes. And her son, Joric. She and the lad both dreamt it, the same night.” He sighed heavily. “When I went to Skuldafn, after you two returned from Solstheim… Paarthurnax told me if I returned to High Hrothgar that I would live out a full count of days. I told him I would rather live a few years at Brynhilde’s side than forever in a monastery, and I meant it. I just…didn’t imagine it really would be only a few years.” Vilkas swallowed hard, his eyes glistening. Ulfric smiled at him, a brief quirk of the mouth. “My place in Sovngarde is assured, and yet…I will miss seeing the boy grow up. That is my one real regret, that I shall never lay eyes on my son until he joins me in Sovngarde. Fjonnar. Brynhilde has promised to name him after my father Fjonnar. She has promised me that he will have a long, happy life, and…I must be content in that.”

Vilkas stared at him, his brow crumpled, amazed by the other man’s calm. He didn’t even mention keeping this from Bryn. He had vowed to himself never to keep another secret from her ever again, but this… She would be incapable of functioning if she knew. She would shadow Ulfric every waking moment, stressed beyond belief, and fighting would be impossible for her.

“My greatest consolation…” His voice caught again, and once more he cleared his throat, seeing Vilkas’ expression grow even more pained. He went on in a near whisper, “Is that you will raise my son as your own and be a good husband to Brynhilde.”

Vilkas said roughly, “That I can swear to you upon my life, with Mara and all the Nine Divines as my witness.” That he could promise with absolutely no reserve. The warm memory of the little boy in his arms was still as strong as if he had seen it yesterday. The boy felt as if he was Vilkas’ own. He still did. Well he supposed the boy would have to be, if Vilkas was going to be around from the child’s birth, because Bryn was going to get pregnant during the war, somehow, and Ulfric wouldn’t live long enough to see the child born. Vilkas supposed in the heat of war it would be easy to forget to do…whatever it was that women did to prevent conception. It was tempting to tamper with fate and make sure she didn’t forget, but then he risked unraveling everything. Ulfric still might die, but childless.

No, they were all trapped in this mess and would see it through to its bitter end. And it would be bitter, and Vilkas would have to be there to pick up the pieces. Ulfric smiled warmly at him, grasping his shoulder companionably, and as the Jarl walked away Vilkas felt a sudden twinge of fear of an entirely different sort. He had warmed somewhat to Ulfric the night they had talked in Hjerim, finding the older man a pleasant companion with a dry wit; while he didn’t like the man all that much, he no longer disliked him either. When the war came, Vilkas was going to be spending an immense amount of time in Ulfric’s company, under intense circumstances, with Bryn always there. He felt the sudden sinking dread that he was going to end up grieving the loss of Ulfric for reasons all his own.

He huffed and rubbed his forehead, careful not to smear his warpaint, then he let his hand fall and watched Ulfric walk over to Bryn, who smiled warmly at her husband and took his hand. He saw Ulfric’s thumb gently caressing hers as they leaned against each other, and the sight made a sudden wave of grief wash over him. He pulled his eyes away from him and looked around the room, blinking, willing his eyes to stay dry, wondering who he could talk to that would take his mind off the crushing sense of impending doom weighing on him, worried that nothing would relieve it. And now he had to spend all fall and winter agonizing over it, as Ulfric no doubt would. It was tempting to resent old Idgrod for dumping this on Ulfric, but he knew better. Ulfric surely would live every day from here on out to its fullest, taking advantage of the warning. That was just the kind of man he was.

His eyes traveled back to Bryn and Ulfric, and to his shock he saw that Ralof had interposed himself, staring at the Harbinger with a cool expression. Well that certainly did it. Vilkas sputtered in annoyance and walked away, heading for the tables of food and drink set up near the kitchen. He uncorked a bottle of mead and poured it into a mug, then he heard someone come up next to him. He glanced up and saw Idgrod there, and it made a fresh pang go through his chest.

“He told you, I see,” she murmured.

“Aye, Jarl.” He held up the bottle of mead and she nodded. He poured her a mug and she murmured her thanks. “There…well…it’s a…complicated situation.”

“Love triangles usually are,” she said her curt, no-nonsense way. The Harbinger cleared his throat and looked past her, his cheeks flushing. He was certainly a pretty sight, she had to hand that to him. He would make quite a nice accessory to their Queen one day, and that day was much nearer than anyone could have guessed. “So, what tells me that you already had some inkling that his end was coming? You didn’t seem all that shocked. Neither did he.”

“It isn’t my place to tell, my lady.” He nibbled at his bottom lip and offered, “I have had…concerns, of my own, about Jarl Ulfric’s age and the coming war. He’s a great warrior, but he doesn’t make his living from it, and he isn’t young.” Idgrod grunted in agreement as she took a deep drink of mead. “If I may ask…what did you see?”

“Joric and I saw the Queen riding at the head of a procession of warriors through Eastmarch, and behind her were two caskets on a wagon. On top of one casket was a black ebony shield engraved with the bear of Eastmarch. You were riding at the Queen’s side. Ulfric was not.”

Vilkas made a sound of grief, closing his eyes for a moment, then they shot open again. “Two caskets?”

“Aye. Not a clue about the other. My visions rarely have even that much detail. The only two people I saw with any clarity were you and Brynhilde; the others were faceless masses of warriors. My son and I both felt the same thing: Ulfric will not survive the coming war.” She pursed her lips then went on with regret, “Though I could wish differently, what has been seen cannot be unseen, and Ulfric will take this time with her as a gift. He assured me that you will be there to care for her. My only advice is to be patient with her. She won’t be herself while she’s grieving. She may not be for some time. Keep your expectations low. Be there, but don’t crowd her. If she turns to others for comfort instead of you, grit your teeth and still be there. Remind yourself of what you’ve waited for.”

The old woman turned away and he watched her go, bewildered by the encounter, wondering just what else she knew. She headed for the front of the hall, where Maven Black-Briar had just arrived, her daughter of all people at her side. Ingun wasn’t known to leave Riften except to visit the family’s hunting lodge occasionally. The two older women embraced, and Vilkas sighed heavily and turned back to the table to top off his mug. He suddenly thought of his brother and how this was going to upset him. Vilkas would have to warn Lydia, but he would wait until right before he left for the war himself. Lydia and Farkas would visit Bryn several more times between now and then, and Ulfric would probably take it upon himself to make the visits pleasant memories for Farkas.

Bryn raised her voice and called for the Jarls to take their seats, and she let them sort it out themselves, as this was a less formal occasion, though no less important than the Moot had been. She stayed standing, moving to the end of the fire pit, so that the skull of Numinex was right behind her. If she had learned nothing else during her time as Queen, it was that appearances were everything. There was a brief awkwardness as Falk tried to figure out where to sit, until Balgruuf steered him to a seat. She saw Vilkas leaning against the column to her left, his arms crossed, and he was biting his lip and staring at the back of Ulfric’s head in front of him with a pained expression. Her eyes traveled down to her husband and he gave her an encouraging smile, and Vilkas suddenly noticed her attention on them both and smoothed out his expression as best he could, which wasn’t very well at all. 

Well, she wasn’t blind. She could put one and one and one together and come up with the answer. Idgrod had talked intently to Ulfric; Ulfric had gone and talked to Vilkas; Vilkas had then gotten ambushed by Idgrod in turn. Bryn always kept a close eye on what was going on in whatever room she was in. So Idgrod had probably had one of her visions. Maybe she had seen Ulfric’s impending doom. Bryn knew it grew closer every day, something she had gotten very good at making herself forget. She hadn’t forgotten though when she had agreed to the painting. She hadn’t forgotten that they were going to war. If it was going to happen anywhere it was going to be in battle. She wasn’t naïve. Her husband was strong, but he wasn’t as fast as a young man. Or an Elf.

She pushed the thoughts away and looked at the Jarls, and once they were all settled she let the _thu’um_ fill her voice as she said, “My Jarls, welcome again to Dragonsreach.” There were solemn nods of acknowledgment. She smiled to her right and added, “And many thanks to Jarl Balgruuf for generously agreeing to host us all yet again.” The Jarls either called _hear hear_ or raised their mugs to him.

“The pleasure is mine, my Queen,” Balgruuf replied.

“So.” She looked over the gathered nobles then said, “As you all know, I recently returned from Cyrodiil and the Emperor’s court. And as you all have heard, we are now in a state of war with the Aldmeri Dominion.” The Jarls looked at each other but no one reacted more than that; the news had traveled faster by trader and courier than she had. “The Aldmeri Ambassador stated that we have been at war all along. I suppose that this is true. I’ve certainly never doubted it. Neither has the Emperor.” She took a deep breath and folded her hands in front of her at parade rest, her right hand grasping her left wrist, and lifted her chin. “The Emperor has declared me his heir, in full view of the Elder Council. Skyrim and the Nords will one day rule the Empire again.”

“Talos be praised!” Thongvor Silver-Blood cried, and the cry was taken up by Ulfric and the other Jarls, all but Maven who simply nodded, the least religious of all the rulers. “Nords and Dragonborn both!”

“Arkay willing, not for many years yet,” she said, smiling at the balding Jarl. “But before we talk of war or the future, we need to deal with the here and now. We need to deal with a situation that has been festering for several years and has finally reached a head today. It’s one that I have tried numerous times to rectify, with no success, and no cooperation from the offending party.” She looked at Falk and he was grimacing slightly. “Jarl Elisif refused to attend this meeting today, claiming illness. She refused to come here today and do her duty in regards to the defense of her country and her people. She has consistently placed the burden of leadership on her steward’s shoulders, and he has performed admirably, if reluctantly. He is the one the people of Haafingar look to for help and protection. He is the one the thanes answer to. He traveled here in Elisif’s place to represent Haafingar, even though he wasn’t obliged to.” Falk’s grimace deepened and he nodded curtly, as if realizing where she was going with this. “Do you have anything to say, Falk Firebeard?”

He stood and cleared his throat, bowing deeply to Bryn before saying in a halting tone, “Queen Brynhilde, my Jarls…I have done my best to take care of Haafingar and her people, through Jarl Elisif’s, ah, difficulties.” He glanced at Ulfric then away again. “I have sympathy for her ladyship. I was there when Torygg, ah, died. I saw firsthand what it did to her. Lady Elisif and King Torygg were deeply in love. Losing him…it did something to her, and losing the child right after that, well, it…it unhinged her.” When he glanced at Ulfric again the older Jarl stared back unflinchingly, his expression letting Falk know quite clearly that it was something he would always regret. Falk nodded once to him then looked back to the Queen, who seemed only slightly more sympathetic than before. Strange that Ulfric was the softer one now of the two. There was no missing how the time on Solstheim and in the Imperial City had hardened her. It was what Skyrim and the Empire needed though. It was easy to see where Elisif’s soft nature had gotten her.

“I regret that,” Bryn said honestly. “I’ve tried over and over again to talk to her. So did Tullius. She wouldn’t listen.”

“She didn’t want to listen, unfortunately.”

“And yet you always have, Falk. Even when times were hard and you didn’t quite approve of my actions and decisions, you have always been willing to listen. You have always been a voice of reason.”

“I…have tried, my lady.”

Bryn looked around the room and prompted, “What say you, my lords and ladies? Elisif cannot continue ruling Haafingar, if ruling is what you want to call it. Today was the last straw. She has basically abandoned her people. She has let her grief and obsession overrule everything else. It has to end, today.”

“I motion that she be unseated,” Dengeir of Stuhn declared flatly. 

Skald agreed, “The girl’s useless in that position. Put the Firebeard in her place and move on.”

Balgruuf said in a reluctant tone, “I have my sympathy for Elisif. I always have. However the people must come first, and they’ve lost confidence in her. As Ulfric said at the moot, she was never meant to rule. She simply doesn’t have it in her.”

Ulfric said in a voice of mock wonder, “What is this, Balgruuf? Agreeing with me in public? I need a moment to collect myself.”

Balgruuf stared at him, waiting, then he smiled and said, “There was your moment.”

Ulfric laughed and Balgruuf snorted and took a drink, and Ulfric said to his wife, “I am not the most objective party when it comes to Elisif, of course.” He sighed and looked at the other Jarls, then his gaze moved to Falk. The redhead gazed back without faltering, but without malice. “Falk has taken care of the folk of his hold without complaint, and he has shielded Elisif with a commendable amount of loyalty. I would support him as Jarl of Haafingar.”

Korir said, “As would I, but would it not be simpler for him to just marry the girl? Avoid any messiness?”

Falk hesitated, looking uncomfortable, and Bryn said, “Elisif doesn’t deserve that courtesy, and Falk doesn’t deserve to pay that price either. He’s dealt with her long enough. Let him rule openly, on his own merits.” Falk looked grateful; his relationship with the thane Bryling was still not common knowledge. They would have married long ago except for Falk’s fear of looking biased and having to step down, which would have left that snake Erikur with far too much influence on Elisif. That would shortly cease to be a problem. Erikur would no doubt be livid about Falk’s rise in station, and Bryling becoming a Jarl’s wife in addition to thane, but that was not Bryn’s problem.

Korir nodded. “All right then. We’ve put up with Elisif’s insanity long enough. Let Falk rule in her stead. However, I would like to know what is going to happen to her. She cannot be put out on the street.”

Falk stated, “She would continue to live in the Blue Palace, for as long as she wishes. I would continue to see to her care and comfort as I always have.”

Maven said in a dry tone, “Perhaps you could fix up a suite for her in the Pelagius Wing.” Falk pursed his lips and didn’t dignify that with an answer, though there was a snort of amusement from Dengeir. She waved her hand at Falk and said, “Fine, let him rule. I have no issue with it. I look forward to continued profitable trade with Haafingar.” That was what had finally cemented Maven’s loyalty to the Dragonborn. After the mess with Maul and Ingun, Bryn had spoken up for Maven with Tullius and salvaged her business dealings with the Empire. Maven hadn’t known it until she had waited with gritted teeth over the months and realized nothing had changed. It had been Tullius who had sent her a messenger, part of a contingent of Legion soldiers passing through the Rift on their way out, taking Fasendil and his unit with them. Tullius had made it clear that this was the one and only pass she would be getting, and that perhaps it would be an interesting challenge for her to start conducting her business in a more ethical fashion. Maven knew when to cut her losses. And the challenge had been interesting. It didn’t come naturally to her, but it had been interesting.

Idgrod said gruffly, “Elisif deserves our sympathy, but only up to a point. The good of the people should come first. She let herself slide into this state. She willingly fed her resentment and grief. She will be unseated and Falk will rule Haafingar.”

Taking a deep breath, Bryn nodded then said, “All right then. It’s unanimous. As of this moment, Elisif the Fair is no longer Jarl of Haafingar. Falk Firebeard shall take her place as Jarl, effective today.” She looked at Balgruuf and asked, “Could we get Proventus to draw up a document to that effect? All the Jarls and I will sign it, so there’s no doubt that this was done officially.”

“Aye, it will be done,” Balgruuf stated with a nod. He motioned to his steward, who nodded and hurried off to Farengar’s study to get paper and ink.

Falk looked pained, his cheeks flushed, and Bryn said to him, “I’m sorry to do this to you, Falk, but there was no other way.”

“No, my Queen,” he said haltingly. “This…was necessary. I could wish it on someone else, but…” Erikur would have pushed and politicked his way into the position, ruthlessly, and the people of Haafingar would not have benefited from it.

“You are the best person for the job, end of story,” Idgrod stated. She looked intently at Bryn and said, “So, on to more important matters. The war.”

“Yes, the war,” Bryn agreed. The old woman’s dark eyes, nearly unheard of in a Nord, stared into hers, and Bryn didn’t flinch under the hard gaze. There was understanding there. She stifled a pang of anxiety and looked away. She would do what she had to do. She was no Elisif, no wilting flower. She had known this was coming for well over a year now. Maybe when it came she would crumble, but not a moment before that. “We knew war was on the horizon. I knew it when I put a stop to the civil war. I am going to do everything in my power to keep the war from coming to Skyrim. At the moment the Dominion’s attention is on the Imperial City and White Gold Tower. The Elves are obsessed with it, as a symbol of humans dictating to Elves and rising above their station. The Altmer, well, the Thalmor, still feel as if it is their place to rule over the other races, even the other Elven races.

“My good friend Legate Fasendil and I toured the southern border along Elsweyr and Valenwood, on Odahviing. We spent over a week visiting the forts along the border. Elsweyr seems to be embroiled in its own problems, as usual, and that is to our benefit. Valenwood is being prepared as a staging ground for an assault on southern Cyrodiil. Fasendil and I found three Imperial roads that had been cleared of trees and repaired, up to within a quarter mile of the border.” There were murmurs of dismay and sharp intakes of breath. “The Thalmor have simply ignored the Green Pact that the Bosmer have with Y’ffre. Some worry that this and the purges may push the Bosmer into forming a Wild Hunt. But that’s a worry for another day.” The Jarls looked horrified at the notion of it, as anyone would be. She folded her arms and stared into the fire as she went on into the silent hall, “We needed to know what the Dominion was doing with those roads. I wasn’t about to risk Odahviing by flying any lower over the woods, which could have been full of Elven archers for all we knew. I suggested to Fasendil that I cross the Strid and sneak into Valenwood to check out the terminus of one of the roads. And so I did.” She heard a soft grumble from her husband, who was still unhappy about what she had done. He hadn’t said anything about it, valuable as the information had been, but he hadn’t liked it.

Balgruuf said in dismay, “By Ysmir, you went into Valenwood?”

“That I did. It was beautiful in there. Full of life. More birds and animals than I could count. I didn’t see any Bosmer scouts, and no one saw me. Not until it was too late for them to do anything about it. I found a Thalmor encampment at the end of the road I was looking for. Thirty-five or forty Altmer soldiers and wizards. They were building a bridge, in portable sections that could be quickly assembled once they reached the Strid. I picked off as many of them as I could with my bow then took out the rest, keeping the officer in charge alive. I retrieved my arrows, burned the bridge, and took the wizard back to Cyrodiil, where she was interrogated.”

Into the stunned silence, Thongvor gravely stated, “With extreme prejudice, I hope.”

“No, I’m afraid not. I have no tolerance for torture. The information gained from it is unreliable, and in my case it’s unnecessary. I know a Shout that can bend another’s will. She didn’t enjoy it, but she told us everything she knew. Half the Aldmeri forces will come up from the south, and at the same time the Aldmeri navy will attack the Gold Coast. On First Seed 15th.”

“Why then?” Korir asked in confusion.

“They intend to destroy everything in their wake. Every village. Every farm. They intend to disrupt the spring planting and starve the Empire.” The Jarls looked horrified, as did Vilkas. “Their eventual goal is to ‘control the center’, as she put it, and enslave humanity again. She said that the Ayleids’ biggest mistake was letting humans grow too numerous. It took some time to get it all out of her, as the effect only lasts thirty seconds, and we had to go through it all over again in front of the Emperor and the Generals, but eventually I did. The Dominion has no intention of signing any more treaties or giving any quarter. They intend to follow this through until we’re on our knees or the Dominion is destroyed. So do I.” Several of the Jarls either nodded or pounded their fists on the table in agreement. Thongvor was practically fidgeting, his eyes gleaming.

Falk cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the notion of speaking as a Jarl, and when Bryn motioned for him to speak he said, “There is no reasoning with them, my lady, I see that. It seems possible however that this Thalmor commander you captured doesn’t know the entire plan.”

Ulfric spoke up, saying, “That is highly likely. We feel the borders with Morrowind and Black Marsh are as secure as they will get. The Dark Elves have no love for the Dominion, and the Argonians have turned in on themselves and wish only to be left alone. Hammerfell will not tolerate the Dominion setting one foot on their land. It is possible they may harass High Rock and Skyrim from the sea, but the Sea of Ghosts is choked with ice until well after First Seed, and both provinces are remote from Alinor. No, it is Cyrodiil they want. They crave White Gold Tower like a sickness.”

Bryn said in agreement, “It is a sickness. There is some madness that has infected the Thalmor. Maybe it’s a product of all the time they spent in Oblivion, closing the gates, and they’ve passed it on to their younger members, or perhaps they only recruit those who already have their particular brand of madness. Either way, it will be rooted out. _I_ will root it out, and I won’t rest until it’s done. I will let them pass into Cyrodiil, then Odahviing will burn every bridge across the Strid, leaving them no escape. I will chase them all the way back to the Abecean, and my dragons will burn their ships. There will be no more Dominion, no more Thalmor, by the end of next year. I promise you all that.”

Vilkas felt a ripple of disquiet go through him at her words, at the hardness in them, the _thu’um_ rumbling behind it all like thunderheads promising the mother of all storms. He hadn’t missed the look she had given him and Ulfric, the well-hidden despair and grief that only someone who knew her well could see. So she knew, or had some idea. She knew and was just letting it go. Not confronting either man about it.

Her words and demeanor frightened him. They frightened him because they showed him hints of what she could become. It made it more vital than ever that he stay close to her as both Ulfric and Idgrod had suggested, when the end came. If he didn’t he shuddered to think of what she could turn into. What she was capable of. The rage she had turned on that cultist in Windhelm nearly eleven months ago was only a taste of it. Some tiny part of him whispered that maybe it would be a good thing if she turned her rage at Ulfric’s loss against the Aldmeri Dominion, but what would the cost be to her? And the child she would be carrying then?

No, he wouldn’t allow her to turn in on herself. Ulfric would keep taking care of her until it was time for him to go, and Vilkas would take over then, as he had promised he would long ago. He stayed silent as Thongvor Silver-Blood leapt to his feet and vowed to follow the Dragonborn into battle, as did Korir of Winterhold, and Bryn accepted their pledge with an enviable ability to pretend she was happy with the offer.

Bryn smiled and put her hand over her heart, saying, “I would like nothing better than to have you fight with me, my Jarls. I would be proud to have you at my side.” She supposed that sounded convincing. As long as they didn’t get in the way, so be it. She wasn’t about to turn away able-bodied warriors, and the two Jarls were certainly that, both in their mid-thirties and fit with heirs that could follow them. She had a lot more faith in Thongvor’s ability than Korir’s, but maybe this was the redheaded Jarl’s chance to prove himself. The two men smiled proudly and took their seats, and Bryn took a deep breath and let the room grow quiet before continuing, “Though I feel confident in our ability, my ability, to crush the Dominion and return home safely, I have to plan for the possibility that I may not live through the coming war.” There were the expected polite sounds of protest from that, except from Idgrod and Balgruuf. Also as expected. “If I fall in battle…I name Balgruuf of Whiterun as my successor.”

Through the uproar he protested, “Damn you Brynhilde, I knew you were going to do that!”

“Then why are you so upset?”

Balgruuf put his head in his hands, and Skald said in a testy voice, “Why wouldn’t you name your own husband, Dragonborn? Jarl Ulfric nearly became High King.”

Ulfric stated with quiet firmness, “Because it is impossible that Brynhilde would fall while I still draw breath.”

_Ah gods,_ Vilkas thought with a pang of heartache, looking away from them both, willing Bryn to not look at him, willing himself to keep his expression blank. He had no idea how he was going to manage this. No idea at all. He still couldn’t bring himself to understand how Bryn was going to cope between now and then. How she had coped all along. He could only hope that when the time came he was going to be strong enough for both of them.


	69. Chapter 69

“My lady!”

Bryn looked up at Hadvar’s call, setting aside the Sunhallowed Elven arrows she was bundling near her tent. After the meeting with the Jarls in Whiterun five months ago, Bryn had decided to travel back to Solitude with Falk, reluctant to leave him to depose Elisif alone. Ulfric had gone with her, as always, staying in Proudspire Manor while Bryn did the deed. Or had tried to do the deed; she and Falk had both been horrified to find the girl gone. Her housecarl Bolgeir Bearclaw had been frantic, looking through the entire palace for her, including the Pelagius Wing which was undergoing refurbishing; no one had seen her since the night before, when a ‘merry man’ as Bolgeir said had come to entertain Elisif. When Bolgeir finally stated that he’d heard the man referring to himself in the third person as Cicero it had made Bryn’s blood run cold. She never had been able to figure out where the one remaining member of the Dark Brotherhood had gone, and neither had Commander Maro. All Bryn could imagine was that the madman had gotten wind of Elisif’s psychotic hatred for Ulfric and decided she would make the perfect start to his new Dark Brotherhood. Well, when Bryn was done in Cyrodiil she was going to hunt them both down and feed them to Odahviing.

After publicly installing Falk as the new Jarl of Haafingar, Bryn had left Ulfric with Hadvar and Ralof in Solitude long enough for her to fly to the Chapel of Auriel on Odahviing. Knight-Paladin Gelebor had been shocked to see her again after so long, and even more bewildered by the sight of a dragon. Bryn had feared he would be reluctant to bless the Elven arrows she had brought, knowing what their ultimate use would be, but he had agreed to it in that oddly calm manner of his. She worried he was lonely there, but he had kept himself busy trying to restore the Chapel, and indeed it looked better than the last time she had seen it. She wasn’t sure how he was managing to do the heavy stonework alone and decided she was better off not knowing.

Hadvar walked up to her and bowed slightly then said, “My Queen, you have a visitor. He’s been trying to get through the camp for the last several hours and someone finally had the brains to tell me. It’s your friend Erandur from Dawnstar.”

“Erandur!” she said in surprise. “He’s a long way from home. I wonder what on Nirn he’s doing here?” They were camped outside Helgen, the first wave of Nord troops readying themselves to go through the Pale Pass into Cyrodiil. Bryn would be riding ahead on Odahviing, scouting for ambushes, with three others of her seven _Zeymahhe_ including Drunfaazkein along for the journey, the other three staying behind to guard Skyrim’s borders from any ‘golden armies’. If it weren’t for Ulfric’s doom hanging over her like a headsman’s axe it would all be very exciting, but the thought was never far away. Vilkas’ hovering wasn’t helping matters; since joining them as they passed by Whiterun he was either nearby watching her or shadowing Ulfric like a bodyguard, something that was getting on both Galmar’s and Ralof’s nerves, and Bryn’s own. Erandur’s sudden appearance was a bright spot in what had been a long winter of barely subdued anxiety.

Hadvar waved to Ralof, who nodded and headed to fetch the priest, then Hadvar said, “This is ah, kind of good timing, my lady.”

“In a few different ways, but how so?”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you but could never find the right time, with the war effort and all… The last time we were in Winterhold, last month, I proposed to Onmund.” Bryn gasped in shock. He grinned at her and she laughed in delight and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. He patted her back, his face warming as all activity around them came to a screeching halt, and he waved his hand behind her back at them. No one obliged, but at least most pretended to.

When she let him go she placed a kiss on each cheek. “I’m so happy for you!” She then made a sound of mock offense. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, you sneak!”

“Well, you’ve had other things on your mind, and—”

She put her hands on his shoulders and chided, “Oh stop it. This is wonderful! When are you getting married?”

“When we return from Cyrodiil. I was thinking, well, we both were, if it’s all right—”

“Yes, he can come live with us in Windhelm. Wunnferth is getting older and he should start training a replacement. That’s just perfect.”

Hadvar blinked then said, “Well, we didn’t quite…go that far. Court mage? Really?”

“I know he’s young, but not much younger than Farengar, and Onmund is very talented. I would love to have him there.” Maybe it would help take her mind off things, when…well, when.

“Onmund will be very flattered, my lady. Thank you.”

“Start thinking about what kind of wedding you want. I insist on helping with it. Oh, this is such wonderful news!”

Hadvar laughed again, warmed by his Queen’s happiness, something that had been all too rare since the meeting last year in Whiterun. It made him wish that he had told her sooner. He had told Ralof right away and his best friend had been thrilled for him as well, while maintaining his own complete disinterest in such a thing for himself. Ralof was much too popular with the ladies to settle for one anytime soon. Or anytime in the next ten years.

Bryn’s smile turned into a smirk as she went on, “Maybe his backwards family will finally realize he did the right thing by joining the College.”

“One can always hope, my lady,” he said, while not at all hopeful of that. Hadvar had mentioned to Onmund several times, both in person and by letter, that he wouldn’t mind going and having a word with them, and Onmund had firmly said no, that they would have to be the ones to make the first move. Hadvar had to respect that.

“Do you think you might adopt children?”

“Oh, I don’t think so. We talked about it, but neither of us is all too interested in raising children.” He smiled at her and added, “Besides, there will be all your little ones running about before long, eh?” Hadvar’s smile faded as Bryn folded in on herself slightly, as if recoiling from a blow, then she put on a brave face and nodded.

“Of course. Yes, lots of little ones.”

Hadvar put his hand on her arm and murmured, “What’s wrong?” Her mouth twisted as she blinked, and he whispered, “Brynhilde, please.”

Bryn closed her eyes for a moment then glanced behind her at the small compound of tents that made up the quarters for her and her entourage. Ulfric and Galmar were nowhere to be seen, probably discussing battle plans or how to get everyone through the Pass or some such thing that she had no head for and no interest in. And there was Vilkas, lurking like a shadow, sitting beneath a tree in his ebony armor, watching her, his position such that he had probably been watching her while she was bundling arrows as well. Her expression hardened as her eyes narrowed, and she saw his narrow as well, not giving an inch. He had kept his distance so far, but not enough of a distance. That dark, brooding presence made him seem like a vulture. Circling. Waiting for death.

“My lady,” Hadvar pressed.

Bryn turned back to him and stated flatly, “I worry my husband will die in the war. That’s all.”

“That’s all,” he said in disbelief.

“When it comes time to fight, I want you and Ralof with him.”

Hadvar shook his head, his tongue in his cheek. “My lady, no.”

“I’ll have Vilkas at my back, if needed. We fight well together.”

“Excuse me for saying so, but if he doesn’t make himself scarce, you’ll end up fighting each other before we ever reach Cyrodiil.”

Bryn laughed shortly, tiredly, then she sighed and gently patted Hadvar’s cheek. “I love you, you know that?”

He blinked in shock, stunned. “My lady,” he whispered, his voice rough. “I…I do. I do know that. And I… you’re dear to me. That’s why I say what I do.”

“And I treasure that. Ralof still can’t bring himself to do that.”

“You scaring the shit out of him a year ago didn’t help in that regard.” She laughed again, more openly this time. Hadvar never had found out just what Ralof did to earn the Queen’s ire like that. Ralof was so embarrassed by it that he refused to talk about it, and Hadvar didn’t press. He quietly continued, “The Harbinger’s presence, it’s bothering you.”

“Because he fears Ulfric will die as well. It’s as if he’s waiting for it to happen.”

Hadvar’s mouth fell open and he whispered angrily, “Surely that isn’t what he’s doing!”

She shook her head. “He’s not anticipating it. He dreads it. He and Ulfric had another one of their man-to-man’s in Whiterun last year. I’m so tired of their colluding that I left it alone this time, but I saw Idgrod talking to Ulfric, then Ulfric to Vilkas, then Idgrod to Vilkas. I trust in the old Ravencrone’s visions, and while she didn’t see fit to tell me either, well…” She didn’t know what more to say without telling him everything.

“But…it could be anything.” Bryn shook her head, and Hadvar didn’t push for anything more. And he knew there was more. There always had been, and if she didn’t want to share it after all this time then it wasn’t his place to dig for it. There was something though. Definitely something. And it had all started after reading those Elder Scrolls in that cave. Whatever the Queen had seen had hurt her so deeply that she had never fully recovered from it, and it wasn’t becoming Empress. 

Whatever it was, it was tied up with Ulfric and Vilkas, and the two men knew exactly what it was, and Hadvar feared it was Ulfric’s death. In fact in hindsight, after talking to Bryn just now and hearing her say that she worried Ulfric would die in the war…when they had left Windhelm Ulfric had nearly been in tears. He had said goodbye to Rikke and Jorleif as if he would never see them again, had looked at the Palace the same way, had stood and stared at the city from outside as they left the same way. Hadvar had the feeling that Ulfric feared he was going to die as well. The way Vilkas was shadowing the Jarl, the Harbinger also feared that.

Well, Hadvar would have to talk to Ralof about this. He said nothing more to Bryn, simply stood close to her and waited with her for the Dark Elf to show up. He didn’t want her to order him to not say anything to his partner, and since she hadn’t that was exactly what Hadvar was going to do. Ralof was the more emotional of the two of them, so he’d have to manage it a bit carefully. The last thing he wanted was for Ralof to have some kind of breakdown that might lead him to become less effective in battle. If the Queen ordered the two of them to guard Ulfric then that was exactly what they would have to do. She was going to have to directly and very strongly order them to do it though.

Bryn felt a wave of relief from her gloomy thoughts as Ralof reappeared with a Dunmer in priest’s robes at this side. She smiled brightly and went to Erandur, who gave her his calm, subdued smile, but his bright red eyes shone. She had last seen him a year ago during her tour of Skyrim, making a special trip to Nightcaller Temple to visit him. He had been surprised and touched by it, offering once again to follow her if ever she needed it. He had seemed rather lonely actually, and she had tried to convince him that going out into the world to do Mara’s work would be more meaningful than doing penance for his past in the ruins, and he had said he would consider it. It seemed he had finally considered it.

Erandur embraced her, and she said, “My friend, it’s good to see you.” Ralof and Hadvar moved off to give them some privacy.

“And you, milady,” he replied.

She held him out at arm’s length, feeling wiry strength in the old mer. She had no idea how old he was, and she wasn’t about to be so rude as to ask, but he had to be quite old from the lines in his face and the amount of gray in his hair. “What brings you here? I can’t imagine what finally brought you out of seclusion.”

“This,” he stated simply, motioning to the camp around them. Bryn tilted her head, looking at him in confusion. “I’m a Master Healer, milady. Mara compelled me to come here. War means fighting and bloodshed. If I can spread Mara’s compassion among the wounded then my life’s work will nearly be complete.”

“Nearly complete,” she murmured. Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she saw that Vilkas had stood and was staring at Erandur as if he had seen a ghost, then the Harbinger turned and finally walked out of sight, radiating tension.

“Yes, milady. Nearly complete.” He looked up at her and she was staring off at the man who had just left. “Dark times, milady,” Erandur softly stated.

“Oh yes,” she replied just as softly. “The darkest of them all. Alduin was nothing compared to this.”

“It is a greater and more terrible thing to change the world than to end it.” She looked back at him, her golden eyes glittering. Hard. “I’ve prayed to Mara intensely since last year when you came to Dawnstar. I’ve…struggled with the things she has shown me. The goddess’ compassion…it doesn’t always work in the ways one would expect. The Divines do not meddle directly in the affairs of mortals, except on the rare occasions they send an avatar to Nirn to do their work. In my dreams I saw one such avatar, an old woman who shared a campfire with a courier from Riften who treated her with kindness. When he awoke the next morning she was gone, along with a letter that was intended for a beloved.” Bryn’s body went completely still at that as she seemed to look through him. He took a deep breath and said in his gravelly voice, “She saw the greater pain, the greater need. You are her Agent and willingly agreed to be. She sent you where you would do the most good. That is exactly how it has come to be.”

“So it has,” she whispered. Mara. _Mara_ had taken Vilkas’ letter, not Talos. That possibility had never even occurred to her. She had always felt that Mara had stayed her hand the night she had given Ulfric the dossier, just as she had always felt that Dibella had helped push her into Ulfric’s arms the night she had gone to him after Sovngarde, but this…never.

“Stormcloak’s soul was withering inside him. Skyrim was being torn apart. If things had not gone as they had, if you had not gone to him, the civil war would have continued no matter who won, the bitterness having grown too deep for it to end without further bloodshed. He would have died, either by your hand or an assassin’s. Or maybe even his own. He would not be alive today, I assure you. Your short time with him has been a gift. Mara’s gift.” She winced, closing her eyes. He gently grabbed her upper arms, hard in the dragonscale armor. “I am here for you, my child,” he murmured. “This will be my life’s final work, to watch over you and your children until one of us dies.”

“I won’t die,” she whispered bitterly.

“You can tell me about that when you’re ready.” She squeezed her eyes tightly and a tear leaked out, then they flashed open and she gripped his shoulder. It was like being caught in an eagle’s claw, painful, but he didn’t mind. Sometimes physical pain was the lesser one.

“Now. Right now.”

Erandur nodded, giving her a gentle smile, and when she took his arm and pulled him along he went with her without hesitation. _Purpose,_ he thought with deep satisfaction, feeling Mara’s warmth fill him. This was what everything else had been leading up to. It wasn’t comfortable being amongst this many people after two years of solitude, but he would get used to it, and it wouldn’t always be this way. He would heal the wounded and minister to the friends and loved ones of the fallen, and when the war was over he would follow the High Queen back to Windhelm to comfort her in her grief. He would attend to her health both physical and spiritual, and that of her children as well. By doing so he would help heal Skyrim and the Empire. It was going to be a hard journey until then, but Mara would give him strength enough to bear it, for himself and his Queen.  
-  
 _All hail to Brynhilde, you are the High Queen_  
 _In your great honor we drink and we sing_  
 _We’re the children of Skyrim and we fight all our lives_  
 _For when Sovngarde beckons every one of us dies_

A quiet laugh at Vilkas’ side startled him. It was embarrassing that he was so lost in thought and watching the camp and thinking about tomorrow that he hadn’t heard Ulfric come up next to him.

“I’ve missed this,” Ulfric said happily. Vilkas grunted, and he shrugged and said, “You are not a soldier, Harbinger. You don’t feel this the way I do, or Galmar, or Hadvar.” He sighed and added, “It saddens me that Rikke had to stay behind, but a country cannot run itself. Balgruuf has agreed to help her act in Brynhilde’s stead, but it will still take all her time. She would have loved this. The singing, the stolen moments in the shadows, making the most of life before battle comes.”

Vilkas slowly shook his head and muttered, “It is not for me. All I can think about is the fighting. The death to come.”

“Still, those who fall will find themselves in Sovngarde.”

“And those left behind will weep.”

“Yes, for a while, then they will sing, and feast.”

“Not everyone will.”

Ulfric rolled his eyes. “Your negativity is poisonous, Vilkas. Leave me to my illusions, please.” He glanced up and muttered, “Your hair will be white by time the war is over if you keep this up.”

Vilkas bit his lip and said nothing else. He and Ulfric had had plenty of chances to talk all this out on the way into Cyrodiil and the West Weald, and they had, out of Bryn’s hearing, which was not difficult considering how much time she spent riding a dragon. Vilkas had found himself growing ever fonder of the Jarl, against his will, and all he could think about was Bryn losing him. And that Dark Elf priest was always about as a reminder of it. Even Ulfric had finally deigned to speak to the Dunmer like a halfway normal person, realizing who he was: the Dunmer priest from Bryn’s vision and Vilkas’ dream, the one who had just delivered their daughter. Bryn was clearly very fond of the mer, dry as he was, but he was kind, and took Vilkas’ avoidance of him in stride.

Laughter pealed through the camp at a distance, along with the soft rumble of thunder, and cries of “Dovahkiin!” and “Hail Dragonborn!” followed. Bryn was walking through the camp, without her Guards, something that set Vilkas’ teeth on edge and Ulfric hadn’t been happy about, but she had ordered them to stay behind and watch over Ulfric and they had done so with tense expressions but no protest. Ulfric said, “She is masterful in her handling of the soldiers. She has no head for war no matter what I’ve tried to drill into her, but she knows people. This means the world to the troops, that she is visiting with them like this. They will all be thinking about it tomorrow when the fighting starts.” He folded his arms, hearing a Bard start up another song, several of them having tagged along with the Queen’s army. “And once the fighting is over for the day, she will no doubt do it again, and help heal the wounded. I sometimes worry that she will end up driving herself into the ground, but she has the constitution of a _dovah.”_

“And when she’s with child?”

Ulfric sighed quietly. “We will worry about that when it comes, whenever that is.” He smirked at the taller man. “Have no fear, I’m doing my duty in that regard.”

“I don’t want to know,” Vilkas hissed, making Ulfric laugh heartily. He only occasionally heard muffled sounds of lovemaking from the Queen’s tent, which was about thirty feet away from his own. He was used to it by now, but it still hurt to hear. It also made him painfully aroused, and he couldn’t help sometimes wishing that they would call him in, that they would make good on Ulfric’s offer from a year and a half ago. At this point he was so desperate that he would have no qualms about it. Maybe it would make Bryn finally really look at him again. Once they had entered Cyrodiil she’d stopped meeting his eyes, and he’d stopped trying to make her. All she saw was Ulfric. And war.

“I’m sorry,” Ulfric murmured, and he meant it. “If I thought Brynhilde would be agreeable to it… Well, we tried going down that road once. Or I did, rather.”

Miserable, Vilkas muttered, “If I thought she would be agreeable to it, I would do it.” Ulfric’s breath caught, then he let it out. Vilkas hunched in on himself and went on, “It’s as if she hates me now. I can’t win with her. This is Idgrod’s fault. Bryn saw what was going on. She knows.”

“Yes, she does. She hasn’t said as much, but I can tell that she does. And she does _not_ hate you. This is simply her way of coping. You remind her.”

“And the Elf doesn’t?”

Ulfric grunted. “I don’t like having him about, any more than you do. He unsettles me. But he has a good heart and is an emissary of Mara. If the goddess told him to come here and be a comfort to my wife then I can’t begrudge him that.” He pursed his lips then added, “I dislike the notion of my son being delivered into a greyskin’s hands. Of those people entering my home, my most private spaces. But I won’t be there to care.” Vilkas would be, but Vilkas had no problem with the Dunmer race.

“Bryn is comfortable with Dunmer. She’s comfortable with everyone. Everyone but me, it seems.”

The Jarl rolled his eyes again. “Your continuing self-absorption is a never-ending source of amazement to me.”

“It isn’t me, it’s her! How the hell am I supposed to be any kind of help to her when she won’t let me?”

“Maybe it simply isn’t time yet.” Vilkas threw up his hands with an exclamation of frustration and stalked off, and Ulfric let him go. He then heard Galmar’s particular walk, the housecarl never far away. He took in a deep breath of the cool, late-winter night air that would be considered summery in Skyrim. The smells were all different here, more earth and less stone, the trees and flowers giving off different scents than he was used to, though they tickled old memories. He put his hand on Galmar’s shoulder and said, “This brings it all back, old friend. The good parts.”

“Aye, it does,” Galmar agreed. He glanced behind him to where the Harbinger was stalking off to his tent. “Has a way with people, doesn’t he.” Vilkas didn’t bother mixing with any of the troops, didn’t make any effort past the core group of people inhabiting the Queen’s compound. He got along well-enough with Ralof and Hadvar, the blond finally easing up on his distrust of Vilkas’ motives, which made their continuing weapons training go a bit smoother. Galmar even found Vilkas tolerable in small doses, though he found the man’s intense and brooding personality aggravating the rest of the time. He frankly thought Vilkas a poor match for a Queen, let alone an Empress, but he supposed if all Vilkas was ever expected to do was father children and stand around looking intimidating he would do.

“He’s very…hm.”

“Annoying? Off-putting?”

“Passionate. He feels everything too deeply.”

“You’re too charitable.”

Ulfric shrugged. “When you get him alone and he isn’t on the defensive he can be very charming. He worries constantly for Brynhilde, for the Companions back in Whiterun, even for me.”

“With damn good reason.” Ulfric didn’t rise to the bait. Galmar grabbed his friend’s arm and moved around to face him. Ulfric gazed back with that same damn calm acceptance in his eyes touched with mild sadness, and it drove Galmar up the wall. He leaned close and said intently, “You should’ve been straight with me, damn you. You should’ve come clean, all the way.”

“To what purpose? I’ve made every day count, when I could. I’ve made peace with myself, and with others where it was possible. I left Windhelm with a clean conscience and few regrets.” He smiled at Galmar. “And you’re with me, old friend. When I go to Sovngarde it will be with a song on my lips. I will stand before Tsun and not be ashamed.” Galmar made a sound of pain and looked away then back again. “Trust me though that I will not make it easy for the Dominion to take me down. I can only hope that Brynhilde loses no one else close to her in the process. She has ordered the lads to guard my back in battle, instead of hers, and what can I do but allow it?”

“Is she going to allow Vilkas at least to guard her?”

“Aye, that she has promised me. It was the only compromise she was willing to make. They fight very well together.”

Galmar grunted then said in a sour tone, “They will have a long time to look forward to fighting together.”

Ulfric laughed, “You mean each other?”

“Exactly.”

“They got along fine in Solstheim, other than some mild bickering. Vilkas will bend with her in ways I still cannot. Don’t take his behavior the last month as any indication of how he will treat Brynhilde. Most of his mood is coming from her shutting him out. Once he has settled in Windhelm—”

Galmar exploded, “How can you be so fucking calm about this!”

He calmly stated, “I’ve had a very long time to come to grips with it.” Galmar rubbed his face then ran his fingers back through his gray hair, and Ulfric said with regret, “I’m sorry, Galmar. I wish I had told you right away.”

“And you still haven’t. Spill it. Now. All of it.”

Ulfric chewed at his bottom lip for a moment then softly said, “I told you Brynhilde saw herself with Vilkas again, when she read those Scrolls. Vilkas saw the same thing, at the same time, in a dream, but with more detail. He held my son in his arms, and Brynhilde had just given birth to his daughter. He saw our bedroom, in the Palace. The Dunmer priest was just leaving. Erandur, he knows now. Brynhilde said Vilkas looked no older than he does now.”

“Shit,” Galmar choked.

“When Brynhilde went to Skuldafn, she deliberately went looking for visions of the future in the Dragon Scroll. She saw my son grown, and he looks too much like me to not be my son. She and Vilkas both have promised to name him Fjonnar, after my father. She said she saw him several times, glimpses, once as an older man sitting on my throne wearing the Jagged Crown, but he was always smiling. She felt that he would have a happy life. A life I didn’t get the chance to have, until the last couple years.” Galmar’s jaw clenched as he blinked, his eyes damp, and Ulfric grabbed his shoulders and said, “If you live through this—”

“I had damn well better not!”

“If you do, I want you to act as the boy’s grandfather. I know you’ve been training Yrsarald to replace you as housecarl. Retire and help Rikke with Brynhilde. With the children. Vilkas doesn’t know this, but they will have four daughters together. He only knows of the first one. One of his daughters will one day rule the Empire, and Fjonnar will rule Eastmarch and Skyrim. Help Brynhilde and Vilkas make them into Nords I would be proud of.” Galmar sniffed and nodded then wiped his eyes. Ulfric sighed and kissed his friend on each cheek then gave him a shake. “Tomorrow will not be the day I fall, I promise you that. This war is just starting.” He laughed and let go of Galmar. “This is what we have dreamed of for over three decades, Galmar! I wish I could see their faces up close when the dragons appear. When Brynhilde calls the storm upon them.”

“Aye, so do I, Ulfric,” Galmar whispered roughly. “So do I.” He heard the nearby Bard launch into a rousing rendition of _The Dragonborn Comes,_ and as Ulfric’s arm went around his shoulders he took a deep breath and put his own around his Jarl. No, tomorrow would not be the day Ulfric fell. The Elves would be too rattled by the hell that was about to be unleashed on them to do more than regroup and try to figure out how to fight the Dragonborn, four dragons, and the Harbinger of the Companions. Galmar still didn’t like Vilkas, but he had spent enough time watching him spar against Ralof and Hadvar to know that he was possibly one of the greatest swordsmen of his generation. Galmar didn’t doubt at all that Skyrim and the Empire were going to win this war. The only question was how great the cost was going to be.


	70. Chapter 70

Vilkas made a sound of surprise and hit off the hand that grabbed his shoulder, and he saw Ulfric there and hissed at him, “Don’t do that, damn it!” He was so on edge this morning that it was unbearable. The energy in the camp that seemed to invigorate everyone else was destroying his nerves. He had tried speaking to Bryn this morning before she headed for her dragons and she had stared at him coldly and told him to take position, as if he was just another soldier. An asset.

“You need to calm yourself, Harbinger,” Ulfric counseled.

“Calm myself? How the hell am I supposed to calm myself! We’re going into battle!” A hundred miles away, Titus Mede II and General Tullius were leading the Empire’s forces into battle against the Aldmeri Dominion along the Gold Coast. While they didn’t have the Dragonborn fighting with them they had a large number of battlemages on the field. There were a few mages among the Nord army, and a number of priests, but as far as Vilkas knew there were very few people on their side who could mix magic and melee. It would be interesting in a nerve-wracking sort of way to see how Bryn would manage it.

“What is the greatest number of enemies you have taken down at once, on your own?”

Vilkas blinked, startled out of his anxiety, and he thought about it for a moment then muttered, “I don’t know…five, six at once perhaps.”

“Focus on what is immediately around you and block out all the rest. We are outnumbered here today, but I would not say by that much. Break it all down into what is manageable for you. Keep focused on what is right next to you, who you are fighting, and your brothers- and sisters-in-arms nearby.”

“Right,” Vilkas whispered, taking a deep breath then slowly letting it out again. That actually made a sort of sense.

Ulfric smirked at him and ran his finger over Vilkas’ ebony plate mail, seeing swirls of protective enchantments play over it. “I see our beloved finally managed to get hold of your gear,” he said with amusement. “When did that happen?”

“Hell if I know,” he said angrily. “That isn’t helping my mood!” At some point in the last week Bryn had sneaked into his tent and stolen his ebony plate and sword. She had to have done the sword last since he usually had it with him even out of his armor. Gods knew what kind of magic was crawling on his armor, but his stalhrim sword now hissed with frost, though it seemed she had restrained herself and kept it to the single enchantment.

“Well, I suppose she still cares then.”

“Whatever,” Vilkas muttered. He pulled his eyes away from Ulfric’s smug grin and looked out over the assembled Nord army, then past that to the Aldmeri forces arrayed in neat rows, like so many toy soldiers in their perfect, gleaming armor of gold and green, their ranks tight and even unlike the Nords'. Vilkas shook his head and whispered, “The waste.” He couldn’t help pitying the young mer he saw out there, wondering how many truly believed in Elven superiority and the inevitability of their victory, or were there because they had been conscripted into it. Every Nord on the field today was there because they chose to be. And it wasn’t only Nords; there were plenty of Imperials, Bretons, Redguards and assorted mer who called Skyrim home and had chosen to join the fight. It was everyone’s fight.

“Yes, it is a waste,” Ulfric said with little regret, “and we all know how Brynhilde abhors waste. Such is the choice the Dominion has made. They should have understood their position the moment they heard that the Dragonborn had destroyed that Thalmor ship.” He snorted in derision and added, “They will fully understand their position very shortly.” He heard Vilkas swallow and the creak of his gauntlets as he clenched and unclenched his fists. He placed his hand on the taller man’s shoulder and Vilkas looked down at him, and Ulfric smiled reassuringly at him, feeling the same familiar warmth that hadn’t left him since the Harbinger had joined their camp. It was simply unfair how handsome the man was. “I’m sorry that Brynhilde has been cold to you,” he murmured. “It is how she copes. She will have to be hard-hearted to do what she has to do. She hasn’t been particularly warm with me, either, if that’s any consolation.”

“I know, but…I worry that she won’t be able to pull herself back from it,” he murmured. “Especially… eh.”

“I’m going to tell you what I told Galmar: today is not the day I will fall.” Vilkas closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again Ulfric saw the grief there, one that he knew had grown on its own. He liked to believe that he and Vilkas had become friends over the last month, and when Vilkas gripped Ulfric’s hand on his shoulder he truly knew that they had. He impulsively kissed the Harbinger’s cheek and Vilkas stared at him with a bewildered expression, though he didn’t pull away, and Ulfric patted his shoulder then let go, saying, “Not today.”

Vilkas nodded, taking a deep breath as he saw Galmar appear on Ulfric’s other side, armed in steel plate that it seemed Bryn had also gotten hold of and enchanted. He glanced around and saw Ralof and Hadvar coming to join them, Hadvar calm and Ralof seeming anxious but excited. They had been charged with guarding Ulfric at all costs, and between the three warriors around the Jarl it was beyond Vilkas how the Elves could ever take him down. And yet they would. But not today.

The Dominion forces suddenly shifted with slight movement as orders filtered through their ranks, and Ulfric patted Vilkas’ arm. “Time for our _rekdovah_ to open the gates of Oblivion,” he stated fiercely, feeling a thrill he hadn’t felt in more years than he cared to count. He heard the roar of four dragons at the far back of the Nord army and the distant roll of thunder, and it sent a nearly electric tingle through him. He heard a laugh from Ralof and the slap of Hadvar’s gauntlet on his friend’s back. The sound of shouts and cries from the Nords suddenly came towards them like wave, and he heard the snap of four pairs of massive wings a moment before the dragons passed overhead in a rush of air.

“Talos be praised,” Galmar whispered. “By the Nine, I hardly believe it’s real!”

Ulfric laughed loudly at the sight of the Dominion forces seeming to take a collective step back as their ranks shuddered and threatened to break at the sight of four immense dragons coming at them. The shouts among the Nords grew to a chant: _Dovahkiin! Dovahkiin!_ The dragons quickly neared the front lines of the Elven army, and Ulfric’s fists clenched as he prayed that the beasts were as intelligent as they seemed and remembered the part they were to play. Drunfaazkein turned off to the east, the ancient dragon tasked with burning the bridges along the Strid River, cutting off the Dominion from easy retreat.

Vilkas shivered as another dragon, one with orange scales and a bizarrely ridged, flat body turned off to the west. He had never seen one like it until the day it had joined them in Cyrodiil. A third dragon of bronze and gray followed behind Drunfaazkein. Odahviing headed straight for the front lines of the Aldmeri army, which fidgeted as the red dragon neared. The individual Dominion soldiers’ expressions couldn’t be seen from here, but the restless way they waited told Vilkas that they were nervous. Fearful. If it had been Vilkas standing there he would have wondered what the Nord army was waiting for and what the dragons were up to, since none of them were attacking.

_“ZU’U LOS REKDOVAH!”_

The roar made the ground beneath their feet tremble. Vilkas could see Bryn on Odahviing’s neck, Auriel’s Shield gleaming even under the overcast sky. Her head was covered by a black and gold hood and he knew she was wearing the gold mask Konahrik. Warlord. She had chosen to take Chillrend into battle with her as the more powerful sword, with the added benefit that it not only did a great deal of frost damage but also briefly paralyzed those it struck. Between the sword, the shield, her Shouts and her magic, plus whatever mysterious power the mask had, it was hard to see how anyone would be able to touch the Dragonborn. Add in the dragons and it almost seemed unfair.

Vilkas heard a sound of anticipation from Ulfric as Bryn neared the front lines, but the Harbinger didn’t take his gaze away from her. She and Ulfric had gone over this multiple times and according to the Jarl she had spent a great deal of time practicing jumping, or rather falling, from Odahviing, until she could roll off the dragon’s back and land gracefully. Vilkas nervously wiggled his toes inside his ebony boots, sensing the tension in the men next to him and the army at his back. All watched with bated breath, Vilkas was sure of it, Thongvar and Korir’s sections of the Nord army as well.

A cry began going up from the back of the Elven army as smoke began to rise from the canyon behind them, and Ulfric whispered, “Good, good!” The ancient dragon had clearly understood exactly what he was supposed to do. Even if he was somehow stopped, the move of burning the bridges would rattle the Elves; warfare was as much psychological as anything else. Bryn had been very clear to her dragons that none of them were to risk their lives unduly and were not to let themselves become grounded; only Odahviing was to come anywhere near the ground, and only if she called him or he saw her fall, and even so he was only to snatch her up and fly off.

The revered dragon who had flown off to the west began making passes along the fringes of the Dominion army, as did the elder dragon who had followed Drunfaazkein to the east, using their breath weapons at a distance to harass the Altmer and Bosmer soldiers. Vilkas held his breath as he heard a Shouted _“FEIM ZII GRON!”_ and suddenly Bryn was falling into the front lines of the gold and green army, her body and gear translucent. He could distantly see her hands each holding a ball of purple-tinged lightning and had to remind himself that she had spent most of the last year and a half training intensively in Winterhold to increase her skill in destructive magic. She had used magic occasionally on Solstheim, enough that he had lost his aversion to it, but he had the feeling she had spared him quite a bit. There would be no sparing anyone anymore. There would certainly be no sparing the Aldmeri Dominion.

Vilkas’ heart went into his throat as Bryn landed in the middle of hundreds of Elven soldiers, about a hundred feet in from the front lines. He heard Ulfric stop breathing for a moment as the shocked mer drew back from her in a circle then drew weapons and rushed her. He clenched his fists tightly as he heard a collective cry go up from the Nord army, even if they all had been told this would happen. The Elves slashed and hacked ineffectively at Bryn’s ethereal form, which lasted only a few seconds longer. Bryn suddenly turned in a circle, spraying a wall of lightning on the ground around her.

“Stormcrown!” a distant Nord shouted reverently. “‘Tis the Stormcrown!” The cry was taken up by Skyrim’s forces.

“Talos be praised,” Ulfric whispered, his heart swelling as goose bumps rose on his skin under his ebony armor. Even knowing it was magic, it was still a sight to inspire any Nord, a ring of lightning around the Dragonborn. A _crown_ of lightning. The Elves fell back from it, many of them falling to the ground never to rise again, and Ulfric swore that many of them simply turned to ash when they came into contact with the crackling wall.

_“Strundu’ul,”_ Vilkas agreed in a shaking voice. Bryn pulled out her sword and began cutting down the Elves around her who had been unlucky enough to become trapped inside the wall with her. He counted down the time until she could Shout again, only thirty seconds from when the ethereal effect had worn off, and the moment was coming any second now. He heard an echoing _boom_ and a shockwave rolled out from the shield, pushing the Elves back.

_“STRUN BAH QO!”_

Ulfric shuddered as the cloudy sky instantly darkened to near blackness with a crack of thunder so loud that he could feel the sound in his chest, then the clouds began to swirl ominously, centered above the Dragonborn. When the first bolt of lightning came from the sky and struck down a golden-armored Altmer, then another, Ulfric could only stare in disbelief. The scene was so unreal, even if he was the one who had planned it, that he felt the slightest twinge of pity for the Elven soldiers caught in the middle of it. He could only imagine their fear, none of them knowing who would get struck next, the effect completely random and all the more terrifying for it. Some of the mer began to run in a panic, trying to escape the lightning by any means possible, while others warded themselves and fended off one blast only to be taken by the next.

The Jarl turned to Galmar and nodded, and the old housecarl looked back and pumped his fist. A Nord war horn sounded, echoed by the next one down the line, then another. Ulfric looked at Vilkas, whose eyes were still riveted to the circle of death around Bryn, who had to now hunt down targets, her circle of lightning gone. “Are you ready, my friend?” he asked quietly as he put on his helmet.

“Aye,” Vilkas whispered, doing the same. He would never be readier, at any rate.

As the army began to march, Ulfric reminded him, “Remember, focus on what’s immediately around you. Fight your way to Brynhilde if you can, but do not let yourself get surrounded. She has the dragon looking after her.” Odahviing was turning lazy circles up in the sky, too high for arrows to reach, red and grayish white against the black sky.

“Aye,” Vilkas repeated. He felt sickened as he saw young mer trapped between the Dragonborn and the approaching Nords panicking and running only to be herded back to the front lines by their officers and in some cases brought down with magic when they ignored orders and fled.

Within a few minutes the lightning ended, though the rain continued, and Vilkas worried over the state of the battlefield, which was quickly growing muddy, and not entirely from the rain. He was appalled by the number of Elven dead he could already see, dozens littering the ground in a rough circle around Bryn, who was now being actively avoided by the Dominion soldiers.

_“Nikriinne!”_ she roared in a fury. _“Fahliilen nikriinne!”_

_Shit,_ Vilkas thought with worry, hurrying his pace in an effort to reach her, and he made a sound of frustration as he saw her begin running towards the thick of the Dominion army. He heard a similar sound from Ulfric. The Elves seemed to flow around her like a boulder in a river, and Vilkas lost sight of her as he came off the hill and onto flat ground. The Elves were as tall as him, if not taller in many cases, except for the occasional Bosmer mixed in.

He heard another roar from Bryn and the crackle of lightning, and he saw bright sparks flying into the sky and headed that direction, reorienting himself. And then the Elven army met head-on with the Nord army and he was so busy defending himself that making any headway towards his beloved was impossible. His stalhrim greatsword cut a frozen swath through the mer around him with ridiculous ease. During a brief lull he looked around for Ulfric and saw him a good fifty feet away, bashing an attacking Altmer in the face with the Shield of Eastmarch, Ralof next to him and Hadvar at his back, Galmar another ten feet beyond them. 

He could hear a nearby Nord warrior singing a battle hymn of Sovngarde at the top of his lungs, and he turned that direction, seeing the man was surrounded. He sprinted that direction and cut into the glass-armored mer, mowing them down. The man grinned through his warpaint, his blue eyes wild and face speckled with blood.

“Harbinger!” he shouted. “Glory or Sovngarde!”

“Aye,” Vilkas said with a nod, unable to summon up the man’s enthusiasm for the endeavor. As he turned back to the main part of the fighting and the Nord warrior ran past him with a roared battle cry he wondered what was wrong with him that he couldn’t feel the battle fury that so many of those around him were in the grip of. Even Bryn, half-Elven as she was, was so caught up in it that he had no idea how he and Ulfric were going to pull her out of it. Granted, that was probably due to her nature. He heard her still roaring above the cries and shouts and the clashing of arms. He only knew it was her due to the proximity of it, but at least it gave him a target to aim for. He fought his way through the wall of Elves with business-like efficiency, and when he finally heard her Shout again he pushed that direction, ignoring everything else.

_“MUL QAH DIIV!”_

_Dragon Aspect,_ he thought with a tingle of fear, his eardrums vibrating with the thunder of it. He heard a wave of Elven screams of terror and suddenly the Dominion army’s ranks broke and the Elves began to retreat, in a very disorderly fashion. The sound of draconic laughter sent chills down Vilkas’ spine.

_“ZU’U LOS REKDOVAH!”_ Bryn roared thunderously. _“ZU’U LOS MONAHSEDOV! ZU’U LOS FAHLIIL-KRIID!”_ The four dragons roared in answer and agreement.

Vilkas ran in the direction of the screaming and saw hints of a glowing aura through the retreating Elven soldiers, and when they parted Vilkas saw her chasing down fleeing mer, who were nearly crazed in their panic to get away from her. One brave soul turned and faced her, bound sword at the ready, and Bryn simply walked through him, sending his head sailing.

He nearly reached her when the brightly colored aura faded. She Shouted _“FUS RO DAH!”_ and to his horror the Elves who didn’t get sent flying disintegrated with shrieks, leaving only piles of glowing ash and bits of metal behind. He had no idea the Shout could do that now. He hadn’t had a clue. He could only assume it was a power she had gained on Solstheim, and now that he thought about it he remembered that one of the Black Books she had read had increased the effect of Unrelenting Force, but she hadn’t mentioned it vaporizing people!

Calling her name, Vilkas stayed out of her reach, and she ignored him, or couldn’t hear him. He looked back at the battlefield, trying to find Ulfric, and saw him in the distance, bent over catching his breath, a blot of black, the other three men resting as well but on guard. Satisfied that the Jarl was fine, Vilkas turned back to Bryn, who was still stalking after the fleeing Dominion army. The Elves were running along the ridge of the canyon with nowhere to flee, the bridges now lying in the Strid River, the remains on either side smoking or in flames. He could see there were still a huge number of Elven soldiers left, the rout probably temporary, and there were hundreds of Bosmer archers lining the other side of the river and filling the trees, filling him with the dread that they would fill Bryn with arrows if she got too close.

“Damn it, Brynhilde!” he hissed as he followed her, never more glad for the shape he was in, one he had managed to maintain after Solstheim, but he was still tiring with nearly a hundred pounds of ebony on his frame. Winded, he finally gave up and looked up at the sky, where Odahviing, Drunfaazkein, and the odd orange dragon flew in formation above the battlefield; the bronze was one was still harassing the retreating Elven army, swooping over them every so often to blast them with frost. He put his hands to his mouth and yelled, “Odahviing!” The red dragon was too high to hear him, and probably wouldn’t have responded even if it had heard. It caught Bryn’s attention though, startling her out of her single-mindedness, and she came to a stop, staring at him, or so he assumed, her eyes nothing but black holes in the sinister-looking mask.

“Leave my dragons alone,” she demanded, her voice sounding hollow.

“Bryn, you have to stop,” he pleaded. “Just…stop.”

“To let them regroup? _Nid.”_

“We have wounded that need healing!” That stopped her as she turned away, and she gripped Chillrend tightly, staring after the retreating Elves as if she longed to keep chasing them, like a hound running rabbits to the ground. She made a hissing, rumbling sound then tore herself away and began stalking towards him, then past him. He followed after her, trying not to feel like vomiting at the sight of the carnage surrounding them. He gritted his teeth as she leaned down and decapitated an Elf who was crawling on hands and knees. He couldn’t tell if she had done it out of mercy or spite.

_“LOK VAH KOOR!”_

The gray skies lightened as the clouds began to break up. Vilkas slogged through the mud after Bryn, his heart aching as he watched her, wondering if she was lost, if she would ever be the woman he loved ever again. He wondered if Tiber Septim had been this kind of presence on the battlefield, a force of nature, dragon-souled and unstoppable. Like it or not, songs would be sung of this day, of how the Dragonborn Queen of the Nords had smashed the Aldmeri Dominion, how she had made them flee in terror. Vilkas couldn’t guess how the Elves would regroup from this, and he couldn’t guess how Ulfric would meet his end if this was any indication of how the war would go. Vilkas hadn’t taken a single hit, and Bryn didn’t seem to have done so either, though she was so covered in blood and gore it was impossible to tell.

Bryn knelt down to clean her sword on a Thalmor robe then shoved Chillrend into its scabbard, then she stopped where she was, surveying the field. There were many, many more Elven dead than Nord. A good thing. She glanced next to her and saw Vilkas pulling off his helmet, his hair wet with sweat, and when he looked at her she felt her coldness finally falter, the coldness that had infected her upon leaving Windhelm. Maybe the battle had burned it out. Maybe it was only temporary, who knew.

She pulled her gaze away from the naked fear there, finally feeling a twinge of self-consciousness. She refused to apologize for what she had done here today, but she had been cruel to Vilkas from the moment he joined them in Whiterun. She began walking again, pulling off the mask as she went, hearing Vilkas right behind her. “Where is my husband?” she asked.

“He’s fine. I saw him and the others not long ago, resting,” he replied.

“And…you?”

Vilkas sighed, finally hearing some concern from her. “Didn’t take a scratch,” he assured her.

“I think I took a few hits before I got the lightning walls up. They’re healed but I’ll need to check my armor.” She heard a dragon’s roar of pain and quickly turned to see the youngest of her _zeymahhe_ being targeted by three separate bolts of lightning coming from the ground along with dozens of arrows, and she cried out in horror and began running towards him. She didn’t get even twenty feet before he tumbled to the ground. The Elves swarmed him and she heard his death cry, echoed by the three dragons overhead. _“ZEYMAH!”_ she shouted in grief. _“EIRTUZRUTH!”_

_Bronze-blade-rage,_ Vilkas thought distractedly. He hadn’t thought about the dragon having a name, though they all did. Bryn stopped in her tracks as light flowed across the battlefield towards her, the Elves cheering the dragon’s death. Vilkas gripped her shoulder as she absorbed Eirtuzruth’s soul, her golden eyes filling with tears. She raised her hand to hit him away then stopped herself, filling him with relief. He stroked her cheek and she stared at him as he quietly said, “I’ll help you with the wounded, love. We should go.”

“Fine,” she whispered. She wished nothing more than to go after her brother’s killers, but the dragon had brought it on himself in his enthusiasm, even as old as he was. She felt his soul floating unanchored inside her and vowed _You shall be the first of my children to be reborn, zeymahi, as reward for your loyalty._

She followed Vilkas across the battlefield, her heart heavy at all the death around her now that her battle fury had worn off. She saw Ralof raise his sword over his head, catching her attention, letting her know all was well, and she raised her own hand and nodded. The Nords were moving across the battlefield, dispatching Elven wounded without mercy, but also without cruelty. She had been very clear on that.

Vilkas caught her elbow and pointed to a small group of warriors nearby who were glancing around desperately, and when they reached them they saw a young woman on the ground, biting on a bit of leather to stifle her screams, her arm nearly severed above the elbow. Bryn pulled off her gauntlets and threw them at Vilkas along with the mask, handing the shield to one of the warriors. Vilkas took a deep breath and stayed out of the way, glad to see Bryn had fully come back to herself. Tomorrow was another day though.

Bryn said to the others, “Hold her down. Do not let her move even one inch.” The woman’s comrades nodded vigorously and did so, and Bryn grit her teeth against the bile rising in her throat as she lined up the nearly severed arm, hanging on by a thread of skin and a bit of leather armor. She knew how to deal with injuries like this, from her studies with Danica in Whiterun and Colette Marence up at the College of Winterhold; Bryn’s intense interest early on in Restoration magic had soothed the poor Breton woman’s wounded pride and had seemed to go some way in stopping the petty behavior that had been going on behind her back. The young woman’s eyes went wild as she tried to thrash, mad from the pain, but Bryn persevered and got the two ends of bone realigned, making sure no debris was in the way. She glanced at the others and asked, “If any of you are wounded, are your wounds clean?” There were a few nods, and no answers in the negative. She raised her hand and cast a spell of Grand Healing, holding the arm in place until it became clear that it was reattaching and mending.

The young woman went limp with relief and those with healed wounds and refreshed stamina sighed. Bryn helped her to her feet, seeing she was barely more than a girl, maybe nineteen at the oldest. “How do you feel, little sister?” Bryn asked. The girl stared at her then looked at her arm, moving it gingerly as if fearing it would fall off on its own, then the girl burst into tears and fell to her knees, clutching Bryn’s leg.

A young man quickly knelt by the girl, putting his arm around her. “She’s my cousin,” he said haltingly. “Close as brother and sister, we always been. Told her to stay behind, she wouldn’t listen.” He gently pried her off the Queen’s leg. “Come now, Siga, let go,” he demanded. “Her ladyship got others to care for.”

Bryn asked the young man, who wasn’t much older than Siga, “Do you two know what you’re doing out here?”

“I do. My da, he fought in the big war, taught me everything he knows, but Siga…” He trailed off and shook his head. “Told her to stay behind, I did, and she snuck after me! She got no business out here!”

Siga wailed, “I got to do my part!”

Bryn looked at the other young men and women, who while young looked tough and more importantly looked like they knew one end of a weapon from the other. Siga’s hands were fair and soft, as if she had never done anything harder than milking a cow. “Do you wish to be a warrior, Siga?”

“I…” She wiped her snotty nose and let out a little sob. “I want to do my part!”

The answer was telling. “I thought as much,” Bryn murmured. The girl looked heartbroken, bracing herself as she grimaced. She stood there, deflated, then Bryn took her by the shoulder and said, “Come with me, then. We will find what you’re good at, and in the meantime you will help me with the wounded. There are many parts to be done, and not all have to do with fighting.”

The girl stared at Bryn with huge eyes, then her cousin shoved her and said, “Don’t stand there a-gapin’ like a trout, dimwit!”

“A-Aye, milady!” the girl whispered in a shaking voice, curtseying.

Bryn smiled reassuringly at her, giving her a pat on the shoulder then letting go, and Vilkas nodded to the others and took the shield from one of the dumbfounded men then followed. He continued to follow Bryn around the battlefield, guarding her as she healed the wounded, the young girl too stunned at first to be much help but gradually warming up as she realized the Queen was serious and very much did intend for her to help. The girl wasn’t slow, and she obviously didn’t lack in courage if she had secretly left home and hidden amongst the army the entire way here. Her parents were no doubt worried sick, but at least she would probably make it home now that she was out of the fighting.

It was late afternoon when he finally convinced Bryn to stop and return to camp. The wounded who could be moved had been, and those who couldn’t had been treated where they fell. She kissed Ulfric soundly, ate quickly when Ralof handed her some food, then headed out again to help Erandur and the other priests and anyone else with healing ability treat the wounded, armed with a satchel of magicka potions carried by Siga, who followed the Dragonborn with a look of utter devotion.

“Eh, that’s cute,” Hadvar said as he watched them go. “What’s her story?”

Through a mouthful of food, Vilkas said, “Her arm was hanging on by a thread. Bryn reattached it.”

“Shiiiit,” Galmar said in disbelief. “You can do that?”

Vilkas shrugged. “In theory, no reason it shouldn’t work.” He took a deep drink of water then continued, “The lass followed her cousin all the way out here. With no weapons training.”

Ulfric muttered, “She is lucky all she lost was an arm. She has no business on a battlefield.”

“Hence Bryn removing her from it. The girl said she wanted to do her part. She is more use helping in this way. I could tell Bryn was impressed by her bravery, even if it was foolish more than anything else. The girl has spirit and seems bright.” The Jarl nodded. Vilkas sat down wearily on the ground, too filthy to mind the mud. He looked Ulfric and the others over, saying, “You seem to have done well for yourselves.”

Ulfric seated himself in a camp chair and began divesting himself of his ebony armor, with Galmar’s help. “A few minor wounds among us,” he said without concern. “Easily dealt with by potions.” He smirked at Vilkas and said, “I’ve already heard stories of your prowess on the field, Harbinger. They say that while Brynhilde was the Storm of Kyne, you were the frosty breath of Ysmir, the Grey Wind of the North.” Vilkas rolled his eyes and shook his head, making Ulfric laugh. “Truly, you didn’t take a single hit, did you?”

“Not that I am aware of.” The other men stared at him and he grumbled and ate the rest of his sandwich, trying not to feel self-conscious.

Ralof asked him, “How many do you think you took down?”

“I did not count.”

“No idea at all?”

“No. I was too busy trying to keep track of Brynhilde. She wanted to keep after the Elves, to keep fighting. I had to stop her. The other side of the Strid was thick with Bosmer.”

“Bosmer,” Galmar said in confusion.

“Archers and warriors.”

“Were they in Dominion armor?”

Vilkas frowned as he thought it over then said in surprise, “No. They wore leather. Feathers in their hair. Warpaint on their faces.” He frowned more deeply. “It was…odd. They were in the trees as well, just… watching. Silent, as far as I could tell. Still, unmoving.” Galmar and Ulfric looked at each other, their expressions thoughtful. “What do you think they were doing?”

Galmar grunted and Ulfric said, “It is difficult to say. However it’s been known since the start that the Bosmer were not willing members of the Aldmeri Dominion. After all, it is the Aldmeri Dominion, isn’t it, not the Bosmeri? One must wonder if the dragon beat the Bosmer to getting rid of those bridges. One must also wonder if any of the Altmer making it across the Strid on their own would find themselves back in the river full of arrows, or on a Bosmer’s dinner table.” Vilkas made a face of distaste as Ralof made a sound of disgust. It was a horrid custom, to be sure, if it was true, but Ulfric found the idea of a Thalmor wizard being cannibalized rather amusing.

Hadvar asked Vilkas, “Did our lady lose one of her dragons? The bronze one?”

“Aye,” the Harbinger replied quietly. “She was deeply upset by it. Eh…Eirtuzruth, that was its name.” He looked up in the sky and the strange orange dragon was alone up there, drifting on the air currents in a circle. He had no idea where the other two had gone.

Ulfric followed his gaze as he bent over to pull off his boots. “Odd, isn’t it,” the Jarl said. “I have never seen a dragon like it, though the lads tell me that the two they faced in the Forgotten Vale were the same.” The two young men made sounds of assent, settling in to have something to eat themselves. “It’s unfortunate that Brynhilde lost one of her _zeymahhe._ She had hoped to never have to take another soul, and to take one this way…” His upper lip twitched as he added, “And it has no doubt emboldened the Elves.”

The sound of booted footsteps approaching made Vilkas, Hadvar and Ralof spring to their feet, though the odds of anyone of ill intent getting through the camp were slim to none. Vilkas relaxed when he saw it was Thongvor Silver-Blood and Korir and their housecarls, the two younger Jarls grinning from ear to ear. They embraced Ulfric and Vilkas nodded to them in greeting as they eyed him with awe. He supposed he would just have to get used to it, no matter how uncomfortable it made him. He would have eyes upon him the rest of his life, so it was no use fussing about it, even internally. He was too damn tired to care at the moment. He had to marvel at Bryn’s constitution, that she was able to keep going as she did with no sign of fatigue.

He was asleep in his tent later that evening when he was awakened by the familiar sound of Bryn’s pleasure, and he tiredly sighed and did his best to ignore it. It was impossible, really, considering how loud she was being, louder than he had heard her yet. Perhaps her blood was still heated from the battle earlier that day. He dealt with it as usual, taking himself in hand as he closed his eyes and imagined it was him making her moan like that. He couldn’t imagine how poor Ulfric was managing at his age, as tired as he had to be, but Vilkas had to admit the Jarl was a trooper. Maybe it was keeping the older man in shape, who knew. It made Vilkas wonder though how he was ever going to keep up with her when the time came. It had been challenging even before her dragon blood had completely awakened. Now he feared she would chew him up and spit him out again.

The camp was quiet afterward, and Vilkas was nearly asleep again when he heard a puzzling sound in the distance. It started as three heavy thuds in succession, making the ground tremble the faintest bit. He then heard a crunching/rending sound, as if some giant was taking sheets of metal in his hands and tearing it apart, but it was more than that, as if the metal was not only being torn but was scraping against something.

It went on for so long that he sat up on his cot, and hearing whispers outside he threw aside the blanket and left his tent, worried that the Elves might be trying to pull off a nighttime attack. He saw one of the former Stormcloak commanders that was traveling with their group, Arrald Frozen-Heart, had come out of his tent, murmuring to a Nord soldier then sending him on his way. Throughout the camp soldiers were on quiet alert, staring out at something none of them could see.

Vilkas went to him and quietly asked, “What is it?”

Arrald stroked his knotted beard and said in a tone of disquiet, “It’s the dragons. They’re ah, eating the Elven dead. Gorging on them. Armor and all.”

“By Ysmir!” Vilkas whispered in horror.

“Better them than us,” Arrald said flatly, saluting Vilkas then going back inside his tent.

Vilkas stayed where he was, folding his arms as he listened to the revolting sound of bodies being torn apart and swallowed down. He supposed it was in a dragon’s nature, and he wasn’t exactly the person to throw stones when it came to that, considering his former affliction. A distant wail went up from the Aldmeri Dominion’s camp as the Elves realized what Odahviing and his brothers were doing, but the dragons had eaten their fill and were lifting off by time a small contingent of Elven soldiers and wizards started running onto the battlefield to stop them.

He watched the Elves return to their camp, and once all was quiet again Vilkas returned to his own tent, exhausted but too keyed up to sleep. He debated saying something to Bryn in the morning about the dragons and just as quickly decided against it, knowing what her reaction would be. There would be no reaction. She would stare at him without expression, maybe at most tilt her head slightly and blink slowly in that dragon-like way of hers, as if trying to figure out how or if she should react at all, and in the end she wouldn’t. Dragons needed to eat, and to a dragon Elves and Men were little more than walking, talking meat. It was strange that they ate the armor as well, but the times he had fought dragons with Bryn there had always been metallic remnants, and he wondered if maybe dragons needed metal in their diets, if their scales and bones had metallic content as Bryn had mentioned long ago.

When he finally dropped off to sleep it was a restless one, filled with scenes of battle, though in one dream he was chopping wood, an endless forest of gold and green trees, only the trees screamed as the axe bit into them…and the axe was Wuuthrad.


	71. Chapter 71

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Morninglight.

Ulfric made no attempt to keep the sneer off his face as the Aldmeri Ambassador strode across the battlefield towards them, his chin lifted, looking at the assembled Nord contingent with barely disguised contempt. The Jarl couldn’t even admire the Elf’s arrogance; it was simple madness at this point. The war had been raging for five months now as the Nord army had chipped away at the Elven forces, pushing them farther and farther back along the Strid River toward the Gold Coast, where Titus Mede II and Tullius had fought to protect the cities of Anvil and Kvatch and keep the Dominion from pushing any further into the heartland. The city of Skingrad was bursting at the seams with refugees from the small villages and farms along the coast, all of which had been razed to the ground, something the Imperial forces had been unable to prevent.

And now the Dominion wanted to talk. The forces that the Nords had been fighting were now caught between Skingrad and Kvatch, unable to escape back over the Strid River. Or at least the Altmer had been unable to; the Bosmer soldiers among the Dominion forces had begun slipping away in the night only a few weeks into the fighting, deserting the Aldmeri army to return to Valenwood, which had sealed its borders. Ulfric couldn’t remember the last time he had seen a Bosmer among his opponents.

“Well, _Dragonborn,”_ Arendil said with distaste. “One must imagine that you have grown as bored with this game as we have. And the heat must surely be disagreeable to you this time of year.”

Bryn stared coldly at him then her eyes slid to the wizards arrayed behind him before returning to him. “Your imagination fails you,” she stated. “This game as you call it has only whetted my appetite. My brothers grow fat on your dead.” His jaw clenched slightly, looking disgusted. Her three _zeymahhe_ were sleek and glossy from feeding regularly on moonstone and quicksilver. She had to admit though that the mer was right about the heat. All the Nords were sweltering in the Last Seed sun, the heat affecting them worse than the cold affected the other races up north; it was a hell of a lot easier to get warm than it was to cool off. The few mages among the Nord armies had quickly earned a great deal of regard when they had begun cooling off the camp at night with frost spells. Bryn wasn’t faring any better, the heat sapping her energy and appetite lately to the point it was unbearable at times. Near the end of the last battle three days ago she had nearly passed out, probably from a combination of the heat and lack of appetite. Ulfric had forced her to eat since then but it was an effort.

“I would have thought it beneath even you to allow your beasts to defile the remains of the fallen,” Arendil spat.

“Hm. I appreciate that, seeing as how I consider nothing beneath you.” She heard a snort of amusement from her husband and several others behind her. She leaned her hands on the table and went on, “So, what can I do for you, Arendil? Are you here to ask for safe passage to the Emperor so you can offer your surrender?”

“Hardly,” he sniffed. “I have come to convey an offer of a gesture of…goodwill. Both sides are tired. The heat is oppressive. I wish to negotiate a truce. Temporary, of course.”

“No.”

His golden eyebrows rose in shock. “Dragonborn, surely you jest. I am as aware of the losses you have suffered as you are of ours. I have seen Nord warriors drop on the field without a mark on them in the heat. Surely taking some time—”

_“No,”_ Bryn stated coldly, her voice thundering. “No negotiations. No truce. No compromises.” Arendil blinked as he slowly reared back from her, a wary expression on his face. Her upper lip twitched as she said, “Why have I not seen your face on the battlefield before today, _Kriisfahliil?_ Where do you hide while your people are dying? _Nikriin!_ You come here today in fear.”

“That is not at all the case, I assure you. I am here only as a gesture—”

_“NID!”_ Bryn shouted, bringing her armored fist down so hard on the oak table that it cracked down the center. She looked up at the sky, where the three dragons circled high above, enjoying the heat as only overgrown lizards could. She called out, “Maarluhkest, _ag fahliilen veysunne!”_ The orange dragon veered off to the west.

_“Naal hin uth, Rekdovah!”_ he roared. _“Nust fen ag!”_

The Altmer tore his eyes away from the dragon above to look at Bryn again, his breathing labored, and she glared coldly at him, her golden eyes shining. “My brother Maarluhkest is on his way to the sea to turn the Aldmeri ships to ash,” she stated. The Elf swallowed hard as his nostrils flared, his eyes burning. “I gave you all spring and summer to come to your senses and flee, _fool._ I gave you time, which you have squandered. You’re right; the heat is getting to me. It’s making me temperamental and peevish. Yes, I tired of this game. I swore to my people that I would destroy the Dominion by the end of the year and bring their kinsmen home. Your coming here today tells me I’m right on s-schedule.” She held her breath as a wave of nausea washed over her. Choking back the bile in her throat, she hissed at him, “Leave or I will kill you, Elf.” She clenched her fists on the table, using every ounce of willpower she had not to vomit in front of everyone, a weakness she couldn’t afford.

“I will see you burn in Oblivion, half-breed whore,” he spat.

“Ah, but that is where you are wrong. I’ve already seen how this all ends, in the Elder Scrolls. The Stormcrown sits on my brow, just as surely as my ass will sit on the Ruby Throne, watching as your successor comes to pay Alinor’s tribute to the Empire. _My_ Empire.”

“I will see you on the battlefield,” he stated coldly.

“Yes, you will. One split second before Chillrend takes off your head.” The Ambassador turned on his heel and strode away, his entourage following. Bryn squeezed her eyes shut, feeling her guts heave, and she forced it down, feeling light-headed as a cold sweat covered her body. She felt a touch on her back and whispered, “I can’t take this damn heat.”

“Come along, precious,” Ulfric murmured. “Lay down in the tent and get your armor off.” Bryn’s face looked sickly pale, almost gray, near bruises under her eyes. She pushed herself ten times harder than anyone else and in the summer heat it was finally starting to take its toll.

Vilkas stayed behind as Ulfric took Bryn’s arm and led her back to camp, the Queen fighting not to let her illness show, and she did a good job of it, to any but those who didn’t know her well. He could see hints of worry in Hadvar and Ralof’s eyes, and Galmar’s face was impassive, also a sure sign that they were all concerned for her. Bryn had been irritable and tired for weeks now, lifting her nose at food, and now the nausea—

Shuddering in fear, Vilkas followed Bryn’s group back to the Nord camp. Instead of going to the compound of tents at the center he veered off for the hospital, where the healers and priests resided, caring for the wounded in both body and soul. He went straight to Erandur, who was kneeling before a Shrine of Mara, praying. Vilkas waited, fidgeting. He could have picked another healer, but…no, it had to be this one. This one would stay by Bryn’s side for the rest of his life, would look after the Queen, and the tiny little Prince she was almost certainly now carrying.

The thought brought tears to Vilkas’ eyes and he didn’t bother trying to hide them. He had seen more tears over the last five months than anyone should ever have to see. More death. He was so tired of all this that he was about ready to break down. The Nord armies could have fought on forever in the cold of Skyrim, or in Cyrodiil’s winter, but the oppressive heat was sucking the fight out of them. He had heard that this was an unusually warm summer even for Cyrodiil, which made it even worse, and there was still a month of summer left to go. Vilkas swore that he was going to roll naked in the first patch of snow he saw when this was over. And now…well, it seemed it nearly was.

Erandur finished his prayers and climbed to his feet, his old body creaking, and when he saw the Harbinger’s expression he asked, “What is wrong, my son?”

“The Queen, she…she needs you,” he whispered roughly.

Erandur’s blood-red eyes scanned Vilkas’ face, and he took a deep breath and slowly nodded. “So it is time, then.”

“Aye.”

“I will gather Siga and my things and be on my way, then. Thank you for letting me know.”

Vilkas watched the old Dark Elf go to the young woman who was sitting with a priest of Arkay, reading a lesson book together, Siga only barely literate. The girl was a gifted healer and had quickly gravitated towards that path after the very first battle, settling in with the priests, though she often attended the Queen. Vilkas had taken to the lass, who was eager to please but had a core of steel to her, as any good healer did. He had already suggested to her that she go to the Temple of Kynareth after the war to continue her studies with Danica and said he would put in a good word for her. He thought she probably would, and would like it in Whiterun. The girl was only a few years younger than Erik at eighteen. Vilkas vaguely wondered if the two youngsters would take a shine to each other, then sputtered a bitter laugh at his mental matchmaking. He really was getting old.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling despondent, and on a whim lowered himself to the padded kneeling bench before the Shrine, touching it lightly to feel Mara’s warmth wrap around him before fading. He had rarely prayed in his life, and to most of the Companions a Shrine was simply something you touched to cure possible diseases after returning from a job. Well, better late than never.

He kept his eyes closed and prayed to Mara to be kind to Bryn, the goddess’ Agent, to help Bryn bear her grief when Ulfric’s end came, to keep the child in her womb safe and healthy through the remainder of the war. Vilkas asked nothing for himself, putting his every thought and emotion towards Bryn and the child. His son. The child was his as surely as it was Ulfric’s. He only hoped Bryn didn’t blame herself for this. It was understandable that in the course of spending the last five months fighting a war that she would forget to prevent conception. She’d had much more pressing things on her mind.

His prayers were interrupted by a thin wail of _“NID!”_ coming from the center of the camp, and Vilkas sighed and rose to his feet to return to his own tent. Praying hadn’t brought him any peace. Maybe nothing would, and why should it when Bryn would have none? They were in this together and would be for the rest of their lives. They just had to find some way to get through what was coming.

When he reached his tent he was relieved to not hear any weeping, not even the soft roll of distant thunder. He sat in a camp chair and pulled out his greatsword, holding it near his face to take some pleasure from the cold radiating from the weapon. He had tried sleeping with the blade wrapped in a cloak next to him, trying to cool off, but the sword was too damn sharp and too cold even wrapped in cloth. He had settled for simply leaving it in its scabbard, the chill seeping through the thick leather and steel, keeping him comfortable as he slept. The sword was such a part of him now that it seemed nearly a living thing. He had even considered naming it but couldn’t come up with anything that didn’t sound clichéd or ridiculous. The blade was as renowned as him now though, named or not, other warriors staring at the sword as often as they stared at him. Vilkas had never really bargained for gaining such a reputation in his own right, resigning himself to one day learning to tolerate being a Queen’s consort, or an Empress’, but at least now he felt that when it came time to stand at her side he would have a large measure of respect in his own right.

He eventually lay down to nap his way through the afternoon heat, the sword in its sheath next to him, when the rap of a gauntleted knuckle on the wood frame of his tent woke him. He shook himself awake and looked up to see Ralof standing in the entrance, a tense look on his face. He rubbed his eyes and got to his feet, asking, “Are they attacking?”

Ralof frowned at him, saying, “What? No. Not yet. But they will.” Probably once the sun was lower in the sky and the afternoon heat fading. The Altmer would be eager to come at the Nords after the Dragonborn had sent one of her dragon brothers to burn their ships, cutting off their last route of escape. Ralof had to wonder if the Emperor and Tullius knew that Bryn was going to do that. Messengers passed between the two armies regularly but Ralof wasn’t privy to the messages.

“Then what is on your mind?”

“Jarl Ulfric sent me to get you.” Vilkas made a sound of understanding as he put his baldric over his head. Ralof narrowed his eyes at the Harbinger. “You knew,” he muttered. “I saw your face.”

“I’ve spent a great deal of time around pregnant women. I could see the signs. But I only saw them today. That is why I sent Erandur to her.” Ralof came further into the tent, a confrontational look on his face, and Vilkas sighed tiredly, “What?”

“There’s more to all this,” Ralof hissed. “There has been all along, and now this!”

“Yes, so?” Ralof blinked, though he was still furious, and Vilkas stated, “You think I’m going to tell you things the Queen and her husband didn’t see fit to tell you? Forget it.”

“No, I will not forget it. The Queen told Hadvar before we left Skyrim that she fears my lord won’t live through the war, and Hadvar thinks she saw something in the Scrolls, all the way back at the beginning. Do you think I’m stupid that I can’t see the signs, in hindsight? Finding out about the child shouldn’t have made her react like that, as if it was a death! It shouldn’t have made Ulfric react that way!” Even in the midst of war, news of Bryn bearing Skyrim’s heir, Ulfric’s heir, should have brought some kind of joy, a spot of brightness and hope in the midst of war and death, and instead the two were grieving. The news was being kept extremely close, for obvious reasons, but still the reactions were all wrong.

Vilkas quietly asked, “What do you want me to say, Ralof? Or are you just angry in general?”

Ralof slowly shook his head, his jaw clenched. “All along you’ve been too close. Too much a part of what’s between my lord and lady. I trust that no wrong has been done, and I’ve paid the price for believing otherwise, but you have no place in what’s between them.”

“Whatever place I have, it’s the place they’ve given me, boy,” Vilkas replied in anger. “Who the hell do you think you are to decide who has what place? Brynhilde pushes me away while Ulfric pulls me in. I have no choice in the matter. I never have.”

“Why?”

Vilkas stared at him for a moment then he snorted a laugh. “Someday perhaps I will tell you. Perhaps when all is said and done and we’re back home you will find out everything, and you will wish to the Nine that you hadn’t.” Ralof stared at him as if he found that doubtful. The young man had grown over the last two years, much of that over a spring and summer of war, but he still was a young man, assuming too much, thinking he knew it all. If he’d had to live with the knowledge the three of them and Lydia had lived with all this time it would have broken him. Well, if Ralof wasn’t the one in that second casket then he’d find out more than he ever wanted to know. Vilkas said to him, “Why don’t you go back to Ulfric and tell him I won’t be coming, because you’ve decided it isn’t my place. Why don’t you tell Ulfric that you feel I need to keep my distance, from both of them, because I’m involved in what’s between them, even though Ulfric is the one who put me there. I think it will go as well for you as it did before.”

“There’s no way in hell I’m doing that!”

“Then stop even thinking it. All along you’ve acted as if I’m the one insinuating myself into their marriage, when I’m the most innocent party involved. I never wanted to get dragged into the middle of it, no matter how I feel about her. Ulfric demanded I go to Solstheim with her. Ulfric is the one keeping me close since we left Skyrim. Ulfric has been at the heart of this the entire time. Gods help me that I’ve come to love him as a brother, but you need to take your goddamn blinders off when it comes to him. He’s just a man, and sometimes Bryn is just a woman.” He motioned at Ralof. “Move.”

Ralof left the tent and the Harbinger walked past him, tense and angry. Well, Ralof was angry too, though now his anger was tinged with self-doubt. He followed the older man the short distance to the Queen’s tent, wondering if he had put his big foot in his equally big mouth again. Hadvar was standing guard outside, as was Galmar, the housecarl looking like he was barely holding it together. So Galmar knew too. Hadvar gave Ralof a look that was clearly meant to be scolding, and Ralof sighed and grumbled, starting to feel like an ass, and when he heard a sob of grief from the Queen and Vilkas’ voice speaking softly to her in the dragon tongue, trying to comfort her, then Ulfric’s voice doing the same, he let out a long sigh of remorse for letting his temper get the better of him, yet again. Or maybe his fear. Yes, that was exactly what it was. He had let his fear over losing Ulfric, over the Queen losing her husband, turn to anger, then he had turned that anger on the Harbinger. And yes, Vilkas had been the most innocent party in all this. Bryn and Ulfric both had made that clear a year ago when the Queen returned from Solstheim. But Ralof couldn’t get angry at his Queen and Jarl, so he had turned it on Vilkas.

When he saw Galmar rub his eyes, Ralof quietly began, “Galmar, what do—”

“Not now,” the housecarl growled.

“She’s with child, damn it!” Ralof whispered. “Who do I guard!”

Hadvar said in a sad voice, “We guard who she tells us to guard. Until she says otherwise, we guard Jarl Ulfric.”

“But—”

Galmar turned to him and said in a lowered, pain-filled voice, “You do as the Queen says, lad. You guard Ulfric with your life, you hear me? Just as I will. He had better not fall unless one of us do.” Ralof stared at him for a moment, struggling with it, then the blonde nodded curtly. “Our lady has the North Wind at her back. She always will. His place is at her side now, and you had damn well better not give him any more grief over it.” While Vilkas’ personality still grated on him at times, the Harbinger had won him over with his dry wit and his intellect, his growing friendship with Ulfric, and his astounding force of arms. Ulfric clearly loved Vilkas, though Galmar knew it wasn’t in an entirely platonic manner, and in some bizarre way Vilkas had filled in for Bryn over the course of the war, spending long periods of time with Ulfric while Bryn was off with the healers or visiting the troops. The two had grown close, and Galmar couldn’t resent that. Vilkas would be raising Ulfric’s son for him, of his own free will.

“Aye,” Ralof muttered. So even Galmar viewed all this as inevitable. It was unsettling, and upsetting. It made him feel like a child, bumbling into matters that he thought he understood and clearly did not. 

Vilkas was still in the Queen’s tent an hour later when the war horns sounded, and Galmar growled and made his way into the tent, going through the vestibule while clearing his throat, finding the silence within unnerving. He found Bryn sitting on the bed between Ulfric and Vilkas, holding their hands in her lap, a bleak expression on her face, her eyes dry. The sight broke Galmar’s heart, but they had no more time for it. “My lady, the Elves are coming,” he said gruffly.

“Yes, so they are,” she murmured.

“Do you feel good enough to fight?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Galmar frowned at her limp replies, and Ulfric rose to his feet, pulling her along, and Vilkas as well by default. The Jarl said to her, “Call the storm again, Brynhilde. It will cool things off and put the fear of Kyne into them.” She hadn’t done it again after the first time, when it had turned the battlefield into a muddy mess. It was so dry and hot now that it certainly couldn’t hurt. He hadn’t skimped on using the _thu’um_ himself, feeling that if this war wasn’t cause enough then nothing was. He had even briefly considered trying to teach Vilkas the first word of Unrelenting Force, but it wasn’t his place to do so, the Greybeards’ teachings still with him. Also, Vilkas simply had too restless a mind to master the Voice.

Vilkas squeezed Bryn’s hand and quietly said, “You can do this, love.”

Galmar fought not to clear his throat again. He supposed he would simply have to get used to this. Rikke would have dealt with all this better than he could, and it made him miss her intensely. He hoped she would be all right without him and that helping Bryn and Vilkas raise the babe would help her through her grief, because he’d be damned if he went home and Ulfric didn’t. He said to Ulfric, “Is it a good idea for our lady to be Shouting and falling off dragons in her condition? What might it do to the child?”

The Jarl grimaced and answered, “Unfortunately my training never encompassed that. We will have to trust that it is safe. That he will be safe. The babe is smaller than a pea at this point.” It terrified him to think of his wife on the battlefield carrying a child, but she had been fighting with life in her womb for several weeks now, according to the Dunmer priest. Anything that would hurt the tiny child would badly damage Bryn, and her new armor had plates fully covering every vital organ, including her womb. Ulfric had to trust that the future she had seen was immutable and that the child she carried was Fjonnar. Ulfric had to trust that Vilkas would stay closer to Bryn than ever and keep both of them safe. And he had to pray that the Divines were kind and gave him just a little more time.  
-  
Vilkas cursed and bent over, catching his breath, and once he did he hauled himself upright again, his entire body aching, his muscles screaming with fatigue. He surveyed the complete chaos around him and wanted to weep with helplessness. He had gotten surrounded and lost track of Bryn. He no longer heard the _thu’um_ coming from anywhere and had no way of finding her at the moment in the madness. 

Some kind of insanity had infected the Altmer, those who remained. More and more defected every night, and gods only knew where they were going; the Bosmer had completely closed off Valenwood, killing any High Elf who set foot on their land then dragging the corpse away, and the ships had burned a month ago, though he supposed there might have been enough wood remaining to cobble together some rafts, and there were the smaller boats that they had used to come ashore. They had no northern escape route either; the other side of the Brena River was heavily guarded by the forces of Hammerfell, who had gotten into several skirmishes with fleeing Dominion units. The Emperor and Tullius guarded the city of Anvil to the south and the city of Kvatch and the stretch of land in between; the Nord army held the plains of County Kvatch, keeping the Elves from scattering into the Colovian Highlands.

A similar insanity had infected Bryn, though she was cold as opposed to the burning frenzy of the desperate Altmer. Vilkas feared at times that she really would commit genocide if given the option. The Dominion refused to surrender however, even when Mede gave them a way out, refused to give in to Men, and so here they were today, with Tullius’ Legion pushing the Elves from the south and the Nord army pushing from the east, hemming in what remained of the Aldmeri Dominion. Only the knowledge that there still was an Alinor, still hundreds of thousands of Altmer in the world, and only the knowledge that the Thalmor madness had to be purged, kept Vilkas from throwing down his sword and refusing to fight even one more day. He felt like a butcher.

He wearily waded into the fight again, listening for Shouts, and when he finally heard a thundering _FUS RO DAH_ in the distance he headed for it, Bryn’s Voice obviously distinct from Ulfric’s. Bryn wouldn’t give him much more acknowledgment than she would any other soldier, but on the battlefield at least there was harmony between them as they fought in synch, understanding each other’s movements perfectly. However since finding out she was pregnant Vilkas had nearly ceased to exist to her while Ulfric was around, her eyes only for him, the Queen spending every free moment with her husband, knowing he could be taken from her any day. Ulfric couldn’t make her see reason any better than anyone else could, his attempts to make her warm again to Vilkas going nowhere, even going so far as to try to get them all in bed together the other night, which she had reacted to badly. So Vilkas stayed back, kept his silence off the field, didn’t press. Not that he had a choice in the matter, but Idgrod’s words kept coming back to him. He had to trust the old seeress’ wisdom, and trust that someday Bryn would turn to him. He hoped to Mara it was before the child was born, sometime in Second Seed. He didn’t want the babe born into a house filled with tension.

He swung about Hoarfrost as he pressed towards the Queen, hearing her Shout ring out again. The movements were almost mechanical at this point. The Elves had learned to fear seeing the stalhrim greatsword coming at them, just as they had Chillrend and the two dragonbone swords Hadvar and Ralof wielded. Vilkas had settled on the name a couple weeks ago, to the approval of everyone but Bryn, who had asked quietly if that hadn’t been the name of the pickaxe the crazy miner on Solstheim had wielded, and Ulfric had just as quietly countered that everyone would remember Vilkas’ sword, while no one but her would remember some mad Dunmer who had no doubt fallen down a hole in a cave by this point along with his pickaxe. She had laughed at the comment, as had everyone else. Still, she hadn’t looked at Vilkas during the discussion. Not once.

When he finally fought his way to her side she was clearly tiring, and he feared some of the blood was hers. Even Vilkas had taken wounds in the last month as the Altmer redoubled their efforts to get at those they considered key to the Nord war effort. Thongvor Silver-Blood’s housecarl Yngvar had fallen protecting his Jarl, and Korir had a nasty scar across his face and had nearly lost an eye. Vilkas began clearing the area around her, giving her time and space to breathe. She looked exhausted. So was he, but he wasn’t growing a new life as she was. Erandur swore she was fine but the babe was taking a lot out of her, something the priest said was a sign that he was a healthy, vigorous child, even if he was no larger than a snowberry.

Bryn sheathed Chillrend and slid Auriel’s Shield off her arm then began gathering lightning between her hands, and Vilkas kept the enemy off her as she built up the spell. Her Destruction ability had grown massively over the course of the war until she rivaled even the most experienced Altmer mages, though she preferred Shouts and melee. She was relying on magic more as she tired more easily and fought morning sickness. Vilkas had no issue with it and had noticed a growing tolerance among the Nord forces for magic. It was simply what was needed, and at the end of the day it didn’t matter how the enemy died, only that they did.

“Down,” Bryn demanded.

Vilkas lowered himself as Bryn sprayed a Wall of Storms around them, coming back up as he felt the crackling energy pass over his head. The spell itself never seemed to harm him, but neither of them were sure what would happen at point-blank range and so never risked it. Altmer screamed as they were caught up in it, some turning to ash, a sight that never ceased to unnerve him and make him wonder what it felt like to disintegrate like that. He had caught more than a few spells over the course of his career, many of them in this war, and was familiar with the painful, nerve-tingling sensation of lightning. Well, at least it seemed they usually went quickly.

Bryn took a quick drink of water, trusting Vilkas to defend her, then splashed some water on her face in a feeble attempt to cool off. She had given up wearing the dragon priest mask Konahrik early in the spring as it seemed to provide no benefit she could find, and had instead been wearing her dragon crown, which enhanced her Destruction and Restoration abilities. Plus it was too damn hot to be wearing a mask, though it seemed the season was finally turning. She sprayed another lightning wall then took out Auriel’s Bow and began shooting at the sun, feeling cold satisfaction as the sky lit up and bolts of sunfire rained down. She was relying on the bow and magic more and more often lately, her stamina running out too quickly these days to fight for hours at a time as she once had. Vilkas seemed as tireless as ever in battle, as tireless as he ever was in general, and she had to push the thought away as she pulled out another sunhallowed arrow and let it fly.

The Dominion forces began to retreat from their position, and Vilkas pulled off his helmet and wiped the sweat from his eyes then took a drink of his own, pulling in air through his nose then blowing it out again, willing his heartbeat to slow. He glanced at Bryn and she looked uncomfortable, hunched over slightly. “Are you all right?” he asked in concern.

“I…I need to pee,” she said in aggravation as she put the bow away and picked up the shield. “God damn it. How the hell am I supposed to get anything done like this!” If she was a man she could just whip it out and piss on the battlefield. She wasn’t at all used to physical weakness of any kind, and her body kept betraying her lately. And this child, this _mal kodaav,_ this _dovahkiir,_ was sucking the life out of her. She was so hungry right now that she felt hollow, as if her own stomach was consuming itself.

“Let’s go back to camp. You should eat something or you’ll start feeling ill.”

“I already feel ill!” she snapped. Vilkas didn’t answer. She glanced at him and he was staring at her, his expression blank, his pale eyes giving away nothing. The tiny kernel of kindness stuffed deep down inside her grieved that he had learned to do that, when before he couldn’t hide his feelings to save his life. _This is your fault,_ it whispered. She told herself it was only the war that had done it, but the little voice whispered that that was a lie. Now that she was really looking at him she could see how tired and stressed he was.

Seeing her hard expression falter, Vilkas said in a tense voice, “Stop shutting me out. It doesn’t help matters.” She looked down then away, and he was satisfied to finally, _finally,_ see a hint of remorse. Then her head lifted as her expression hardened again, her gaze sharpening as she looked across the field. “What is it?” he muttered. She started walking then quickly broke into a run. “Brynhilde…” He trailed off, suddenly seeing what had her panicking. The Altmer had retreated, but only from their part of the battlefield. All they had done was focus their assault elsewhere.

Other Nord warriors saw the Queen’s reaction and ran after her to rejoin the fight, and Vilkas cursed and followed, no easy task in ebony plate. When she Shouted _WULD NAH KEST_ he knew he had no chance of catching up but kept running regardless, something about the way the Elven warriors were focusing on a particular area deeply troubling. There was a frenzy to it that made his skin crawl, as if formerly intelligent beings had suddenly become one single mindless entity with one common goal, like ants piling up to take down larger prey. It was so like descriptions of the Wild Hunt that he wondered if this were the Altmer version of it, if they had finally been pushed into such desperation that they had lost all common sense.

As he waded back into the fray the mer he cut down barely seemed to notice him, falling with an appalling ease and an eerie silence. He heard a thundering _VEN GAAR NOS_ nearby and Altmer flew in all directions, some twenty or thirty feet into the air, clearing a path. He hadn’t heard the Shout before but didn’t have time to do anything but be astonished for a split second before pushing on again; he remembered being with Bryn when she had found the Words of Power for the cyclone on Solstheim but had never seen her use them after the first test. He heard Ulfric’s _FUS_ from the thick of the battle and it was reassuring, telling him the Jarl was still alive, though Ulfric didn’t usually skimp on using all three words of the Shout.

Bryn Shouted another whirlwind, sending more Dominion soldiers flying, then he saw her tuck her sword under her arm long enough to cast a cloak of lightning around herself before she began striking out around her with a furor he hadn’t seen in her since the first battle of the war. She Shouted again, throwing mer out of the way, and Vilkas suddenly realized she was pushing into the very heart of whatever was going on. The mer around her fell away, many of them turning to ash at the touch of the cloak, which she refreshed as soon as it dissipated.

So many Altmer fell that the bodies began to pile up and Vilkas had to walk over them, and still the Elves pushed inward. Another thundering _VEN GAR NOS_ sounded and it was impossible to miss the anxiety in it this time. Vilkas made a sound of horrified realization and began focusing on cutting into the mass of golden- and glass-armored warriors instead of simply racking up numbers. And it was all warriors, no robed wizards to be seen anywhere in the mass. His heart pounding with fear, Vilkas cut down Elves until his arms were nearly limp with exhaustion, pausing for only a few seconds to down a stamina potion then push on again. He hadn’t heard any more Shouts from Ulfric after the last one. Ulfric nearly always Shouted all three words of Unrelenting Force. He should have Shouted again by now.

With a communal wail the Altmer suddenly broke ranks and fled, as if suddenly released from their madness, and Vilkas feared that it had been some kind of spell that the Thalmor wizards had cast on their own people. He let the mer run by him as he hurried in the general direction of what had been the center. There were an appalling number of Nord dead, but dead Altmer outnumbered them five to one, as if the mindlessness had robbed the Elven soldiers of their skill. As the field thinned out he saw a loose wall of warriors and ran that direction. As he neared he heard yelling and he pushed harder, recognizing Ralof’s voice.

He arrived to see a bloodied and battered Ralof trying to hold Bryn back along with several others, and he yelled at them, “Let her go!”

Ralof shook his head and shouted, “No, not like that! She can’t see him like that!”

Vilkas was about to pull the young man off when Bryn Shouted _“FUS!”_ and shoved him out of the way. Ralof choked out a sob and went after her, and Vilkas caught his arm and growled, “Let her be!”

“You don’t understand,” Ralof choked, tears cutting tracks in the blood and dirt encrusting his face. “They butchered him. Him and Hadvar. They just kept coming, and coming—”

Vilkas' eyes closed as a wave of grief swept over him. Not Hadvar. “Where is Galmar?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then look!” Ralof stared at Vilkas blankly then blinked and turned away, dragging his sword behind him. He was wounded, but none of it looked severe. Vilkas pushed his way through the ring of warriors, yelling at them, “Find the wounded in all this mess! Move!” They slowly turned away, as if they no longer had the energy to move. Vilkas turned back to Bryn, who was standing motionless, staring at the ground, and when he came up next to her he took in a shuddering breath as tears welled up in his eyes.

He didn’t see Ulfric at first…Hadvar’s body was over the Jarl’s, face down, as if he had thrown himself over Ulfric in a last ditch attempt to save him. His body had been run through with half a dozen swords that had simply been left there by the mad Elves. When Bryn woodenly moved forward he went with her, scrubbing tears away so he could see. She knelt down by Hadvar and touched his shoulder, just the ends of her fingertips. Vilkas sniffed hard and pulled out the swords then moved the younger man’s body to lie next to Ulfric’s, feeling that particular limpness that only came with death, though the body was still warm.

And Ulfric…what they had done to him had clearly been out of spite. Revenge. He had been butchered, just as Ralof had said. The ebony armor was slashed and torn, and though he still wore his helmet his neck had been sliced nearly through. He saw Bryn’s hands start to glow yellow and sighed heavily, not bothering to stop her. Whatever she felt she had to do, she could do. The glow enveloped her and Vilkas, healing wounds he didn’t know either of them had, but it didn’t extend to Ulfric or Hadvar, just as he’d known it wouldn’t. He then heard a groaning cry nearby, and he scrambled on his knees several feet away to move several Altmer bodies aside, seeing movement beneath.

Galmar crawled on his elbows a few inches then he saw Ulfric and Hadvar and wept, “No! Damn it, no…” Vilkas tried to help him to his feet and he shoved the younger man’s hand away, screaming at Bryn, “I would have followed him to Sovngarde! I should have gone!”

Bryn kept staring at Ulfric as she quietly said, “I could still send you there, if you’d like.” Galmar stared at her in horror, and her voice hardened as she said, “Choose. Now. Stay and help me as he wished you to do, or join him in Shor’s Hall.” When he didn’t move or speak she nodded slowly. “Good choice.”

Galmar lay there, breathing heavily, and Vilkas murmured to him, “She healed you by accident, Galmar. No one knew you were there.”

“I was supposed to follow him to Sovngarde,” Galmar whispered tearfully.

“That wasn’t what he wanted.”

“Fuck what he wanted! This is me we’re talking about! You think you two grew close this year, we’ve been closer than brothers since we were still in diapers, damn it!” His voice broke as it lowered again, saying, “And the lad. He had a man back home. He was supposed to get married when we got back.”

“I know.” That hurt more than Ulfric’s death. So much more. It pained Vilkas to think it, but he wished it had been Ralof instead. Hadvar had been the steady one, the mature one, a friend to Bryn, the one she relied on most, the one with his future planned out. Instead she was left with temperamental Ralof, and she would no doubt exert energy holding his hand and comforting him when it should be the other way around. He could only thank the Divines that Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced would be there to step up when they returned until they could find another Guard for her. The former Stormcloak officer was intelligent, strong as an ox, with a likable personality, and in his early thirties. He had been slated to take Galmar’s place as housecarl when Galmar retired, however Bryn was now Jarl of Eastmarch and would need a housecarl when they returned, and Vilkas wasn’t sure Galmar would have the heart to do it after this. While Vilkas was selfishly glad the older man was alive, he knew Galmar wasn’t glad to be.

“It should have been me!”

Vilkas said nothing, unable to say anything that wouldn’t be a platitude. Galmar got to his feet with a groan, still partly wounded, and Vilkas got to his feet as well, saying to Bryn, “Galmar needs more healing.” She held her hand out, still not taking her eyes from her husband, and poured healing magic at the old housecarl. A housecarl without a lord.

Galmar trudged to Ulfric’s side, between the two bodies, and sucked in a breath as he knelt and took their hands in his then began to weep quietly, praying under his breath between sobs. Vilkas rubbed his eyes, wondering how the hell they were all going to cope, while knowing in a detached way that somehow they would. People always did. Even Elisif had, somewhat, for a little while. He stood there feeling numb, seeing Bryn’s face frozen and expressionless, not a tear in her eye. Just like Aela after Skjor’s death. Vilkas wasn’t sure what he had expected, really. Maybe Aela had wept in quiet, but no one had ever seen any sign of it, and maybe Bryn would do the same. Maybe once she did she would turn to Vilkas all the way again and let him comfort her. As it was he knew better than to push right now. He had to follow Idgrod’s advice or risk alienating Bryn.

He let out a long breath of sorrow and turned to look for Ralof. The young man was tall, though not quite as tall as Vilkas, and he had to give up and look for a dragon helm amongst those searching the piles of bodies for the wounded, or the bodies of comrades. He soon saw Ralof coming towards them, a bleak expression on his face, and Vilkas went to meet him, seeing his slight relief at the sight of Galmar alive. “I need your help, Ralof,” Vilkas stated quietly.

“For what,” he muttered.

“Your duty, that’s what,” Vilkas retorted. “Snap out of it, damn it! If you can’t do it tell me now so I can find someone who can!” Ralof’s eyes widened furiously. Well, he would take that. “The Queen. Only the Queen. Can you focus on that?” Ralof nodded slowly, his bright blue eyes burning holes in Vilkas. That was perfectly fine. “She is no doubt thirsty. Make her drink. She healed her wounds, no matter the blood you see on her. I will take Hadvar’s place until—”

“You could never take his place!” Ralof said in angry grief. “And you will never take Ulfric’s either!”

Vilkas’ lips pursed as he fought the urge to punch the young man. “Will you, then?” Ralof’s eyes widened in offense.

“How dare you,” Ralof hissed. “You fucking dare.”

“Just do your damn job!” Ralof turned away with a growl and went to Bryn, and Vilkas watched until he saw Ralof’s face fall and he sank to his knees at Bryn’s side. When Bryn’s hand crept into Ralof’s then she began healing him Vilkas sighed and turned away. It was something at least. A good sign.

He made sure to stay close, finding a young woman who looked lost and telling her to find either Thongvor or Korir, if they still lived, and inform them of Ulfric’s death. He had come to respect the two Jarls, though he couldn’t say he liked them. Someone had to take command of what was left of Skyrim’s army and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Vilkas. He glanced back and saw Ralof handing Bryn his own canteen, and when she drank Vilkas turned away again, keeping watch on the area. The Dominion forces were still fleeing, and in the far distance he could see signs of magical combat, the occasional shock or fire spell; no doubt the bespelled warriors were wreaking their vengeance on the wizards. All the more power to them. Maybe with the Thalmor wizards taken out the damned Elves would finally surrender.

_“HUN KAAL!”_

The sound of a Shout behind him startled Vilkas out of his weary thoughts, and he spun about to see an apparition appear before Bryn. It was a man in his sixties, though still hale, dressed in a Greybeard’s robes, reaching for the two-handed sword on his back. His hand fell away as he stared at the scene in confusion.

“You summon me, Dragonborn, when the enemy has already quit the field,” the ghost stated in an echoing voice.

Bryn said, “My friend and husband have gone to Sovngarde, Felldir the Old. Have they reached the Hall of Valor?”

“Not yet. The way is choked with the dead. Tsun tests all in their time.”

“Please carry a message to Tsun. Tell him to call forth Ulfric Stormcloak and Hadvar of Riverwood. I would go to my rest tonight knowing my loved ones are feasting with Shor.”

Felldir bowed his head. “This I can do, Dragonborn.” He clasped his hands inside his long sleeves and said, “In return, you will call me when next you see battle.”

“Yes. I swear I will do so.”

He nodded to her. “I look forward to meeting your heroes. Perhaps one day you and I will lift a mug together.”

Bryn shook her head slightly. “I will never set foot in Shor’s Hall again. _Zu’u los dovah.”_

_“Dovah?”_ he said in disquiet. _“Hi los Dovahkiin.”_

_“Nid. Zu’u los dovah. Zu'u los vothni oblaan.”_

_I am without end._ Vilkas shivered, feeling a chill run over his skin even in the heat. The heat. Bodies. He grimaced and went down on one knee next to Galmar, who was staring at Bryn with worry, his eyes still wet but no longer weeping. He softly said, “We should get them out of the sun. I’ve sent someone to find Thongvor or Korir to take command.” Galmar could have, if he was in any state to do so. The older man was as gifted militarily as Ulfric was—had been—but being on Sovngarde’s doorstep then getting snatched back and finding his best friend gone had left him shaken.

“Aye,” Galmar whispered. The apparition faded out, and Galmar rubbed his aching eyes and looked at the Queen again. She was staring expressionlessly at Ulfric’s battered body, and it was only when her eyes flicked towards Hadvar that he saw the first hints of grief. They had all known that Ulfric was living on borrowed time, but Hadvar…that was nearly impossible to come to grips with. Someone would have to tell his fiancé Onmund, and his kin in Riverwood. Well, that was a worry for another day. He stiffly climbed to his feet and Vilkas rose with him. He wiped his nose with his gloved hand and muttered, “Fucking Elves came straight for him. It was like they’d gone mad.”

“They did,” Vilkas stated. “I noticed no wizards among them. When I cut into them it was as if they didn’t even feel it. They were under a spell, I think. When they fled back to their camp I saw signs of magical battle, as if they were attacking their own wizards in retaliation. This was done out of malevolence, pure and simple. They couldn’t get Bryn, so they went after him to cut the heart out of us.” He lowered his voice and added, “Out of her.”

Galmar shook his head, fury warring with anguish. “It won’t, you know.” Vilkas looked at him dubiously, and Galmar left it at that. Like it or not, Galmar knew his Queen better than Vilkas did. The Harbinger saw her through the rosy lens of love, even after six months of war, but Galmar had lived with her and Ulfric day after day, had seen her at her best and her worst. This wasn’t going to cut the heart out of her. When the numbness wore off the dragon would come out and she would open the gates of Oblivion on the Dominion once again.

He took in a deep breath, an aching knot in his chest, and went to Bryn, leaning down to gently lay his hand on her shoulder. “My lady,” he murmured.

“Yes Galmar?” she replied just as softly.

“Let Ralof take you back to camp. Rest and get something to eat. Vilkas and me…we’ll take care of things here. Then we’ll make those pointy-eared bastards pay for this.”

“Yes. We will.” She began to rise and Ralof quickly helped her, and as she let go of his hand she looked at Galmar and said, “People will call this the Blood Coast when I’m done.”

“Yes, my lady.” He stifled the chill that washed over him, but in his grief and anger he couldn’t help being glad for her declaration of vengeance. She was cold now, but it wouldn’t last. She was coping in the way that was best for her, and like it or not best for the war. It hurt that Ulfric had died so close to the end of it, when a bitter victory was finally within their grasp. He watched Ralof put his hand on Bryn’s shoulder as they walked away, then she reached up and took it. He heard a soft huffing sound and saw Vilkas watching them with narrowed eyes. “He reminds her of Ulfric,” Galmar muttered. “Rikke told me that. That when they passed through Helgen after the lad joined them, Brynhilde told him that as long as he was with her she had a little piece of Ulfric with her.”

_If she turns to others for comfort instead of you, grit your teeth and still be there._ Vilkas grimaced at the memory of Idgrod’s words and turned away, trying not to feel wounded by Bryn’s tacit rejection, wondering just what the hell it would take to make the woman turn to him.

Galmar wearily knelt down and picked up the Shield of Eastmarch, scratched and dented but still whole. “For the babe,” he quietly said.

“Aye.” He looked down at Ulfric and Hadvar, and the loss hit him so suddenly that he nearly doubled over from it. He folded his arms and held his middle, blinking away the flood of tears that wouldn’t stop, glad in a cowardly way that the two still had their helmets on. He didn’t think he could bear to see the death on their faces, with the state their bodies were in. He felt Galmar next to him suddenly and then an awkward pat on his shoulder, and he patted the hand then held himself again. He supposed he would take what comfort he could get. Bryn certainly wouldn’t be any.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered letting Elisif do the deed, and in the end I felt Ulfric deserved a warrior's death.
> 
> I'm still grieving...


	72. Chapter 72

A cry of alarm woke Vilkas from a sound sleep, one borne of exhaustion both physical and mental. He sat up from his cot at the left side of Bryn’s bed, disoriented, seeing it was near morning. He could hear the incongruous singing of birds, though he could also hear the cawing of crows, come to pick at the Elven dead, just as the three dragons had gorged on them last night. The Nord dead had been moved to one central location where priests of Arkay from both Skyrim and Cyrodiil were watching over them, keeping predators at bay.

“No no no no no….”

Ralof’s panic as he paced the tent brought Vilkas fully awake, and he surged to his feet to see with horror that Bryn’s bed was empty. He put his hand to the bed and it was cold, and much too tidy. As if she had hardly slept in it at all. Vilkas barked at Ralof, “Get your armor on.”

“But where is she!”

“Killing Elves, I would imagine.”

“But…gah.” Ralof began strapping on his armor, his heart pounding with dread. He couldn’t imagine how his Queen had managed to get dressed in the night and slip out of camp without waking him and Vilkas, or Galmar out in the vestibule. Ralof had slept at Bryn’s other side all night, waking a few times to feel her hand reach down to his cot and touch his head or shoulder, warm and alive and comforting, then he had fallen into such a deep sleep that next thing he knew it was growing light out and she was gone.

The two men helped each other into their armor, still bloodied and filthy from yesterday, reeking, and they were finishing up when Galmar came in. The older man’s eyes nearly came out of his head and Vilkas tersely stated, “We’re going after her.”

“Aye,” Galmar growled, sick with worry. He didn’t bother to ask what was going on. He just hadn’t imagined she would go alone, or this soon. He could only pray to Talos that she had found some way to finish it; there had still been hundreds of Dominion forces left. Or there had been before they turned on each other.

Ralof walked at Vilkas’ side as they strode through the camp, and the young man asked, “Should we take anyone else with us?”

“Why bother?” Vilkas said wearily. “Either all the Elves are dead, or she is.”

“She is not,” Ralof stated in irritation.

“We both know that. You are stating the obvious.” Ralof stayed blessedly silent as they made their way to the Quartermaster to get horses. The gruff old woman readied them without a word, supplied the two warriors with a small amount of food and water, and then they were off. The horses had come with them from Skyrim, though they had quickly shed their thick coats in Cyrodiil’s warmer climes. Nords were too bulky, especially in armor, for the fast, light Imperial-bred horses to carry.

Both men ignored the calls asking where they were going, neither inclined to explain it, and no one tried to stop them. They headed directly west at a trot, and once they left the camp behind Ralof asked angrily, “Are you going to come clean, then?” Vilkas laughed shortly, shaking his head. “How long has she known he was going to die? How long did Ulfric know? Since that day in the cave, with the Scrolls? Like…Hadvar thought?”

“Yes.”

“Did she know Hadvar was going to die?”

“No.”

“How long have you known?” Vilkas didn’t answer, and Ralof glanced at him but could only see the side of the other man’s helmet. “So you did know. You’ve known all along.” Still silence. “Answer me, damn you! You’ve known all along my lord was going to die, and you’ve always been there, lurking at the edges, waiting!”

Vilkas said with quiet menace, “I gave her to Ulfric, so I would watch my tongue if I were you.”

“Why should I!”

“You’ve learned nothing all this time, have you. You’ve been so busy watching me that you paid no attention at all to them.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I told you already, the day she found she was with child. Ulfric is, was, just a man. A great man, and I am proud to say that I knew and loved him, but in the end only a man, and for the last few years that is all I have been either. Ulfric tried to get Bryn to let me into their bed the other night, did you know that?” Ralof was silent, instead of making the scoffing sound Vilkas expected. Maybe he had been paying attention to his lord and lady after all, and Vilkas was just a convenient target. “After all, he had fulfilled his part and given her the heir we both saw, and so she was safe for me to have and he could finally act out the fantasy he had been living with since right before I went with her to Solstheim.” He heard uneven breathing but nothing more. “So, do you want to know everything, then? I would think carefully about your answer, boy.”

“Stop calling me that,” Ralof hissed.

“Then stop acting like one.”

“All right then: yes. Yes, I want to know,” he demanded. “I want to know what the hell has been going on all this time. I want the truth. I don’t want it honey-coated and bled down. I’m sick of all this…this bullshit. I’m sick of…” Feeling like still, after all these years, he hadn’t really known Bryn or Ulfric.

Vilkas snorted. “Hadvar wouldn’t have asked.”

“Don’t say his name to me,” Ralof whispered harshly. And of course Vilkas was right. Hadvar knew how to take orders. Hadvar never questioned much, simply…accepted. Ralof couldn’t. He never had been able to. Over and over Hadvar had chided Ralof for being pushy, for reading too much into everything, for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, for angering his betters. Hadvar had been a good friend to Bryn because he listened, didn’t question unless he felt it was for the Queen’s own good. Hadvar had always had a backbone of steel but he had fundamentally been a kind, gentle man, his personality soothing to Bryn. Ralof had never been a comfort to her until yesterday, and it was because he had kept his mouth shut and simply been there, too lost in his own grief to do anything else. Vilkas laughed quietly, and Ralof barked, “What the hell is so funny, damn it!”

“I think I finally realized why you and I have always struck sparks off each other. We’re too much alike. You’re just like I was at your age.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Well, at your age I was a werewolf, so there is that.”

Ralof blinked, his stomach lurching. “W-what?”

“Yes, I was a werewolf, for fifteen years. Until Bryn cured me. Oh, and she was one too for a few weeks.” He continued blithely, “You see, Bryn fell in love with me at first sight. She was a virgin and had been in Skyrim only a few months. Isn’t that cute?” Ralof made a choking sound. “I deflowered her just outside Ivarstead, in Shroud Hearth Barrow, with a dead body not twenty feet away in the hall. She knew I was a werewolf and didn’t care. I think it was probably the best sex we ever had.”

“You…you bastard,” Ralof whispered, horrified. This wasn’t at all what he had wanted to know. He knew Vilkas was deliberately shocking the hell out of him, but it was still appalling.

“Hm, I could be a bastard, for all I know. Anyway, I was a werewolf, and my nature tasted hers. I became permanently mated to her on the way home. I’ve touched no other woman since. I’ve wanted no other woman since. Her dragon blood rejected the wolf’s blood, so it’s all one-sided. She is my mate, for life, even though I am cured. That is why I have always been around, always ‘lurked’ at the edges, as you call it, because I can do nothing else. Perhaps that is another reason why when she read those Elder Scrolls in the cave that I saw what she saw, in my dreams. She and I both saw me holding Ulfric’s son as my own and Bryn giving birth to my daughter, in the royal bedchamber of the Palace of Kings. The priest Erandur was there.” Ralof said nothing, and when Vilkas glanced at him he was staring forward, his eyes big and glistening, his mouth slightly open. “Yes, it is a hard thing, isn’t it,” Vilkas said in a more kindly tone. “Married only a few months and finding out your husband will die, because I didn’t look any older than I already was. I would have stayed alone and celibate the rest of my life if we could have him back, if he could have lived, but he was not fated to.”

Ralof took in a rough breath, wishing he could call Vilkas a liar. Wishing he didn’t believe every word of it. It turned his stomach to think of the man being a werewolf, of the Dragonborn willingly bedding one of Hircine’s beasts, but Vilkas hadn’t been for years and it wasn’t as if they had done it while he was a beast, or so Ralof assumed. “Why?” he asked in anguish. “Why was he fated to die?”

“Several of us who knew think that he was fated to die in the Civil War. If Bryn hadn’t made him stop and think, hadn’t made the truce stick, she would have declared for the Empire and Ulfric would have died, and probably Galmar as well, maybe even you. She nearly killed him the first time they had dinner together, simply to put an end to the conflict. The time he had with her was borrowed time. Being with her cleansed his soul of the wounds it took at Thalmor hands when he was a boy. He was more deeply hurt than anyone realized. Few of those who suffered what he did lived for any length of time; most committed suicide.” Ralof didn’t ask what he had suffered, and Vilkas wouldn’t have told him anyway. That was Ulfric’s business, something intensely private, and not Vilkas’ place to share it. Vilkas went on, “Bryn wrote me a letter, after Sovngarde, asking me to take her back, did you know that? I would have gone back to her in a heartbeat, but I never received the letter. From what Erandur says, Mara herself intervened on Ulfric’s behalf, sending an avatar to Nirn to intercept the letter, driving Bryn to him. I can’t resent that. Ulfric was good for her. He made her strong, made her into a Queen. She was a mess when she came to Skyrim, you know. Thought she was too fat, too loud, too clumsy, too stupid, not pretty enough, not ladylike enough. Not Elven enough, really. What must her aunt and grandmother think of her now? What must they have thought when the battle stories started making their way to the Imperial City, stories of the things she has done? Where would we all be now if she hadn’t gone to Ulfric and he hadn’t made her accept what she is? I like to think that if she’d stayed with me I could have found some way to do the same, but I fear there always would have been doubt there, because I initially refused to marry her, didn’t marry her at the beginning the way I should have. I’ve spent the last few years paying for that, but it’s a price I suppose had to be paid.”

When Vilkas said nothing more and they pushed the horses into a canter Ralof sat sullenly in the saddle, trying to absorb it all, and he was sure it was still only half of it. His heart still ached at the loss of Ulfric and Hadvar. Especially Hadvar. Over and over since yesterday he had wished that somehow they could trade places. He would have traded with either of them. Here he was the single one without attachments, without any plans for the future other than being the Queen’s Guard, when Hadvar was engaged and eager to start married life with a husband and Ulfric had a child on the way. It was unfair, deeply and horribly unfair, that he had lived instead of them. He wasn’t self-absorbed enough to look for any rhyme or reason to it, either. It was simply the shitty circumstances of war. The Dominion had maliciously targeted Ulfric and Hadvar had simply been closest.

Ralof would have given anything including his own life to have Hadvar back, since it seemed Ulfric was never meant to live. Hadvar had been the one Bryn loved best, the one she had chosen to follow at Helgen no matter who had saved her from the block, unwilling as she was to align herself with rebels. She and Hadvar had been comfortable with each other from the start. And Ralof missed Hadvar intensely simply for himself. It seemed impossible that he couldn’t just turn to his side and not see Hadvar there. Instead it was going to be Vilkas there. Vilkas the Harbinger of the Companions. Vilkas the North Wind, the one who had fought at the Queen’s side all through the war and barely taken a scratch, mowing down Elves like they were wheat, unstoppable, untiring. Vilkas who had known for years that he would take his place again at Bryn’s side and father children on her, raise Ulfric’s little boy as his own, become an Empress’ consort. Vilkas who would father an Empire. Vilkas who had to school Ralof like he was a whelp.

Well then, he supposed if anyone was fit to take Ulfric’s place it would be Vilkas. Vilkas was famous in his own right, and it wasn’t because he was Harbinger. Vilkas was tall and handsome, though Ralof knew without much vanity that he himself was as well, though fair where Vilkas was dark. Vilkas had a bearing about him now that would make him worthy to stand at a Queen’s side. And Vilkas spoke the dragon tongue. Now that Ulfric was gone, Ralof had to be grateful for that.

When they dropped out of their canter to rest the horses a bit, Ralof impulsively said, “I want to learn the dragon language.” Vilkas was still the leader as such of the Companions, and he wouldn’t always be in Windhelm. Someone had to be around who understood the dragon tongue. Like it or not, sometimes the Queen had to be…managed. Hadvar could have done it, but with Vilkas gone all there would be was Ralof, until they found someone new to partner him with. It was a horrible thought. He couldn’t imagine working with anyone but Hadvar. He didn’t want to.

Vilkas glanced at him in surprise then nodded and said, “I can teach you what I know.”

“You seem fluent.”

“Fluent enough. Bryn speaks it as a bird sings its song, by instinct, but I’m able to figure out most of what she says. And the dragons say.” The dragons were conspicuously absent, though he had heard them feeding early last night. Disgusting as the thought was, he couldn’t imagine where they were putting it all. Dragons didn’t relieve themselves that he had ever seen.

“What did she say to the spirit yesterday?” Vilkas hesitated. “Why did she say she wasn’t going to Sovngarde when she dies?”

“If I tell you, do you swear on your life to keep it to yourself? On your honor as a Nord and your honor as the Queen’s guard?”

“Yes, I swear.”

“She said, ‘I am without end.’ She will never enter the Hall of Valor because she will never die. She will become a dragon.” Ralof made a sputtering sound of shock. “She saw this the final time she read the Dragon Scroll, the _Dovah Kel,_ in Skuldafn. When she reaches the end of her human lifespan she will transform into a golden dragon. When she did the reading in the cave, the Scroll told her that as long as dragons exist, and her bloodline, so will the Empire. She saw herself in Skuldafn as a dragon, looking at her reflection in a lake, admiring her own beauty. She will be like no other dragon that has ever existed. A new kind of dragon, one that is more human. She will guide the Empire for eternity in that form, and watch over our descendants. They will be Dragonborn, though not quite as she is. More as the Septims were, with potential, with a dragon’s blood, though perhaps not a dragon’s soul. She still isn’t sure on that point, but regardless, she will be their teacher, their mentor, the key to unlocking whatever potential they have.”

“So the child she carries…”

“It is a boy. A Dragonborn child. His name will be Fjonnar, after the Bear of Eastmarch. Ulfric and Bryn decided that early on, when he was nothing more than a dream.” He heard a sound of grief from Ralof. “I swore to Ulfric in Riften that I would raise the child as my own, that I would take care of Brynhilde. I hadn’t bargained for it being so soon when I made that promise. I had always assumed that the child would be born by then, that Ulfric would at least…” He had to stop, feeling that sudden surge of pain and loss that kept hitting him out of nowhere like a fist to the gut. He had hoped Ulfric would live to see his child born, live to hold the baby at least once. He had barely lived a month past finding out Bryn was pregnant. As if the Divines had left him alive just long enough to sire the child and help win the war then had discarded him, his usefulness at an end.

It was quiet for several minutes, other than the clop of the horses’ hooves, when Ralof finally muttered, “I’m sorry.” He didn’t bother to say for what. Vilkas could figure it out easily enough.

“You did what you thought was right, to protect Bryn and Ulfric,” Vilkas stated with some reluctance. “Just try to keep in mind in the future, when you’re ready to fly off the handle, that it’s highly likely you don’t know the whole story.”

“Aye,” Ralof muttered. “I worry though…she hasn’t shed a tear.”

“Right now I don’t think she can. Not while the war’s still going.”

“If it is.” Vilkas snorted a tired laugh, nodding. It was much too quiet. Even if the Dominion had fled all the way to the coast some five miles away they should have heard thunder at some point last night or this morning. It frightened Ralof that they had heard nothing, even with the sound of the dragons rending bodies.

Vilkas said in a tone of resignation, “If it comes at all, it will be when we get back. When she returns to Windhelm without him. When she has to sleep in their bed without him.”

“Then we will put a cot in there and take turns sleeping in the room with her. You, me, the priest.” Ralof knew that things were going to change in the Palace now that Ulfric was gone and Bryn was Jarl. She had allowed Ulfric his prejudices, probably knowing there was no point in making him uncomfortable if his days were numbered. Anyone who had a problem with mer in the Palace from here on out however would be wasting their breath, and anyone who crossed the Dragon Queen after this war was a fool. Finding out Bryn was going to become a dragon at the end of her mortal life wasn’t as shocking as one would think. It certainly made more sense than her becoming another Talos.

“Aye, if she lets us. Until I can get my brother and his wife to Windhelm. Farkas and Lydia will help her through it.” He sighed wistfully. “My nephew must be huge by now, and Aela’s daughter will be learning her letters and counting. I…feel I’ve missed so much. Anything could have happened while I was gone.” He wanted to believe that truly important news would have reached him, but it was a long way to send a letter. It simply hadn’t been practical for him to send one. News passed between the armies, and between Skryim and Cyrodiil, but it was slow to travel between provinces and dealt mostly in generalities and matters of government. Every soldier had a friend though who had agreed to pass on letters and keepsakes if he or she died. Vilkas wondered if Hadvar had thought to do so, or if he had felt invulnerable with his legendary sword and enchanted armor. The armor was broken and useless now, nothing but a shell at this point to hold his body together, but the sword _Fahliil-Kriid_ was still intact, perhaps to be passed on to whoever took Hadvar’s place.

Vilkas tried to turn his mind away from the thought, still finding it nearly impossible to believe that the likable young man was gone. That Ulfric was gone. Their bodies were being kept in a tent near the hospital, being kept in deep cold by a priest of Arkay while caskets were being constructed for them. Galmar had gone in there last night, as if to say goodnight to them, and Vilkas and Ralof hadn’t been able to bring themselves to do it. Vilkas thought that perhaps he would have to force himself to do so when they returned to camp. He’d never forgive himself if he didn’t.

As they neared the coast they began to see and smell smoke, along with the occasional Altmer body that had been left where it fell. This area of the coast was hilly, wooded, and would have otherwise been lovely if not for the circumstances. When they rode out of the trees onto the beach Vilkas hauled on the reins, bringing the horse up short, and had to swallow a surge of bile in his throat.

“Well,” Ralof said in a hoarse voice. “She was right.”

“Aye.” The beach was covered in bodies as far as the eye could see, and the water...the sea was choked with the dead, bobbing gently in the red surf, some of them already being carried farther out. _The Blood Coast,_ he thought with horror. The way the tide pushed and pulled the corpses in and out made him shudder, cold all over. The smoke was coming from the remains of half a dozen Dominion ships, whether bearing reinforcements or coming to evacuate those left he couldn’t guess, run aground and smoldering. He saw the three dragons sitting on the ships, gleaming in the morning sun, seeming unconcerned, even bored.

Vilkas and Ralof dismounted, leading the skittish horses back to the shelter of the trees to tie them off, leaving their helmets behind, knowing there was nothing left living here to threaten them. The silence was eerie, the only sound the gentle slosh of the water and the occasional scraping sound as the armor of the dead rubbed against each other. Not even birds had come yet to pick at the bodies. Vilkas walked back onto the beach and cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted Bryn’s name and there was no answer.

“She isn’t dead,” Ralof stated, as if to convince himself.

“No, she isn’t,” Vilkas agreed. “The dragons would know and put up a fuss.”

Ralof rubbed his eyes then threw his hands in the air. “Fuck. You look south and I’ll go north.”

“Aye.” Vilkas began picking his way down the beach, the number of dead making it difficult to walk in some areas. He tried to take a quick mental tally of them and simply couldn’t do it. He saw signs that camp had been made, or had tried to be made, but the tents were collapsed and in some cases smoldering. He feared that he would come across a wounded Altmer and have to make a decision to finish them off or be merciful, but they were all dead. He supposed that was something to be thankful for.

He had walked to the far southern end of the beach where it ran into a small headland, and he made a growling sound of frustration, wondering where the hell Bryn could be. He hadn’t seen any sign of a horse, but then she had the dragons, though the orange one couldn’t be ridden due to his neck ridges. Not that Odahviing would allow her to ride any but him.

As he turned around and began heading north to meet up with Ralof he heard the sound of hooves, a large number of them, and he drew his sword and moved into the shadow of a nearby boulder, hoping to hell it wasn’t Altmer. It was mostly the Altmer officers and Thalmor who rode, and Vilkas had the feeling that few had survived the vengeance of the soldiers last night. He heard voices, human voices, but he didn’t put away Hoarfrost until he heard Tullius’ voice ring out.

“Fan out and figure out what the hell happened here!” Vilkas sheathed his greatsword and came out of hiding, startling the Legionnaires at the edge of the trees. Tullius barked at them to hold and dismounted from his horse. “Harbinger,” he said in greeting, his tone grave.

“General,” he replied.

“Am I to assume your people are to thank for this?”

“No. The Queen did this on her own. Sometime last night or early this morning.” Tullius nodded slowly, evincing a complete lack of surprise. “We didn’t realize she was gone from camp until just before sunrise. We heard nothing last night but the dragons feeding right after dark. We’re trying to find her, but…no luck.” Tullius’ dark eyes flicked towards the dragons, who stared back impassively. “She’s alive, no doubt, but hell if we can find her, and we've been looking for hours. Ralof is looking to the north.” He scratched his chin, desperately needing a shave. “So…not that I am unhappy to see you, but why are you here?”

“The Emperor sent us to finish this. I have five hundred troops up the hill from here. Jarl Silver-Blood sent a rider yesterday, telling us what happened to Ulfric and Hadvar. Damn shame.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Tullius ignored the bitter tone to the younger man’s voice. “I’ve never heard of Altmer going mad like this before. The mages think it could have been some form of mass mayhem spell, focused on Ulfric.”

“I do not doubt it. There were no wizards in the fight. When they finally took him down the spell broke and they fled, and I saw signs they were fighting amongst themselves as they retreated. I can’t say for certain that Brynhilde did all this.” She’d probably called the ancient warrior Felldir to help her, but the summoning seemed limited. Vilkas sighed heavily and said to Tullius, “She vowed yesterday after Ulfric fell to turn this into the Blood Coast. She made good on her vow.”

“She usually does.” He turned to the young squire next to him and said, “Get a mage out here. Someone who can cast a clairvoyance spell.” The youngster saluted crisply and dashed off into the trees. Tullius quietly asked, “So are the rumors true? That she’s with child?”

“Aye. About two months along. A boy. They had already named him Fjonnar. After Ulfric’s father.” At that he saw real sorrow on the Colovian’s face. “He knew he was going to die in this war. We all knew it was coming, and finding out Bryn is expecting…it was like the ringing of a death knell, when it should have been a joy to them. A child borne of war, that he knew he would never get to see or hold…it’s hard.”

“Ah, shit,” Tullius whispered. Only the coldest heart wouldn’t be moved by that. And Hadvar…the lad had always held such promise, and the Queen had been terribly fond of him. He had willingly laid down his life trying to protect the man that he had once called to the headman’s block.

“He was the bravest man I have ever known,” Vilkas said roughly, and left it at that, afraid he would start bawling otherwise. Tullius respected it and stayed silent.

The young squire quickly returned with a lightly armored, middle-aged Imperial battlemage in tow, and the General turned to him and said, “Queen Brynhilde is missing and likely still in the area. Please find her.”

“Yes sir,” the man said. He raised his left hand and it began to glow pale blue, then a beam of foggy blue light shot up the beach. The man glanced at Vilkas, who nodded and motioned for him to go ahead.

Tullius stayed behind barking orders as Vilkas followed the mage. “What is your name?” he asked.

“Elisio.”

“Nibenese?” The shorter man inclined his head with a smile. “I am Vilkas.”

The man’s smile widened slightly. “Oh yes sir, I am quite aware.” He recast the spell, sending out another beam of light up the beach. “The North Wind, the Killing Frost. There was really no one else you could be.” Tall and coldly handsome, bearing a sword of enchanted ice, wearing a wealth of antique ebony…only an idiot wouldn’t know who the Nord was.

Vilkas grumbled, “Killing Frost. I had not heard that one. Magnificent.”

Elisio laughed. “Regardless, it is an honor to meet you. I only wish it were under better circumstances.” His smile faded. “We are all so terribly sorry for the Dragonborn’s loss,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t help to say so, but…it must be said.”

“Aye.” Elisio nodded and left it alone. They walked up the beach until they met Ralof, the young man distraught over being unable to find any evidence of Bryn anywhere.

“How can she not be here!” Ralof cried. “We didn’t come across her on the way here, the dragons are here…she _has_ to be here!”

“We will find her, sir,” Elisio promised. He cast the spell again and it kept heading north, though it was bending slightly now. Towards the water. He kept casting it until they were only a hundred feet from the other end of the beach and it was pointing out into the surf. Elisio grimaced and shook his head then brought up his hand again, finding it shaking slightly, the two huge Nords on either side of him clearly upset. He bit his lip and cast a spell to detect life, and his knees nearly buckled when a purple glow lit just beneath the surface of the water about ten feet out. “There,” he whispered. “She’s alive just out there.”

Vilkas and Ralof nearly shoved each other out of the way to get to her, finally working together to push the bodies out of the way, both men’s skin crawling at the feel of the corpses bumping against their legs. Vilkas finally saw her, floating face down and partially submerged by another body atop hers, some of her pale blond hair drifting around her like seaweed in the red water. It was impossible to hurry through the water but they finally reached her, Vilkas flipping her onto her back to support her as Ralof made a mewling sound of anguish and pulled his gauntlet off to feel for a pulse in her neck.

“How can she be alive?” he asked, his voice cracking. She’d looked dead, her skin cool from the water, but her pulse was strong and steady, as if she were only asleep.

“The ring,” Vilkas said with wild relief. “The ring she made in Whiterun to help regenerate her magicka. It also has a waterbreathing enchantment on it.” He took Bryn under the shoulders and motioned for Ralof to get her feet and between the two of them they got her back to shore, carrying her up to the shelter of the trees away from the mass of bodies, Elisio following. Vilkas never failed to be amazed by how much the woman weighed, though of course the dragonscale and Dwemer metal armor added a good eighty pounds at least, not to mention how waterlogged it was.

“May I?” the mage asked, raising glowing yellow hands. Vilkas nodded, and Elisio cast healing hands upon her. He quickly stopped, shaking his head. “She isn’t wounded, and I am not a Healer by trade to tell what the problem is.”

“She’s with child,” Ralof said in a worried tone.

Elisio nodded, murmuring, “And the heat, and the fighting, and her grief…perhaps she simply fell from exhaustion, right where she stood, and the tide carried her out a bit. Thankfully not entirely out to sea.” He sat back on his heels, and after a moment pointed to her scabbard. “Her weapon is missing.”

“And her shield, and her crown,” Ralof said tiredly. He hauled himself to his feet. “Will that…that thing you did, will it help us find them?”

“Yes, I can do that, certainly.”

Ralof slapped Vilkas on the shoulder, looking relieved, and left with the mage. Vilkas let out a shaky breath and smoothed Bryn’s wet hair back from her face. “My poor love,” he whispered softly, his voice breaking. If only she had taken him or Ralof with her. Maybe she just hadn’t wanted to risk anyone else. Maybe she had wanted vengeance to be hers alone. She hadn’t been entirely alone though. He resisted the urge to put his hand over her abdomen and wondered how he would explain to Fjonnar that he had been carried through battle, that he had ridden along with his mother as she Shouted and fought and magic flowed through her. Vilkas wondered if it would have any lingering effect on the child, and decided it probably wouldn’t. The babe was tinier than a newborn mouse, safe and snug in Bryn’s womb. There was without a doubt nowhere safer on Nirn.

He saw people coming out of the corner of his eye and looked up to see Tullius and the young squire, along with several other Imperial soldiers and a priestess in robes, heading their direction. He couldn’t be sorry they were there; he would need help getting Bryn back to camp if she didn’t awaken, and he wasn’t inclined to awaken her. He couldn’t guess at the level of exhaustion required for her to simply pass out in the surf. He blessed whatever anxiety or foresight had caused her to cast waterbreathing on the ring. Maybe she would have awakened when she hit the water, but it wasn’t a sure thing.

Tullius looked down at Bryn and frowned, asking, “Is she all right?” He had seen them hauling her out of the water, but her chest was slowly rising and falling as if she were simply taking a nap in the grass.

“Fine, just exhausted, the mage thinks. One of her rings is enchanted for waterbreathing.” Tullius nodded then motioned the priestess forward, and she raised her eyebrows to Vilkas, who nodded. She gathered her robes about her and knelt at Bryn’s other side, grasping her amulet of Kynareth in her left hand as she lay her other on Bryn’s forehead. As the priestess…did whatever she was doing, Vilkas looked up at the General and asked, “Is this over then?”

“The war? As long as the Bosmer and Khajiit stay where they are, yes.” He looked out to sea where he saw the red dragon rubbing its nose under its right wing, as if preening. He had only seen them from a distance during the war, flying above the battlefield, and had to admit they were a gorgeous sight, their scales shining in the sun like gemstones. He didn’t remember the red one being that…shiny. He didn’t particularly like thinking about why that might be, either. “I don’t think there’s much chance of them bothering us without the Altmer driving it. We hope that the bulk of the Thalmor are dead now and that whoever is left in Alinor is reasonable. Those ships out there…once the dragons are out of the way I’ll have to send people to check them out, though I suppose their purpose is irrelevant at this point. Altmer deserters have been slipping away for weeks now and some will make it back to the Isles and eventually their government will figure out what happened here. There is no more Dominion.” As soon as he said it a huge wave of relief went through him. He’d actually lived through this. He had a few more scars, including a bad one from a gut wound that had nearly taken his life early in the summer, but he was basically intact. He could actually think about retiring. Maybe even taking a wife. Maybe. It was hard to think about when the Dragonborn was going home with a dead husband.

Ralof and Elisio returned, the blond carrying the Dragon Crown and Chillrend, soaked all over again, this time all the way to the top of his head. “The Shield,” he said with a shake of his head, flinging water onto the priestess who flinched then pursed her lips in annoyance. “Can’t find it.”

“How can you not find it?” Vilkas asked. He looked up at the mage for an explanation.

Elisio said in disquiet, “It…isn’t here. It isn’t…my magic isn’t pointing the way to it, at all. It’s as if it has disappeared completely.” He folded his arms and went on, “I have heard it does this, when its purpose is fulfilled. Reappears elsewhere in Tamriel, for another hero to find. Perhaps Auriel feels the Altmer have been sufficiently chastened, finally.”

Tullius stated, “If this doesn’t do it, nothing will.” The priestess opened her eyes, moving her hand from Bryn’s forehead to slide her hand under the dragonscale armor. “Are she and the child well?”

“A moment, please, sir,” she murmured. It was silent for nearly half a minute then the priestess removed her hand and stood, nodding. “Exhaustion. Nothing short of a blow will wake her. The babe is… healthy.”

“What’s the reason for your hesitation?” She glanced at Vilkas, and Tullius stated, “Say what’s on your mind, Sister. He will be helping to raise the child.” Or so the Emperor had hinted.

She licked her lips and haltingly said, “The babe, it is in good health. But it…it does not seem a normal child. It…I don’t know how to put it. It doesn’t appear as any babe my magic has ever seen. It…is not entirely…”

Vilkas stated, “He will be Dragonborn, dragon-blooded.”

Her eyebrows rose, then she took a deep breath and let it out, saying in a tone of relief, “Yes. I suppose, yes, that is why…well. My apologies if I caused concern.”

“The Queen has a personal Healer, a Dunmer priest of Mara, who has attended her all along. He says the babe is vigorous and healthy. I have no worries in that regard.” In fact they probably should have brought the mer along, but he and Ralof had been too worried to think clearly.

Tullius said, “The child may one day be our Emperor, Harbinger. Better safe than sorry.”

Vilkas stared at him then grunted ambiguously, not bothering to correct the General. The boy would be High King of Skyrim, Jarl of Eastmarch, Fjonnar Stormcloak, Bryn and Ulfric deciding to make official the name he had been given out of spite but had carried with pride. One of Vilkas’ children would become Emperor or Empress, perhaps that dark-haired firstborn daughter he had seen. Well, that future was years away yet. The last thing he was going to do at any point was push Bryn into a relationship. He didn’t care how long it took; he wanted it to come of her own free will, because she wanted it, not because of some vision or because she felt pressured into it.

He lowered his eyes to Bryn again and said to Tullius, “We could use a cart or carriage, if you have one. To get her back to our camp.” Tullius nodded to the boy at his side and he saluted and ran off. Vilkas sniffed a short laugh and said, “He’s a zealous lad.” The boy had been small but wiry, dark-haired and –eyed as Colovians usually were. His age had been hard to guess, as used to strapping Nord youths as Vilkas was, but from the beginnings of stubble on his chin he was maybe sixteen at most.

“My great-nephew. My sister and niece both insisted that he be my squire. I can only thank Talos that the war ended before the boy saw battle. I wasn’t much older than him when I joined the Legion, but even a year or two makes the difference.”

“So what will you do with yourself after this?”

“Retire,” Tullius stated firmly. “I’m going to retire and not even the Dragonborn herself will be able to bring me out of it.”

“It’s a good thing she’s asleep. Dragons cannot resist challenges.”

The General laughed shortly. “Good thing she’ll never lack for those.” He turned away, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll send the cart along. I still have work to do here.”

“Aye. Thank you.”

Elisio inclined his head to Ralof and Vilkas in turn then said, “I am glad to have made your acquaintances. You know, my second cousin Marcurio lives in Skyrim. In Riften, last I heard.” Both men made polite sounds of interest, while it was clear neither had ever heard of him. Not that there was any reason they should have. “Well then, I must go. Let me know if you lose anymore Queens, Dragonborns, crowns, or swords, and I would be happy to be of assistance.”

Vilkas laughed at that while Ralof narrowed his eyes, and the Harbinger said, “Thank you for your help, it was greatly appreciated. We will let our lady know of it.”

“Good luck to you.”

The mage walked away down the beach, and Ralof knelt on the other side of Bryn, setting the crown by her head and Chillrend across his lap, the blade’s hissing cold a relief. Vilkas reached down to undo her belt. “The salt water can’t be good for our gear,” Ralof worried. And the Queen was the only smith in the Nord army who could work ebony and dragonscale.

“We will be going home soon,” Vilkas murmured, sliding the belt out from under her then handing it to Ralof, who sheathed Chillrend.

“Home.” He pulled his eyes up from Bryn’s face to see Vilkas staring at him warily. “As much as I miss it… I’m afraid to go back. I can’t…” Couldn’t tolerate the thought of seeing Hadvar’s room empty, of never being able to simply cross the hall for a bottle of mead and a game of dice, or just to talk. Of never going back home to Riverwood together to visit their families. Of not standing up for him at a wedding that would never happen.

“I know,” Vilkas whispered. “I don’t know…if I went straight back to Jorrvaskr, if I would still…fit.” And yet he would have to go back, eventually, if only for a little while, to make sure everything was in order, to see the people he considered his family. But not until he felt Bryn would be all right. In a way she had been grieving for years over losing her husband, but she still hadn’t truly faced his death. Or Hadvar’s. _Ah Hadvar,_ the thought painfully. He couldn’t imagine how long all this was going to hurt. He had spent weeks grieving for Kodlak, but there had been the comfort that the old man died in battle instead of from the rot. Hadvar was young, had his entire life still ahead of him, a fiancé waiting at home. Things were hard now, but they would be an entirely different kind of hard back in Skyrim.

“But you’ll be staying in Windhelm for a while, yeah?”

Vilkas glanced up at Ralof, the anxiety in the young man’s voice obvious. He nodded. “Aye, until everything and everyone is settled. I’ll help you guard the Queen and care for her. And my brother and his wife will no doubt show up as soon as they hear we’re back. Lydia and Farkas will be a great help. Farkas can get through to her when no one else can. He has a way with her. Always has.” Feeling a pang in his chest, he sighed, “Gods, I miss my brother.”

“I can’t imagine what that’s like. Having a twin.”

“It is the most aggravating and wonderful thing in the world. You know, we never spent more than a week apart before I went to Solstheim. It doesn’t seem possible that I’ve been away from him for this long. And Aela. She is my sister as surely as if we had the same mother.” Ralof frowned then sat back slightly. “What?”

“The entire Circle,” Ralof muttered in distaste. “All of you. You were all werewolves, weren’t you. A…pack.” He wasn’t stupid. The rumors of howling around Whiterun. The armor they no longer wore.

“Aye, we were, and I will not bother to ask you to keep it to yourself.” He didn’t need to know about Aela.

“Aye, you have my word. But…ugh.”

“Yes, it was a terrible thing. But it ended with us and is over.” 

Sounds from beyond the trees drew his attention and he saw the cart coming. He wasn’t sure how long Bryn would sleep, but she clearly needed it, just as she’d needed to sleep after reading the Elder Scrolls. They would get her back to camp and see if they were given the chance to rest for a day or so before Tullius or some other messenger from the Emperor showed up, maybe even the Emperor himself. He hoped to the Nine Divines that Mede had the decency to visit Bryn and offer his condolences, and his thanks. His heartfelt thanks, not only to Bryn but to the army of Skyrim as well. The Imperials hadn’t taken any fewer losses than the Nords had, but the Nords had been targeted more heavily due to the Dragonborn’s presence, and they had come farther and suffered more discomfort away from their native climes. The Nords had secured the Empire for Mede, for Cyrodiil and High Rock, and Vilkas wanted the Emperor to personally come and acknowledge that.

Vilkas helped Ralof load Bryn into the cart as gently as possible, the wood thoughtfully cushioned by several bedrolls spread out, and out of the corner of his eye Ralof saw the dragons take flight, circling up to to gain altitude then heading back towards the Nord encampment. Tullius stayed behind to investigate the ships and oversee the stripping and burning of the Altmer bodies, sending an honor guard of a dozen Legionnaires to escort the High Queen back to her camp. The initial sight of them sent up a cry of grief and Ralof had to quickly head it off before it spread, assuring everyone that the Queen was most definitely alive and well, only passed out from exhaustion and the added stress of pregnancy. The open admission surprised many, but Ralof felt it had to be said. Rumors had been circulating for the last month, and to the people it would be good news, something to help soften the blow of Ulfric’s death, though in a way it made it all the sadder. He also felt everyone should know that their Queen had fought as hard as ever through fatigue and morning sickness the last seven weeks, that she had slaughtered every last one of the Altmer and ended the war decisively even with a child in her womb.

The gathered warriors watched silently as Vilkas and Ralof carried Bryn into her tent, though the two men heard the crowd break up and start to converse quietly as they left, probably to spread the news that everyone had suspected for weeks now. Vilkas murmured to him, “That was a smart move.”

“People need hope,” Ralof answered. “And those of us who love Ulfric need to know his bloodline will continue. His family has ruled Eastmarch for a thousand years. May it rule a thousand more.” They laid Bryn on the bed and Vilkas began unbuckling her armor, motioning for Ralof to take off her boots. Ralof bit his lip and hesitated.

“What?” Vilkas asked in confusion. “I need your help.”

“You need help, but not mine. I…don’t want to see her like that.”

Vilkas made a scoffing sound. “She told me long ago that you two have never been attracted to each other.”

“And I don’t want to start,” Ralof blurted. The Harbinger stared at him and he looked away with warming cheeks. “I’m not stupid,” he said roughly. “Things change. They can always change. She’ll miss Ulfric, and looking at me will remind her of him, and looking at her will remind me of him, and of Hadvar and the things the three of us went through together…” Ralof shook his head. “No. You were lovers once, and you’ll be her husband again one day. I…guard her. That is it. I’ll go get Siga.”

“Fine,” Vilkas mumbled. The blonde left and Vilkas stared at the door to the tent for a few moments, feeling unsettled. Well, they were all unsettled still, Ralof included. Poor Ulfric and Hadvar hadn’t been dead even a full twenty-four hours yet. Hearing Ralof talk that way about Bryn was worrisome, though he supposed it should have been reassuring that the young man wasn’t so naïve as to not see the danger in helping Vilkas undress her. Grief and intense situations made people behave in ways they ordinarily wouldn’t, something Vilkas knew all too well. Obviously Ralof also knew that.

The young Nord girl quickly arrived and between the two of them they got Bryn out of her dragonscale armor, gave her a quick wash and combed out her hair then put her to bed. Not once did Siga question Vilkas’ presence or his help. He did his best not to see what he had no business yet seeing but it was impossible not to. In sleep her body was limp and the muscles weren’t moving under her skin, giving her a softness she rarely had while awake. There wasn’t even the slightest evidence of pregnancy yet, if anything her body leaner than it had been in years, no doubt from the stress and nausea keeping her from eating as she should. 

The state of affairs and recent losses kept him from growing aroused, though he couldn’t help wondering when he would ever get to have her again. Everyone grieved differently, and their situation was unique. And she was pregnant. By time she started really recovering from losing Ulfric she would be getting round, maybe getting uncomfortable, and starting a new relationship, or even restarting a not-so-new one, would be the last thing on her mind. And then the child would be born, and the ensuing recovery and nursing and tiredness… It all made a swell of despair go through him. Well, he had managed on his own this long, and he could continue to do so, if Bryn would just turn to him. He could handle anything at this point if she would just fully look him in the eyes and open up to him. Mara only knew when she ever would.  
-  
A swell of nausea woke Bryn, and she clutched her belly and rolled onto her side. She blinked in confusion, seeing a dark shape half-lying on the bed. As her eyes adjusted to the dusk she realized it was Vilkas. He was asleep, sitting in a chair at her side. She conjured a ball of candlelight and set it to floating above them, and the sight of his face so close to hers, relaxed in sleep, sent a sharp pang of loss through her. It should have been Ulfric she had seen upon waking. It should have been her husband, not the one who had clung to the hope of one day being her husband again. The rational part of her knew it was unfair, but the sudden fury she felt towards Vilkas was so strong she nearly shoved him.

She clenched her fists against her gut and forced herself to calm down, closing her eyes to take deep breaths. When she reopened her eyes she made herself stare at Vilkas’ face, made herself acknowledge that he didn’t deserve her anger, just as he hadn’t deserved her coldness all along. She studied the lines of his face, those high cheekbones she had once swooned over, the long black lashes, that strong jaw shadowed with a beard that was sprinkled here and there with white. There were still only a few white hairs at his temples. Well, she was nearly thirty-one. Not exactly a young maid. He looked good for his age, still as unfairly handsome as ever, but it wasn’t the face she was used to waking up to. It wasn’t the weathered face with the lines of sorrow etched into the corners of the eyes and mouth, it didn’t have that strong nose that had so enjoyed nuzzling her, that broad mouth that had kissed her so sweetly, those deep soulful eyes the color of the sea that had gazed at her so lovingly.

Bryn moaned as another wave of nausea went through her, and she rolled away and grabbed for the clean chamberpot that had been left by the bed. She heard the bed behind her creak as she heaved into the pot, only bile coming up. She soon sensed Vilkas kneeling by her and felt him pull her loose hair back then hold it there out of the way. Once the nausea passed he pressed a mug of water into her hand and she drank it down. Her light fizzled out, leaving them in near darkness. “I need to pee,” she whispered curtly.

“Aye,” he replied in kind, sensing her mood and wary of it. He got up and walked to the door of the tent, keeping his back to her.

When she finished she pulled back up her underclothes, clean ones, and while she need a bath she noticed that she smelled much better in general than she should have. She set the chamberpot aside and cast another light into the air then moved about the tent lighting the lanterns and candles. She noticed Vilkas was clean as well, wearing a cotton tunic and pants, the lightest clothing possible in the warm weather. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw him out of his ebony armor or the black doublet and pants that went beneath it. “Who washed me?” she asked in irritation.

“Siga.”

“And you helped her, I suppose?”

Hurt, Vilkas said in a bitter voice, “Ah, turning on me already. That was quicker than even I thought you would.” He heard her sharp intake of breath. “Yes, I helped her undress you and she did the washing. Would you have rather had Ralof or Galmar do it? Perhaps you would have preferred to be left bobbing in the bloody sea with the rest of the—” He cut himself off, shocked by his own sudden intense anger. He could have tolerated more coldness, but not her sniping at him. He knew she was upset and grieving, but she had no call to turn on him. He folded his arms and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to be patient with her, but he felt like he had almost nothing left in him after yesterday and today. He kept his tone neutral as he asked, “Do you want Siga or Ralof?”

“Siga.” Vilkas shoved the flap out of the way and called for the girl, practically radiating tension, and Bryn clamped her lips together to resist the urge to Shout him the rest of the way out of the tent. When the girl came in Vilkas left and she nearly screamed _Good riddance!_ at his retreating back, knowing all the time how unfair she was being. None of this was Vilkas’ fault. Vilkas was only trying to look after her. And yet just looking at him was driving her up a wall. Erandur had warned her that she might get moody. Well she was feeling moody, and she had every goddamn reason to be.

Siga curtseyed to Bryn and said, “Milady, are you hungry?” 

Bryn nodded, but when the girl turned away she said, “Wait.” Siga did so, and Bryn said in a rough voice, “I want his things put away.”

Siga’s face fell as she whispered, “Oh, milady, no—”

“Please.”

“Perhaps Ralof…”

“No. I won’t put him through that. I’ll get my own food, I just…when I get back, I want it all out of sight.”

“Aye, milady.”

Bryn left the tent, wearing a long cotton nightgown with her hair loose, giving not one single shit about how she looked. She heard a sound of dismay and saw Ralof coming towards her, looking freshly bathed, his hair damp, dressed similarly to Vilkas, though he was armed where Vilkas hadn’t been. There was a general air in camp of weariness, of quiet, as if now that the last of the Dominion seemed to have been destroyed no one had an ounce of strength or energy left in them. People bowed or curtseyed to her as she passed and she nodded to them. It wasn’t as if she had a monopoly on grief. Nearly everyone here had lost someone they cared about during this short but incredibly violent war.

“My lady,” Ralof whispered as he came up to her. “What are you doing out here?”

“Am I not supposed to be?” He blinked and leaned back, not sure how to answer that. “I’m hungry. Siga is putting some things away.”

“But…where is Vilkas?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

Ralof shook his head and said in a quiet tone of warning, “My lady, he’s only…” He trailed off as she suddenly turned her gaze on him, along with her full and utter attention, and the coldness in her eyes was chilling. “We both went looking for you,” he softly stated, unable to help coming to Vilkas’ defense. He had seen the look on the Harbinger’s face when he exited the tent, like he was ready to smash in the face of the next person that even looked at him funny. “We spent hours walking up and down that beach trying to find you. He sat at your side the entire time you slept. He’s exhausted—”

“Then maybe he should rest.” Ralof pursed his lips, frowning. “Every day. Every damn day he’s been right there, every time I turn around, for seven months now. I don’t need him hovering. I don’t want him hovering. He needs to give me some space.”

“And how would that look to everyone?”

“I don’t particularly care how I look.”

“I mean him, my lady. Like he’s been disgraced. It would shame him, and…I need his help. I don’t… I can’t do this alone.”

Bryn gazed at him for a long moment then her eyes narrowed as she quietly asked, “And just what is with this sudden sympathy you have for him, hm?”

Ralof swallowed and nervously said, “We spent a lot of time together today, my lady. We…we talked. I misunderstood a number of things that he set straight.”

“Such as, what, how a vision left our futures intertwined and predetermined? So what? That isn’t now. What the hell does he think is going to happen if he isn’t constantly watching me? Managing me? That’s what he thinks his job is now, doesn’t he? And so do you, and you’re both afraid that with Ulfric and Hadvar gone that you two aren’t up to the task.” Ralof’s jaw clenched as his mouth twisted. “I don’t need managing. I don’t need babysitting, or handholding. Just…go, Ralof. Take a break.”

“You’re setting us both up to fail,” he whispered resentfully. “You’re setting _me_ up to fail.”

Bryn shook her head at him and stated, “I just want to be left alone. I want to be _left the fuck alone,_ Ralof. Why is that so damn hard for…ugh, forget it.” She turned around and walked away, no longer hungry, struggling to not blow up at Ralof, and it grew even harder when she heard him following at a distance. She ignored him and walked towards the compound of tents that made up the hospital and the ‘temple’ that held the shrines of the Nine Divines. Better she do this now, while she was in a mood, while her cold anger might provide some kind of buffer against the pain. She knew she would regret it later if she didn’t, no matter how she wanted to take refuge in cowardice. She wasn’t a coward, and he…they…deserved this.

Ralof didn’t stop her as she went to the small tent away from the others, and she paused when she saw the makeshift memorial that had sprung up around the door of the tent. Amulets of Talos, more than she could count. Tiny wreaths woven from dry grass, some of them stained with blood that she was certain was Altmeri. Braided locks of Nord hair cut off in grief. Dried, bloody Elven ears. A tiny, rough-carved replica of Wuuthrad. A shield, an axe, a broken Elven sword. She could feel the intense cold leaking out around the edges of the door and it made a fresh surge of nausea go through her. Of course they were being kept cold, for obvious reasons. Reasons that suddenly made her want to wail. But she had to do this. It was only fair. Fair to them.

She shuddered and forced her feet to move, slowly pushing her way into the tent, and she let the flap fall closed behind her and nearly doubled over at the sight of Galmar buffing Ulfric’s armor as the priest of Arkay was gently sliding Ulfric’s helmet back over his head. “No.” Both men looked up in shock, and she held her hand out to the priest. “Leave it, just a moment longer,” she whispered.

“Don’t,” Galmar said in a low, rough voice. “Don’t remember them like this.”

“I know people think I need to weep. Don’t you think this might do it?” Galmar shook his head at her, then shook it more vigorously but looked away, back to the table. She moved on shaking legs to his side, and she choked out a breath of anguish at the sight of her husband’s face, slightly gray and waxy. The priest had sewn up his neck, enough to keep the head on. His mouth was slightly parted. Not tearing her gaze away, she whispered, _“Hun.”_ She cleared her throat and cried, _“HUN!”_

A shade appeared, a blond Nord woman in ancient steel plate armor. She looked around then her eyes landed on the dead men on the table. “Ah, those are faces I now know well!” Gormlaith said in ringing voice.

“They’ve made it into the Hall of Valor?” Bryn whispered.

“Aye, and the Hall rang with shouts of welcome, to greet two such heroes.” Gormlaith looked at Bryn. “Surely such words are little comfort to those left behind, Dragonborn. Still, they must be said. These two stood before our glorious Lord, and he placed his hands on their shoulders and told them, ‘Well done.’ The walls of the Hall of Valor echo with songs of their glorious deeds.”

Bryn whispered, “Tell them…” She swallowed as the first tear fell on her cheek. “Tell them it’s done. The war is over. I killed every single one of the Elves.”

“We are well aware, Queen of the Nords. We watch from Sovngarde, always. When the last Elf fell Ulfric led the song of victory with a mug in hand and his arm around Hadvar’s shoulders.”

Bryn heard a sound of grief from Galmar and asked Gormlaith, “Do they miss me?”

Gormlaith made a laughing sound of derision. “There is no grief or tears in Sovngarde, Dragonborn. Only glad sounds, songs of valorous deeds, endless feasting and drinking and dancing.”

“And that is why I’ll be damned before I let my soul get dragged to such a hellish place.” The ancient hero stared at her in shock, then she sighed and faded away.

Galmar stared at Bryn, who was gazing at Ulfric’s face with almost anger. He quietly said, “He’s at rest, my lady. You can’t begrudge him that.” It was comforting to hear that Ulfric and Hadvar were safe in Shor’s Hall, that Shor himself had taken note of them and welcomed them.

“I begrudge him nothing. He should be able to be perfectly happy and forget his cares. And that is what that place makes the dead do: forget. Ulfric will sing and drink and eat and tell stories. So will Hadvar. They will never sleep, never dream, never want, never cry. Hadvar will think of what might have been with Onmund with, what, faint regret? Will Ulfric ever wonder about our son and ache to hold him? Are they allowed even that?” Galmar didn’t answer, his expression one of disquiet. She went on, “It’s as if what makes a person truly who they are is stripped away, leaving a two-dimensional shadow that exists only for Shor’s entertainment. It’s as if Sovngarde is another plane of Oblivion and Shor is the Daedric Prince who rules over it.”

“By the Nine, girl!” Galmar said in horror. The priest of Arkay was standing at the end of the end of the table with his mouth hanging open, his eyes huge.

Bryn said nothing more, reaching out to hesitantly touch Ulfric’s forehead. His skin was cold, with a rubbery texture, but when she petted his hair it was still him. “I want one of his braids, Galmar.”

“Aye,” he whispered. He took the small knife from his belt and gently sawed off the braid at Ulfric’s right temple, careful not to jostle the head much. He placed it in her hand then put his own over it. “You have to be careful,” he murmured to her. “Don’t take away people’s comfort. Your people.”

“I would never do that. I know that everyone who lost someone here is taking comfort in the thought that they’re in Sovngarde. I know that.” She put her other hand over Galmar’s and he gave her a squeeze. “But…by Akatosh, it seems a terrible fate. I would lose my mind there, what little I would be allowed to keep. No challenge, no…no depth to anything. I _need_ the struggle, Galmar. I need the highs and lows. I need… something to push against.” She could feel it again, that sensation that she was too full for her skin, that this body was too small, too confining, her soul too large to be contained. She felt Galmar tense next to her as the priest of Arkay stiffened, nearly dropping Ulfric’s helmet. The aura, then. She still couldn't tell when it was there or not other than by people's reactions. Galmar’s hands fall away from hers and she let him go, and he watched as she reached up and undid the clasp of her Amulet of Talos then held it out to the priest, who took it with a trembling hand. “Put that on him, please,” she requested. “After I go.”

“Yes, my lady,” he said with a quick nod.

“I am done with Talos. My prayers go only to _Bormahu_ now, Akatosh Our Father.” She was tempted to fly Odahviing to Kvatch, to pray in the Chapel of Akatosh there, but that would upset people if their Queen simply flew away, effectively abandoning them, albeit temporarily. “I want to stop in Kvatch, on the way home,” she told Galmar. “I want to visit the Chapel there. Get a new amulet.”

“Yes, my lady,” he mumbled.

She glanced at the priest and said, “Could you leave us please, for just a few minutes.” The man nodded, placing the helmet on the table then bowing and hurrying out. Bryn took a deep breath then leaned down and kissed Ulfric’s forehead, squeezing the braid in her hand, feeling a swell of grief, but no more tears fell. It was as if she simply couldn’t get them out. She petted her husband’s hair as she said to Galmar, “I need you, Galmar.”

“Aye, my lady.”

“And I need you to stop calling me that in private.”

He sighed and said, “All right.”

“I’m…sorry. For being hard. For being cold. One day I’ll even be sorry for shutting out Vilkas. However right now this is how it is.” She looked down at Ulfric then glanced at Hadvar, but he still had his helmet on. His steel plate was dented and pierced, stained with blood. She reached out and flipped up the visor, and the partly opened eyes and slack expression on his face made her quickly shut it again. She turned back to Ulfric and stroked along his jaw, feeling the thick beard, detesting that he would soon be shut away in a casket to rot, as would Hadvar. The Dunmer were on to something there, cremating their dead to spare them that indignity. “Did Hadvar ever tell anyone what he wanted? If he fell?”

“No. I think…I think the lad never expected to.” He’d been a humble young man, but he’d always operated on the certainty that failure wasn’t an option. Not that he had failed. Not even close.

“I’ll send him home to Riverwood, then. I'll take him there myself.” She petted Ulfric’s hair, feeling a deep despair, and still the tears wouldn’t come. “I want a stone sarcophagus constructed for Ulfric. Next to the Shrine of Talos that overlooks Windhelm. I think he would have liked that.” She’d never allowed Ulfric to talk about it, what to do with his body when that inevitable day came. She refused to have him shut away in the Hall of the Dead in a wooden box. He was a hero, a man who could have been King. He should have something grand but simple, should rest in the shadow of his beloved Talos. It would be a place she could take Fjonnar to when he was older, so the boy could lay his hand on the stone and look out over Windhelm. The boy would be raised to be proud of the name Stormcloak, while being made fully aware of the flaws that had made his father who he was.

“I’ll see it done,” Galmar whispered.

“Someone else—”

“No. No, it’s my duty, and…I want to do it,” he said gruffly. “You’re right; he would’ve liked that.”

“I’d like it if you were a grandfather to the boy.”

“I already promised Ulfric I would be.”

“Do you hate me? For saving your life?”

Galmar looked at her with an expression of dismay. “Gods no! How the hell can you say that?” He’d resented it at first, but the resentment hadn’t been aimed at her. She hadn’t known he was there when she healed herself and Vilkas. He’d been so close though. He’d just started seeing the aurora in the skies of Sovngarde then he’d been pulled away again. He still would have preferred to follow Ulfric, but he hadn’t, and so he would live. He still had a woman to go home to, daughters and a granddaughter, and Ulfric’s boy would be born in the spring and breathe new life into the Palace.

“Just making sure. When we get back to Windhelm, I’m sending Vilkas home. So that he doesn’t end up hating me as well.”

“He doesn’t have it in him, and do you think that’s wise? I thought…”

“That’s the future. If I don’t send him away that future may not happen. He’s been too close through all this. He needs to be away from me, so we can both come to terms with what the war has done to us. He needs to go back to Whiterun and be with the Companions and sort things out, and I need to sort out my own thoughts and feelings without his interference. Even the sight of him is an intrusion at this point. I want to be alone. I want to be alone in our home with thoughts of Ulfric for a while. Ulfric deserves that.”

Galmar took a deep breath then slowly let it out, nodding. This was exactly what he had meant when he’d told Vilkas yesterday that losing Ulfric wouldn’t cut her heart out. Vilkas was too invested in Bryn, too emotional and intense, to see her clearly right now. He worried so much about her that he couldn’t quite see that she would be all right without someone constantly holding her hand. She had seen Ulfric’s death coming for so long that Galmar had to wonder if it had almost been anticlimactic for her when it came. Well, going home would be the painful part, and maybe that was when the weeping would finally start. Trying to live in a Palace that was soaked in Ulfric’s spirit would be hard as hell, but Galmar knew with utter certainty that Bryn was going to change things there before long. Dunmer would start working in the Palace, the little prince would be born and start running around—

“I’d like it if your daughters came by the Palace more often,” Bryn said thoughtfully. “I feel I barely know them. I’d like it if my children grew up alongside theirs.”

“Aye, that…that would be a good thing.”

Bryn leaned down and placed one final kiss on Ulfric’s forehead, then each cheek, silently saying goodbye, knowing if she actually said the words that the dam might burst. She opened Hadvar’s visor one more time, closing his eyes for him and pushing his jaw shut to kiss his lips, her heart aching for Onmund, not sure how she was going to tell him his fiancé was gone. She would still invite him to come to the Palace, to work towards replacing Wuunferth, though she would understand if he declined. Hadvar’s loss was the hard part. He was always there at her left hand, always steady, always calm. Losing him would take a while to get over, though it would be even harder for Ralof. Intense, emotional Ralof. She supposed he would be fine, eventually. He had grown up a great deal this year. His defending Vilkas and backtalking her a little while ago was proof of that. She was glad he could do that, finally.

She kissed Galmar’s cheek then patted his shoulder and left, and the warmth outside was like a slap in the face, the air thick and cloying after the fresh chill of the tent. The priest bowed to her then hurried back inside to his charges. Ralof was standing there, and from the mournful look on his face it was obvious he had heard every word she and Galmar had said. Not that she had been trying to be quiet. “I’m hungry now, Ralof,” she stated, pulling her hair back over her shoulders. It was nearly back to the length it had been when she’d left the Imperial City. It had been an annoyance to keep braided up and and out of the way in battle but Ulfric had loved it and so she hadn’t cut it. She would leave it, maybe let Lydia trim the ends a bit for her when she returned to Windhelm. Lydia would be waiting there for her, with Farkas, Bryn was sure of it. 

“Yes, my lady,” he murmured. He’d noticed the priest holding the Queen’s amulet, and while it made his heart ache it was touching. Her idea for Ulfric’s resting place was perfect, exactly the kind of memorial Ulfric would have wanted. He let his anxiety go and walked at her side to the mess tent, and while everyone gave her a wide berth it was done out of respect, and maybe a touch of fear, though a healthy one. She would be all right, Ralof was sure of it now, after hearing everything that had been said in the tent, including the spirit’s reassuring words about Ulfric and Hadvar. The Queen had never been meant for Sovngarde, but Ralof still wanted that. Any true Nord would. The fact of the matter was that the Dragonborn was really a dragon wearing a Nord’s skin, and everybody just needed to accept that, including Galmar. And Vilkas. Ralof understood now that Vilkas did need to go his own way, if only for a few months. Bryn would be fine, and unfortunately Vilkas wouldn’t be if he continued to hang around. He just hoped the Queen found some kindly way to do the deed.


	73. Chapter 73

_Home,_ Bryn thought with a bittersweet pang as she stared at the long bridge leading into Windhelm. _I’ve brought you home, ahmuli._ The snow was falling softly, now that it was early fall. The walls were high and forbidding, decorated with the stone heads of ravens, cold and unwelcoming to most. She had once been certain that she would never feel at home in the gray city where the sun rarely shone. It felt like ages ago. It was Ulfric who had made it feel like home to her, and now she had to go in there and look at their room, and his things, and sleep in their bed alone.

Seeing the first real anguish he had seen on his Queen’s face, Ralof sighed heavily and got down from his horse, handing it off to the Altmer stable master, unable to help looking at the mer’s face and seeing an enemy. It was unfair, and hopefully would go away in time, but for now that was how it was. He held the reins of Bryn’s horse and she stared at him for a moment before slowly dismounting. Ralof looked over at the Harbinger, who gazed back coldly. Vilkas hadn’t said a word in days, which was unusual for a man who always had _something_ to say, but Ralof was well aware of why. Well aware of the tension and resentment between the Harbinger and the Queen that had done nothing but build since they had returned to Skyrim a little over a week ago. Ralof had tried talking to Vilkas but the man was as stubborn as mule, refusing to leave Bryn’s side even when the Queen seemed ready to Shout him into Oblivion. He simply wasn’t getting it, even when Ralof told him point blank that he was driving Bryn up the wall with his hovering. Nothing Ralof said made an impression, and so he had given up. 

They had taken the westernmost pass into Skyrim and more than a few Nords had broken down in tears to be back in their homeland, to feel crisp air and smell snow and pines. The army started breaking up once they entered Falkreath hold, Thongvor leading his host of warriors from The Reach, Hjaalmarch and Haafingar towards the northwest while the others headed east toward Helgen. Bryn had diverted long enough to travel to Riverwood with Hadvar’s casket, to deliver the official news of his death personally and see him buried, something that had devastated Ralof, but his own family’s relief to see him alive soothed him, if only a little. The contingents from The Pale and Whiterun headed on from there, and Bryn had suggested to the Harbinger that he simply go home. That was the last time Vilkas had spoken to anyone, seething silently ever since.

The men of The Rift, Winterhold and Eastmarch headed east, though Bryn’s party turned north well before reaching Riften. Korir and his men had parted from Bryn not ten minutes ago, though the warriors of Winterhold had been few, his hold the most sparsely populated. The redheaded Jarl bore a letter from Bryn to Onmund, telling him officially of Hadvar’s loss and the circumstances around it, and giving him Hadvar’s enchanted dragonscale shield. She had told him that there was a place for him in her court, that she had told Hadvar that before they had ever left Skyrim, and that no matter what he decided she would see him soon, as she still had a great deal of studying to do in Winterhold.

Vilkas got down from his horse, one that had been given to him back in Cyrodiil. A female Altmer suddenly grabbed his reins and he recoiled from her, startled, and she blinked fearfully, her pale green eyes huge in her face. “S-Sir,” she whispered. “Your, ah, your horse.”

“Arivanya,” Bryn called. The mer shivered and backed away from Vilkas then hurried to the Queen. She was well aware of the Eastmarch warriors watching, those who had made it this far and hadn’t split off for their own farms and villages on the way. Ulundil watched fearfully, clutching the reins of Ralof’s horse. When the Altmer woman came near Bryn smiled gently at her and lightly touched her shoulder. Arivanya relaxed, and Bryn assured her, “You and Ulundil are citizens of Skyrim, of Eastmarch and Windhelm. If anyone troubles either of you, you’ll tell me, won’t you?”

“Yes, milady,” she murmured. She relaxed and nodded, smiling briefly. “Of course, milady.” The Dragonborn had saved her life once before, from The Butcher, and was known to have not a whit of prejudice in her. And she was half-Altmer of course, which was easy to forget when she was standing there in her dragonscale armor with two long braids hanging down in front of her like a Nord shield-maiden of old.

“I am the Jarl of Eastmarch now. I won’t tolerate racism in my city, my hold or my country. It doesn’t matter what we just came back from doing.”

“Yes, milady. I’m…sorry, for your loss.” Not particularly sorry that the man was gone, but sorry that the Queen had lost a husband who had clearly been quite devoted to her.

“Thank you, Arivanya. I’m carrying his child. A son. He’s due in the spring.”

The mer took Bryn’s hand and smiled hesitantly at her. “We’ve heard, but…oh milady, that’s wonderful. That’s…that’s a spot of sunshine in the gray.”

“He will be. I’ll make sure of it. He’ll be a Jarl of the people. All of them.” She gently squeezed the mer’s hand then let go. She walked past Vilkas, not sparing him a glance, and went to where Galmar stood beside the wagon that held Ulfric’s casket. It was heavy Colovian oak, tightly sealed and impervious to the elements, but every so often she could swear she caught a whiff of death from it that made her want to start wailing in horror. It was no doubt her imagination but it haunted her all the same. She put her hand on Galmar’s shoulder then climbed into the back of the wagon. She was three months along now and rarely suffered nausea these days, but if she got even a hint of— No, she wouldn’t think about it. Wouldn’t think about what state his body must be in now, nearly five weeks after his death. She’d go mad if she did.

Bryn raised her voice and cried, “Warriors of Eastmarch! Sons and daughters of the snow!” They raised their weapons and shouted in response. “Ulfric smiles upon you from Sovngarde. I know this to be true.” They shouted again, many holding each other, tears in almost every eye. It was nearly enough to get to her, finally. Nearly. She pointed to the statue of Talos to the southwest. “Ulfric will be laid to rest there, so that he and mighty Talos both may watch over our city.” She put her hand over her chest and went on, “I thank you from the bottom of my heart for answering the call to defend your homeland. You all fought willingly, courageously, to keep Tamriel free from oppression. Know that if any of you ever have need, you or your kin, you have but to ask and your Jarl and Queen will be there for you.”

Another cheer went up, and Vilkas swallowed the lump in his throat as Bryn jumped down, wincing a bit as she put her hand over her abdomen. Ralof and Galmar both rushed to her side but she held up her hand, letting them know she was fine. As she began walking through the mass of troops, making sure to look each one on the eye and embrace him or her, he nearly lost it. It would take her half an hour at least to make her way through them all, but the gesture meant everything to the people of Eastmarch who had followed her this far, only some of whom lived in the area; many had come along to pay their final respects to Ulfric and to make sure their Queen and her heir made it home. All that, and yet Bryn had nothing for him. Not a look, not a smile. No thanks whatsoever for following her to war. For guarding her back. For helping her win. For being a friend to Ulfric. For anything.

“Vilkas!”

The familiar voice made him close his eyes for a second before turning, and the sight of his twin and sister-in-law made his chin tremble. Farkas swept him up in a hug and Vilkas began to weep, unable to hold it in and not at all inclined to. “Farkas, Farkas,” he choked. “Gods, it’s…so good to…”

Farkas closed his eyes and held him tightly, his own tears spilling over. He felt Lydia’s arms go around them both, but all he could see right now was the sight of Ulfric’s casket in the back of the wagon. He sniffed and kissed his brother’s temple but didn’t let go, feeling Vilkas shaking like a leaf. Stories had trickled into Skyrim from the start, but it had only been since the bards had come back ahead of the army that real word had started getting around. The North Wind. The Killing Frost. Ysmir’s icy breath. Wuuthrad in human form. Ysgramor reborn. Farkas couldn’t begin to grasp the things his brother had done to deserve those names. They were a matter of pride, and yet…it had to have done something to him to kill like that. People said he’d killed thousands of Elves. Maybe it was an exaggeration, but…maybe it wasn’t. The ebony armor was nearly gray with scratches and dents and cuts and smelled, well, kind of bad, and it was clearly enchanted now, as was the sword faintly hissing on his back. Farkas tried to push Vilkas out to arm’s length and his twin wouldn’t let him, so he resigned himself to holding him for a while. Vilkas clearly needed it.

Vilkas wept, “It’s like I’m nothing to her. Invisible.”

“Oh Vilkas,” Lydia whispered painfully. Seeing her husband’s twin so broken up like this was terrible. This was so much worse than when he had come back from Solstheim. Back then he had simply missed Bryn and what they had, but this time he seemed deeply distressed. Deeply hurt.

“I haven’t seen her shed one tear.”

“Neither did Aela,” Farkas reminded him. “Bryn knew this was coming. She started grieving years ago.”

“Ever since we left home she’s been cold. Nothing but cold. What the hell did I do to deserve this? Where did I go wrong? It’s like she hates me now!”

Lydia looked up at her husband and saw his expression was tight, frowning deeply as he looked out at Bryn moving through the soldiers. She took both men’s arms and said, “Come on. Let’s go inside. To the house.”

Farkas said, “But Bryn—”

“Your brother needs us more.” Farkas nodded, looking troubled. Lydia grabbed up Vilkas’ packs and followed the two men as Farkas put his arm around Vilkas’ shoulders and led him to the city gates, which were standing open. Lydia had to be thankful that they had left Jergen with Mjoll and Aela; he didn’t need to see his uncle crying, though it wasn’t a sure thing that he would even remember Vilkas. It pained Lydia to turn her back on her thane and Queen, her friend, but Bryn was clearly coping if she hadn’t cried and was able to give that little speech and move among her troops. Not that she shouldn’t have done so. The people loved her and the warriors should feel valued, should know that their Queen appreciated the sacrifices they had made to follow her. But it wasn’t right that Vilkas was this badly wounded. It wasn’t right at all.

They got him to Hjerim, ignoring the looks of morbid curiosity or sympathy they got as they walked through the city. Vilkas clung to his brother as if for dear life, and by time they reached the house Lydia couldn’t help being furious with Bryn, because she was at the root of all this. Lydia understood why Bryn had done it; after they had set off for war, every time the sun rose it meant it could end up being Ulfric’s last day on Nirn. Bryn had given everything to her husband and there had simply been nothing left over for Vilkas, and there he was in close proximity to his mate, in a war zone, getting no comfort from her whatsoever. It wasn’t Bryn’s fault that Vilkas was bound to her, but she could have handled it with more kindness. It wasn’t Vilkas’s fault either, and she hoped to hell that Bryn hadn’t acted like it was.

Calder came out, and he grimaced when he saw the mess that was Vilkas. Lydia handed the packs to Farkas then motioned for him to take Vilkas to the guest room, and once they were on their way she said to Calder, “I’ll help you get a bath going.” The housecarl nodded, looking concerned.

Farkas led Vilkas into the guest bedroom and closed the door then gently pushed his twin into a chair, and Vilkas sat there staring at him with haunted eyes. Farkas clucked his tongue and knelt in front of him, gazing at him for a moment before reaching out to take his gauntlets off for him. “I wish I had never met her,” Vilkas said in anguish. “Never touched her.” He had never wished that before, and it broke something in him to realize it now.

“Hey,” Farkas soothed. “Things are shitty right now. Let it settle.”

“I think she would be glad if she never saw me again.”

“Then go home.” Vilkas made a sound of pain, and Farkas started on the buckles of his cuirass. “I mean it, Vilkas. All you’re doing at this point is hurting each other. Go home before you actually start to hate each other.”

Vilkas whispered, “That’s what Ralof said.”

“Well if we’re both saying it then you should.”

“I promised Ulfric I would take care of her!”

“You can’t if she won’t let you.” He helped Vilkas pull off the cuirass and set it aside. “You’ve been living in each other’s pockets too long, under bad conditions. Give her some space. Give yourself some too.” Vilkas sighed heavily then bent over to pull off his boots. “You both need to get away from each other for a while. Aela didn’t want anyone around when she was grieving Skjor. There isn’t anything wrong with that.” Farkas picked up one of the gauntlets and looked it over with the trained eye of a smith. “The leather has salt damage. Did you go in the ocean?” It would explain some of the funky smell. It would be okay long enough to get Vilkas home, but after that the armor would have to be completely restored and every bit of leather replaced.

“Aye, Ralof and I…” He tossed the boot aside. “A bloody ocean. Literally. When Bryn finished it she left the beach littered with Elven bodies. The sea was red with their blood. We found her floating facedown in it.” He shuddered and Farkas looked horrified. “The water was warm, too, warm and bloody. It was appalling. She looked like one of the corpses. We needed a mage’s help to find her. She has a magic ring that kept her from drowning.” He pulled off the other boot and threw it next to the other. “I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he whispered.

“Okay. But the baby’s fine?”

“I suppose,” Vilkas said bitterly. He shrugged and stood to start pulling off the ebony plates on his legs. “She would have to actually talk to me for me to know. After all, why should I need to know? I’m only expected to help her raise the boy. Why involve me in the pregnancy in any way?”

“Vilkas,” Farkas murmured with worry. He had never seen his brother like this, not since the days right after Bryn had left him, and even then there hadn’t been this nasty edge to him. Not like this. Back then Vilkas had deserved it and knew it; this time he hadn’t. Not at all.

“I was fine as long as Ulfric was there. I grew to love him, Farkas. And then he was gone and I had no one left to turn to.”

“Well, you’ve never had an easy time letting people get close.”

“He didn’t give me a choice,” he whispered. “No choice at all.” Ulfric had gotten under his skin no matter how Vilkas had tried to keep him at a distance. “But the worst of it…Hadvar was so young. Not even thirty. He was supposed to be getting married, when we got back.”

“Oh no,” Farkas sighed. He hadn’t known that.

“A mage up at the College of Winterhold, an old friend of Bryn’s. Onmund. Hadvar proposed to him right before we left. He was going to come here, live in the Palace and train to take the old court mage’s place. We detoured to Riverwood on the way here, so Bryn could speak to Hadvar’s family and see that he was given a proper burial with honors. He was an only child. His parents were devastated, even if they had already heard.”

Farkas said in a tone of deep sorrow, “That’s…shitty. Gods, that’s just shitty.” Hadvar had been a very likable young man, easy-going. It had been impossible not to take to him, and Bryn had loved him a great deal.

Vilkas took a deep breath then wiped his nose on his sleeve, too filthy to care. “Ralof though, he’s matured,” he conceded. “He’s stepped up without Hadvar around. Gotten firmer with her, cut back on the smartass comments to everyone else. He expected Ulfric to fall, but not Hadvar. None of us did.” Idgrod’s vision of a second casket had bothered Vilkas all along, but he’d expected it to be Galmar if anyone. Galmar had nearly made it a third.

“Any idea who will take Hadvar’s place?”

“No. Yrsarald for now. He is taking Galmar’s position as housecarl in the Palace, so it most likely won’t be all the time. Galmar is retiring. Ulfric’s death was hardest on him. They’ve been close since they were little more than babes. He nearly died, you know. He would have if Bryn hadn’t cast a healing spell that affected our immediate area. He was buried under Altmer bodies, nearly dead.” He pulled off the doublet and threw it aside, and he saw his twin looking him over for new scars. He snorted a wry laugh and said, “Hardly took a scratch. Ulfric and Hadvar dead, and I hardly got hit at all. How’s that for luck?”

“Luck had nothing to do with it. You’re the best and Ulfric got targeted and Hadvar tried to protect him.” Or at least that was the tale the Bards were spinning.

“The best,” Vilkas laughed softly, though it had a bitter edge to it. “I was a butcher, Farkas. A fucking butcher.” His brother stared at him evenly, not shying away from the statement, or him.

“You did what you had to do.” He put his hands on his twin’s shoulders. “I’m taking you home. Tomorrow.”

“I can’t,” Vilkas said miserably. “I can’t leave her when she’s pregnant.” Every instinct in him told him to stay close to her, to protect her and take care of her, and she was making it impossible for him.

Farkas put his hand behind Vilkas’ neck and said firmly, “Listen to me. She will _destroy_ you if you stay here. She doesn’t mean to do it but she can’t help it. You can’t help how you feel either. Believe me, I know. So you have to get away from her.”

“And what if she never calls me back?”

“That isn’t going to happen. And maybe having you leave on your own will finally get through to her.” It hurt to think it, but maybe Vilkas needed to hurt her back a little to make her wake up and see what she was doing to him. Ulfric had been dead for over a month now while Vilkas was still suffering. Farkas never wanted to see his brother in a state like this ever again. He gave Vilkas a little shake. “Tomorrow. Leave the horse here. We’ll take our time walking home.” It would give Vilkas some quiet time, away from everyone but Farkas, give him time to talk things out, get the worst of it off his chest.

Vilkas stared at his twin for a moment, then nodded and whispered, “All right.” Farkas smiled at him, and he made a sound of pain and grabbed him into a hug. “I’ve never been as glad to see anyone as I was to see you. Never.” It took a little bit of the weight off his shoulders to finally have someone he trusted to talk to. Someone he knew would take care of him.

“We’ll get it all sorted out. I promise.” He felt Vilkas nod then heard another sniff then he started to shake again, and Farkas growled in mixed hurt and anger as he held him and Vilkas started quietly weeping again. It was upsetting as hell to see what the war had done to his brother. What Bryn had done to him. Granted, Vilkas had done some of it to himself, probably holding himself away from others, letting only a chosen few get close, letting the mating bond get the better of him. Vilkas had probably driven Bryn crazy, and then she had turned around and handled it poorly. Farkas had to wonder if the two of them would ever be able to have a normal relationship, though he supposed having kids would provide some kind of buffer. They just had to get through this initial mess first. Vilkas had to get straightened out first, and Farkas was going to be the one to do it. Lydia could deal with Bryn. Like it or not, Farkas had his priorities, and right now his twin brother was it.  
-  
The soft whisper of robes drew Bryn’s attention away from the ivory dragon, and she slowly pulled her eyes away from it to see Erandur walk into the room, through the door she had left open. He rubbed his upper arms then drew his hands into his sleeves. “Would you like me to light the fire for you, my lady?” he asked. She slowly shook her head then turned her gaze back to the dragon.

“I’m a terrible person, Erandur,” she murmured. “Why can’t I cry? I thought here of all places I could do it, and still nothing is happening.” She hadn’t wept when her _zeymahhe_ took their leave of her, stating their intention to fly to Skuldafn and tell their brethren tales of the glorious _fahliil kein_ and then sleep off their heavy feeding. She hadn’t wept when she walked through the city, Ulfric’s city, the horses drawing the cart to the courtyard in front of the Palace where it could sit in state while his sarcophagus was constructed. She hadn’t wept when Rikke and Galmar greeted each other, sobbing and declaring their love for each other where everyone could see it. She hadn’t wept to see the portrait in the main hall draped with black fabric, covering it completely. She hadn’t wept when she came up here to the room they had shared, where they’d spent so many quiet moments, where they’d had their worst fights, where they’d made such warm and wonderful love so many times. She hadn’t wept when she touched his clothes in the wardrobes, when she’d seen his house boots sitting by a chair. She hadn’t wept to sleep in their bed alone last night, or when she had found several of his blond and silver hairs in the bed when she woke.

She hadn’t wept this morning when she’d come downstairs to see Farkas standing by the throne, her throne, a tense look on his face, and he’d told her he was sorry he hadn’t gotten to spend any time with her but he was leaving, because Vilkas was too and his brother needed him. Her eyes had drifted to the dark figure in the distance by the bronze doors, hunched in on himself like a wounded wolf, sullen resentment burning in his eyes as he glared at her. Vilkas had stared at her for a long moment, waiting, not bothering to hide how deeply wounded and angry he was, then his lip had twitched as if he was fighting not to sneer at her, the way he used to at the very start. Then he had turned his back on her and left. She had finally pushed him to the point of leaving her. But then they weren’t together, where they? He couldn’t leave her if they weren’t together. Maybe his instincts told him they were, but she wasn’t held hostage to any such thing.

“Do dragons cry?” he asked.

“They can grieve. They keen, but they don’t weep.”

“You’ve been grieving for years now, my lady.”

Bryn quietly demanded, “Please don’t call me that in here. I beg you.”

“As you wish.” 

He shivered again in the cold and Bryn sighed and slowly knelt down to light the fire, sending gentle wisps of flame into the fireplace. As the tinder and kindling caught she told him, “You know, you’re the first Dunmer, the first mer, to ever come up here. As far as I know.”

“An honor, then.” He moved closer to the growing fire. His eyebrows rose and he took in the jeweled Paragons and the ivory dragon. “Such treasures,” he murmured. “This is the gift from the Emperor, I take it?”

“The dragon? Yes. Mammoth ivory. It’s the most wondrous thing I’ve ever seen crafted.” She rose to her feet, feeling a twinge of discomfort in her abdomen. Her belly was still flat, but the growing child was definitely making his presence known, the ligaments down there stretching, a general feeling of heaviness in her womb. “I wonder at times if one of his moth priests saw what I would become and told him. I can’t explain the extra forelimbs any other way.” She had never thought to ask Mede; every time they met there were of course more pressing matters at hand. She had met with him at the end of the war, the two armies converging near Kvatch to formally declare victory, which of course was easy to do when not one member of the Aldmeri Dominion remained alive on Imperial soil to contest it. Mede had then told her to go home, to rest and grow her child and look after her people, and she had gladly done so.

“Quite possible.”

It was quiet for several moments as the Dark Elf soaked up the warmth from the fire, and when she moved to add more wood to it he stopped her and did so himself, which she was grateful for. She had the feeling she wasn’t going to be a very gracious pregnant woman. The tiny discomforts she had experienced so far had left her feeling helpless. Mortal. Erandur stayed down by the fire, and when he settled cross-legged next to it she was glad for his company. Like most Dunmer he was quiet, unobtrusive. Restful. They were the complete opposite of Bosmer, who were all like coiled springs. Probably why she had never had much patience for Wood Elves, charming as they could be in tiny doses.

She stayed standing as she quietly asked, “Am I a bad person, Erandur?” She’d noticed he hadn’t commented on that earlier.

Erandur said in a wry tone, “Hm, well, you’re very good for a dragon.” She laughed shortly at that. “What is your worry? Vilkas, perhaps?” She sighed heavily and nodded. “It could have been handled differently, I’ll admit. He’s deeply hurt. He’s angry, with you. His former nature has left him feeling as if you are his wife, and yet you gave him not even the comfort of friendship. The war was as hard on him as it was anyone else, and who did he have to turn to, to help him cope with it? Ulfric, for a while, and then he was gone, and Vilkas was left with no one. Not until he came here, and his brother was here for him.” Bryn’s lips pursed as she stared guiltily at the fire. “I don’t know the man, but he has an aura of kindness about him. It was wise of him to take Vilkas away from here. Vilkas needs him more than you do, and your friend Lydia is here.”

“Yes, and she’s angry with me too.” Lydia hadn’t come out and said it, and Lydia had been supportive, but distant. Bryn supposed she had made things that way. This coldness in her just wouldn’t melt. She wasn’t sure what it would take to melt it.

“She’s torn. She loves her brother by marriage. The fact that he shares a face with her husband makes it even harder to see him in pain.” He grimaced at a growing ache in his hip and started rising, and to his embarrassment the Queen helped him to his feet, nearly causing him to become airborne for a second. She brought over a chair for him, and he bowed and said, “Quite kind, my lady. Thank you.”

“If I may ask…just how old are you, Erandur?”

He smiled at that, saying, “I was wondering when you would ask. I’m not entirely sure, to tell you the truth. I remember that I was a young adult when we heard news that Nerevar had been reborn and had destroyed the Tribunal. I was already an acolyte of Vaermina then. So I’m not quite three hundred, I think.”

“The things you must have seen.”

“Not as much as you would think. Certainly much less than you have seen, or will see. I grew up in The Pale, you know. That land was my home for most of my life...and for a Dunmer, that's quite a statement, I assure you." He folded his hands within the sleeves of his robe. “There are Dunmer twice my age who are twice as spry. Some of us have lived for a thousand years, those who have lived comfortable lives, and a few for thousands, those who work frequently with magical energies. Telvanni mages and the like.”

Bryn rolled her eyes. _“Them.”_

Erandur looked at her with interest. “You’ve met one?”

“Yes, and he was one of the must insufferable bastards I’ve ever met, though I grew fond of him in spite of it. Vilkas…” She trailed off, feeling a pang of regret, brief and mild as it was. “Vilkas detested him,” she finished. Vilkas’ expression from that morning swam across her mind’s eye, the intense hurt and bitterness there. He’d stared at her with resentment but had obviously been waiting for her to say something, and when she hadn’t he’d left. Well, even if she had said something he was better off gone, away from her. Maybe going home to Whiterun with his brother, spending a few days on the road alone talking, would help him start healing. And for herself? Maybe it would take feeling the child move to warm her up again. Maybe even giving birth to him.

“The Harbinger will get over his hurts in time, if he’s given it. So will you, my friend.”

“Friend. Let’s hope I can figure out how to be one again.”

“Wanting to is the first step.” He smiled up at her and asked, “How are you feeling today, with the little one?”

“Fine, I suppose. The sickness is mostly gone. Only a little in the mornings. I keep feeling small pains, when I jostle my abdomen. Nothing major.” She sighed and looked toward the bed, a wave of dull grief overcoming her for a moment. Ulfric would have been a doting father, interested in every little thing about the pregnancy, would have been thrilled to feel the baby move. During the month he had known he had waited on her hand and foot, as much as he could, had been so tender and solicitous. And always Vilkas had been there in the background, aching to be part of it, always with that yearning in his eyes, and after the first day that she had found out about the pregnancy she had shut him out. He had tolerated not being able to truly be with her in Solstheim, because she had been warm to him, depended on him, treated him as a husband as much as she could, and yet in Cyrodiil she had given him nothing. His mate had been right there and he’d been denied at every turn, and once the pregnancy came she’d pushed him as far away as she could. It was no wonder he had been so distraught by time they got back. She was his mate, and she was pregnant with a child that felt to him like it was his, and she had been cold and distant.

His smile turned into a smirk as he said, “You could always send him a letter.”

She smirked back. “Are you reading my mind, priest?” He shrugged, giving away nothing. “And after all, I don’t have a good track record in that regard.”

“Something tells me Lady Mara wouldn’t be inclined to interfere this time.”

Bryn sighed, “I wouldn’t even know what to say at this point.”

“Tell him the truth. Tell him you only had enough to give Ulfric, while he was here. Tell him you regret causing him pain. Tell him you both need some time apart. Make him no promises, but give him at least that much.”

“Maybe I’ll go do that. I doubt I could sleep right now. I’m not tired.” She smiled at him and added, “Enjoy the fire if you’d like.”

“I actually think I might do that, my lady. Thank you.”

Bryn went down the stairs, pulling her robe around her. She was still reveling in the chill of Skyrim. Windhelm was due for its first blizzard of the season any week now. She thought when it came she might like to have a snowball fight, with whoever she could get involved. She wished she had thought to do that with Ulfric, though he probably would have been utterly confused as to what the point of it was supposed to be.

As she passed Rikke and Galmar’s door it was closed and she heard quiet voices inside, and it made her smile sadly. No doubt the last of Galmar’s wish that he could have followed Ulfric to Sovngarde was gone now, after seeing Rikke’s overwhelming joy yesterday at the sight of him, after seeing his daughters sobbing hysterically and holding his little granddaughter in his arms, though he was a stranger to her at this point. Bryn wondered if Rikke knew just how close to Sovngarde her man had come.

When she opened the door to the sitting room she saw Yrsarald and Ralof talking, and they stood as she entered the room. She had to admit that Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced was a fine-looking man in the same way Ulfric had been, with rugged features and a sizable nose and expressive eyes. He was also a genial bear of a man, with the biggest damn arms she had ever seen, and his ruddy cheeks dimpled when he smiled, which he did often. He still wore the bear armor of a Stormcloak officer, something she wasn’t inclined to change. She smiled briefly at them and said, “No need to get up. I’m just writing a letter. I can’t even think about sleeping right now.”

Yrsarald asked, “Would you like something warm to drink, my lady? Warm milk always helps my Ingie when she’s carrying.” His wife had delivered their second child not four months ago so he knew what he was talking about.

“I would like that, thank you.” He gave her a little bow and headed for the kitchen. She seated herself at the desk at the end of the room and picked up a piece of paper then stared at it. She heard Ralof come near and she asked him, “You and Yrsarald catching up?”

“Aye,” Ralof said with a nod.

“You’re not going to start calling me a milk drinker, are you?” Ralof chuckled at that, caught off guard. She sighed and kept staring at the paper as she murmured, “I wish Vilkas had gone to Whiterun when I told him to.”

“Eh, er…yes, my lady. So do I.” He hesitated then stated, “That’s a look I never want to see on anyone’s face. It could’ve been avoided if he’d listened to me.” She had told him over and over again to be honest with her. He had to keep doing that. Had to somehow manage to channel Hadvar until it became second nature on his own.

“I didn’t help matters.”

“Is he the one you’re writing to?”

“Yes.” She set the paper down, leaning back in the seat. “I can’t help noticing that you didn’t protest when I said I didn’t help matters.”

“Maybe matters couldn’t be helped.”

Bryn squinted one eye as she looked up at him and said, “Who are you, and what did you do with Ralof?” He laughed more loudly at that, the first real laugh she had heard out of him since Hadvar and Ulfric died. He folded his arms and leaned against the desk, wearing regular clothing of a tunic and fur vest and pants that she never saw him in. His armor was at Blacksmith Quarters for Oengul to repair and recondition, as was hers. She had taught the Master Smith everything she knew about dragon scales and bones, and his forge was good enough for the job. The leather was hopeless due to the salt damage and would have to be completely replaced, something that would take some time; she had told the Master Smith to focus on Ralof’s first as he needed it back more than she did. Frankly she was sick of wearing armor. Before long she simply wouldn’t be able to. She would have to order some maternity clothing from Radiant Raiment soon, something she could do by courier since the snooty sisters already had her measurements. The Dunmer tailors here also would be able to make her a few things.

Ralof’s smile faded, and he nibbled at his bottom lip before asking, “Does it feel…weird? To you. Being here.”

“Yes, it does,” she admitted. 

“It doesn’t seem real yet.”

“No, it doesn’t.” She looked up at the map of Skyrim on the wall, the one Ulfric, Galmar and Yrsarald had spent so much time bent over. “I had that problem fairly often, when I was adventuring non-stop. I was always in motion, always fighting, so much that I didn’t know what to do with myself when I was at rest. I kept telling myself I wanted something quiet, a cozy home where I could sit and do nothing if I wanted to. Honestly, I already miss being at war. I don’t miss seeing our kinsmen dying, but I miss the fighting, the sense of grand purpose it gave me. I know that most soldiers will have nightmares, some form of trauma from being in that situation, but I already know that I won’t. It only seems fair that I do, and yet…no.” Ralof didn’t reply to that, silent, as if letting her sort things out. She went on, “And I sent away the person who was most traumatized of all, with nary a word.”

Ralof made a huffing sound as he shook his head, unfolding his arms to grip the table to either side of him. “No. I’m sorry but no. I feel bad for him, my lady, I truly do, but…he expected too much of you. Whatever it was that he used to be—”

“Ah, so he did tell you about that.”

“Yes, on our way to find you, that last day. I was being a shit and he decided to shock the hell out of me and set me straight.” Bryn nodded slightly as she stared at the map. “Like I said, I feel bad for him. I don’t pretend to know much of anything about…those people, but he obviously can’t help how he feels. He has nature or whatever telling him one thing and the reality is something different, and he didn’t pay enough attention to reality. Whatever you two saw when you read the Scrolls, that is then, and this is now. He never asked you what you wanted from him. He only saw what _he_ wanted, and how he expected you to act.”

Bryn said in a tone of sad amusement, “Well, Ulfric always did say that Vilkas was a self-absorbed twat.” Ralof’s words were surprisingly wise, mature. Better late than never. Sometimes tragedy was what it took to make a man. And what had it made of her? It had made her more a dragon than ever, to the point where sometimes the body she wore confused her.

Ralof laughed quietly. He could see the Jarl saying that, in that dry way of his. He could practically hear Ulfric saying it right now. “I wouldn’t go that far, but yeah, a little self-absorbed.”

“He’s a very loving man, a good man, but…his vision is limited. He has a tendency to see only what’s right in front of him. So much of the time his thoughts center on me, on family, on the Companions, and during the war it was the same way, focusing on the battle immediately around him, on how to stay close to me while we fought. If you give him a task, a mission or a job to do, he will do it to his utmost. It’s how he’s achieved such mastery of weapons, by focusing on training to the exclusion of nearly everything else, and gods help me for saying so, it was why he was so fantastic in bed. But he gets fixated, as you’ve no doubt noticed this year. And it isn’t just his former nature doing it; it’s simply who he is. He’s brilliant, when he puts his mind to a thing, but he sometimes tends to put his mind to a thing too much. When he found out I was pregnant it made everything worse. His nature kept telling him ‘she’s mine, she’s carrying my child, I have to take care of her’ when all I wanted was to be with Ulfric. All I wanted was to give my husband everything I had in the time he had left, and Vilkas was always there. And then Ulfric was gone and all I wanted was space, and Vilkas was _always_ there, his nature pushing at him, and he let it drive him mad.”

“Ehh,” Ralof said with a shake of his head. “I told him you wanted to be left alone, my lady. I tried.”

“I know, and I appreciate that. But he didn’t want to hear it.”

“Maybe seeing it in print will get through to him. He has no right to be so angry and bitter. You didn’t hurt him on purpose. You didn’t do anything. And before you say it, you shouldn’t have had to.”

She sighed, “I could have been kinder.”

“I think you would have been, if you had it in you.” She lifted an eyebrow as she finally looked up at him, and he rubbed his forehead and muttered, “That didn’t come out right.”

“You’re right, it didn’t, but I still know what you meant. It’s all right.” She smiled briefly at him. “I’m glad, Ralof. Glad we can talk like this.” Glad they were finally becoming friends, though she didn’t want to jinx things by saying so. He smiled at her and he was like a ray of sunshine, his blue eyes sparkling, and—

Ralof’s smile fell as he watched Bryn blink owlishly as her expression went blank, as if she were looking at him and yet through him at the same time. Her eyes were dilated, leaving a sliver of gold around the black, and she slowly reached up and clutched at the Amulet of Akatosh that she had worn about her neck since visiting Kvatch. “What is it?” he whispered faintly.

_“Dii laat mon,”_ she muttered. _“Hinah? Nid…vokorasaal…”_ She saw the images start to roll past her field of vision as if the Dragon Scroll was in her hand…a yellow-haired blue-eyed daughter, much younger than her four siblings, who had all been born within two or three years of each other, a little ray of sunshine, the family pet, the cossetted little one, the surprise child no one had expected to see born at Bryn’s late age. A daughter with Ralof’s eyes and smile. _“Vir?”_ she murmured in confusion. “Vilkas _fund neh ofuun.”_ He had been willing to share with Ulfric, but that had been entirely different. He had grown to love Ulfric, and he had been desperate, willing to take whatever he could get, even if it had gone nowhere. She regretted not being able to give that gift to her husband, but it would have been unfair to Vilkas. He would have known her heart wasn’t in it. But this…she wasn’t even attracted to Ralof. How could that unexpected child ever be born…when, in her mid to late forties? How could that child possibly come about?

She vaguely heard Yrsarald’s footsteps and Ralof whisper to let her be, as if hearing them down a tunnel, distant from her, her mind too caught up in reviewing the visions the Elder Scroll had shown her. What if by seeing that vision, by having the possibility stuck in the back of her mind like a burr under a horse’s saddle, what if that made it come about? Did the Scroll write itself? Could she unwrite the possibility if she avoided anything that might make it happen? But what if by doing so she accidentally guaranteed that it would? It was possible that if she did avoid bringing that child about that the possibility would disappear, not only from possibility but from her own mind, as if it had never been, and then how would she even know that the possibility had ever existed? Except that she was _dovah,_ and _dov_ sensed Time in a way _joorre_ did not. The Elder Scrolls weren’t written until the event occurred, and if an event was foretold and then did not occur the possibility was removed along with any memory of it. Such a thing only made sense, as Father Akatosh liked things tidy, disliked eddies in the _Vennesetiid._

She sensed that she could grasp that untidy possibility and remove it, like plucking a leaf swirling in a stream, but did she really want to? She didn’t sense that the child would cause any strife in the family, didn’t sense that the girl’s birth or the circumstances of her conception would cause embarrassment to anyone or upset Vilkas. She felt no discord between her and Vilkas in that possible future. There was also the matter that if she removed the possibility that she would still remember it, and forever grieve the loss of a child that had never existed, and never would. In the end, it seemed that this sunshine child of Ralof’s would do no harm, and she let the possibility remain firmly possible. Still, the next fifteen years would be Vilkas’ alone. No sense hurrying along what would come in its own time, and it would have to come at Vilkas’ bidding.

She blinked and the room snapped into view, the visions disappearing like the pop of a soap bubble as she let go of the amulet. She smiled at Yrsarald and held out her hand, and he stared at her with big hazel eyes and slowly held out the mug of warm milk. _“Kogaan,”_ she said. He kept staring at her, and she cleared her throat and said, “Thank you.”

Ralof asked in a wary tone, “Are you all right, my lady?”

“Fine. I’m…sorry, if it worried you. It…” She took a deep breath and then a drink of milk. “I’m not sure what that was,” she murmured. She then realized that was a lie. She knew _what_ it was; she just didn’t know _why_ it was.

Yrsarald haltingly said, “You, eh, you ah…” He motioned at the space around her. “The dragon, my lady. For... minutes.” He had seen the aura before, here and there, mostly when she was extremely angry, but she hadn’t been angry just now, and it only lasted a few seconds when she was angry.

“I was…contemplating Time. The future.” She set the mug down and pulled the inkwell and quill towards her. “What was the name of that priest in the Chapel of Akatosh, in Kvatch, Ralof? Brother Florent, wasn’t it? The Breton who asked me all those questions about the dragons and the Scrolls I read.”

“Aye, my lady, Florent,” Ralof answered. 

Bryn nodded and began writing. “I’m going to invite him to come here to visit. In the summer, of course. Fjonnar will be manageable by then and the weather tolerable. Tolerable enough for his kind.”

“Uh, why?”

“I want his help setting up a Shrine of Akatosh. I could probably do it myself, but it wouldn’t seem right without the blessing of an actual priest. And I need to discuss some things with him. He seemed very knowledgeable.” The little old Breton had had the strangest glint in his eye while he talked to her. As if he had been studying her, or wanted to discuss something with her that might get him in trouble. Either that or he was a bit mad as priests sometimes were, but he hadn’t seemed to be.

“And weird.”

“Well then, he and I will get along perfectly, won’t we.” As she wrote out her invitation and a brief summary of the reason for it, she murmured to Ralof, “You did the right thing, what you said to Yrsarald. Next time it happens, if it does, let me be. It’s something I need to do.” She wasn’t sure why, but she felt more content now. As if she had done something important, for those few minutes. Taken care of a small but important chore. It was something like the relief she had felt when she had let Ulfric live. Yes, it was quite like that. She had stood there on the shore of the river of time, watching that leaf swirl in an eddy, _causing_ the eddy, and had known she could pluck that leaf from the river and smooth out the disruption it was causing, but that would have been crude, like taking a mallet to a problem that was better served by the delicate tap of a jeweler’s hammer. Instead she had gently taken hold of the leaf and corrected its course, sending it on its way down the stream, ending the disruption without causing damage. Sometimes it was better to take the time to unravel a knot than simply cut it out. Tidy. Efficient. Not-wasteful. 

A male now, he would have simply smashed through the problem. Males tended to see all problems as requiring tooth and claw and Shouting, when simple patience, a gentle touch and a whisper would sort things out just as well. Of course there were some problems that were so messy, so intractable, like the Aldmeri Dominion, that the only course of action was to completely remove it, like cutting out an arrowhead that had gotten lodged in a wound, causing it to fester. The trick was in knowing when to be gentle, and when to be ruthless. Maybe in a few weeks, once things had settled further, she would fly to Skuldafn to consult with _Wuth Gein_ and see what Paarthurnax had to say. He was male, but his long centuries of meditation had made him wiser than most of her _zeymahhe._

Yrsarald blinked at the flicker around the Queen, the faint hint of the aura coming and going. He heard the Queen start humming to herself wordlessly, the sound rolling around them like gentle thunder. Soothing, or it would be if he knew what the hell was going on. He swallowed hard then mumbled to Ralof, “I’ll ah, see you tomorrow. Got to get home to the wife and kids.”

“Aye,” Ralof replied. The older man backed up a few steps then fled the room. Ralof snorted at Yrsarald’s fear. Maybe once he heard more war stories he would realize this was nothing. This was odd, sure, but not a bad odd. Bryn heard the sound and looked up at Ralof and gave him a broad smile, her eyes shining, and he laughed and smiled back, feeling an aching warmth in his chest. It was good to see her happy again, truly happy, even if it only lasted a little while. He took a seat behind her in the sitting area, listening to the scratch of the quill on the paper and her humming, something he had never heard her do before. The sound was comforting and it made him wonder if the babe in her womb could hear it, wondered if the sound was muted or amplified by the waters the tiny boy floated in, no bigger than a mouse.

He heard her pause to take a drink of warm milk, and he yawned and closed his eyes, murmuring, “Milk drinker.” She giggled, the way she used to in the early days, before the Elder Scrolls began eating away at her, then she began humming again as she continued to write. He laughed and folded his arms on his chest and leaned back in the seat, figuring there was no harm in just resting his eyes. He hadn’t slept well the night before, in fact he had hardly slept at all, missing Hadvar and Ulfric, and the humming was nice, the Palace quiet as folk settled down for the evening.

It wasn’t until he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder that he realized he had fallen asleep. He couldn’t begin to guess how long he had been out, but he was stiff and had a kink in his neck. It felt as if it had been only minutes though, and he’d had the strangest dream. He’d been rocking a tiny golden-haired infant in his arms while Bryn hummed a lullaby. It had been sort of nice, though strange, considering his complete lack of interest in children. Maybe it had been Fjonnar, though it was hard to tell with a newborn if it was a girl or a boy. Not that he’d ever looked closely enough at an infant to tell.

He cracked open an eye to see Erandur standing over him, and he grimaced in discomfort and sat up. The priest cast healing on him, and he sighed, “Thank you.” He glanced over at the table and Bryn was gone.

“Our lady has gone to bed,” Erandur stated. “Perhaps you should do the same before you do yourself permanent harm.”

“Aye,” Ralof said good-naturedly. “Good night.”

“The same to you.”

Ralof sleepily went upstairs to his room, glancing up to the Jarl’s quarters to see the door slightly ajar and hear Lydia and Bryn talking. The two women had been wary of each other over the last day and a half, Lydia acting only as a housecarl and servant, seeming to have more on her mind than she felt she had the right to say. Maybe she was finally getting it off her chest. It was a nice chest, too. It was too bad the woman was married. She was pretty that one, and by Dibella, those lips. Maybe it was the hints of Imperial blood that made her so lovely, her beauty warm where Bryn’s was icy. And Bryn was a beauty, a real Nord beauty, but those tiny hints of Elvishness and those Divine eyes and that dragon’s voice were more than enough to keep Ralof from feeling even a hint of desire for her. He loved her though. It startled him for a moment to realize it, but he did love her. Things had changed between them during the war, for the better. They had changed on the way home when she had relied on him so heavily. He thought he might even be a friend to her. It would be the first time he had been able to really manage it with a woman.

“Huh,” he murmured, surprised by himself. He supposed there was a first time for everything.


	74. Chapter 74

Bryn glanced at Lydia as her friend took her robe from her and went to hang it up in the wardrobe. Lydia’s manner was formal, distant. Well, she supposed her own hadn’t been any better. When the housecarl returned and stood waiting, Bryn sighed and looked at the fire. Right back where she had started the evening, asking Erandur if she was a bad person. It seemed hours ago, and yet it had been barely one. She had written her letter to the odd little priest in Kvatch, then had written one to Vilkas. She had told him exactly what Erandur had suggested, and it was the truth, and yet she knew it wasn’t enough. Well, it was all she had in her right now. Writing that letter had definitely dimmed the brief, and still inexplicable, happiness she had felt right before that.

“Is there anything else you need, my lady?” Lydia asked respectfully. Bryn’s eyes narrowed, as Lydia had hoped they would.

“Really? My lady?”

“Yes, my lady.”

Bryn grumbled and said, “This isn’t necessary.” Lydia’s expression didn’t change, and Bryn said with a hint of irritation, “Just say it already, why don’t you?”

“Are you sure you’re in a place where you’ll actually hear it?” The anger was good to see. At least it was something.

“When have I ever not listened to you?” Bryn countered. “I haven’t always followed your advice, but I have always listened.” Lydia hesitated, and Bryn briskly went to the door and closed it. “This is about Vilkas, isn’t it,” she prompted. “Gods only know what he told you two!”

Lydia shook her head and said in a grave tone, “He was broken, Bryn. _Broken._ He cried like a baby. He was practically hysterical.” Bryn’s jaw clenched as she went back to the fire. “I’ve seen Vilkas at his worst. I’ve seen him throw the kind of tantrums that put Skjorta to shame. But they were always just for that moment and they passed. This was different. This…” She wrestled with how to put it, wondering if there were even strong enough words for it. She finally said in a lowered, sorrowful voice, “He’s been damaged. Deeply damaged, and I can’t for the life of me think of what it would take to fix it at this point.”

“When I figure it out I’ll let you know.”

Lydia shouted, “Will you just fucking stop it!” Bryn recoiled, her eyes wide in shock. Lydia went to her and pointed a finger in her face as she angrily demanded, “Get off your damn high horse!”

“I’m not on any damn high horse!” Bryn retorted furiously. “What the hell do you want from me!”

“I want you to show some goddamn empathy!”

“I can’t!” Lydia huffed, appalled, staring at Bryn with her mouth hanging open, then she slowly shook her head. Bryn went on through gritted teeth, “Want. Want. Everyone wants. Everyone wants something from _me._ There’s only so much of me to go around, damn it! I’m sorry I wasn’t there for Vilkas. I’m sorry I shut him out. And I know my sorries mean jack shit to you, and what do you know, I’m sorry for that too. You want me to feel, you want me to cry for him? I can’t even cry for myself!” Lydia sighed, some of the anger in her expression easing. “I knew the day we left Windhelm that Ulfric would never see it again, never come home again except in a coffin. Every day since then I died a little inside. Every morning when I woke up I would immediately start wondering if that was the day he would go. Do you have a single fucking clue the kind of _stress_ I’ve been under for the last year?”

“No, I don’t,” Lydia said quietly. “I honestly don’t. But how on earth did treating Vilkas like that help any?”

“Every time I looked at him there was that want in his eyes. I know he couldn’t help it. I _know_ that. I never blamed him for it, and I never intended to inflict any pain on him. I’m not sadistic, for Mara’s sake!”

“No one thinks that.”

Bryn snorted in derision. “No, I’m just cold. Frigid. Whatever the hell he’s thinking, or you’re thinking.”

“No, I think you just get too caught up in what you think needs doing and let everything else fall by the wayside.” And unfortunately that thing this time had been Vilkas.

Bryn pinched the bridge of her nose as she closed her eyes and said in a lowered, strained voice, “Do you _understand_ what it took out of me to fight this war?” Bryn sighed and let her hand fall, her eyes moving to the dragon statuette. “No, of course you don’t.”

“I can’t. I wasn’t there. All I know is what I saw from Vilkas, and what Farkas told me he said.” Bryn waited, and Lydia hesitated, not sure if any of it was hers to tell. She moved closer to her lady and tentatively reached out and touched her shoulder, and with the tension there it was like grasping steel. There was a hardness in Bryn that was frightening, her eyes burning in a way Lydia had never seen before.

“What did Vilkas tell his brother, hm? About how cold and distant I was? How I wouldn’t meet his eyes? How I wouldn’t just sit and talk with him?” She didn’t wait for Lydia to answer. “Tell me how I should have managed, Lydia. Tell me, after all the sheer… _shit_ I’ve been through over the last few years, how I could have managed things better. Hindsight is always perfect, after all. Being the one on the outside of it makes it easy to judge, doesn’t it?”

Hurt, Lydia stated, “I am not judging you. I’m worried about you. And Vilkas.”

“Right now there is no me and Vilkas. And that is part of the problem, don’t you see? Ever since reading those damned Scrolls I’ve felt like I have no choices of my own, that everything is predetermined. And then finding out in Riften about the mating bond he has, and the letter getting taken… Mara took it, did you know that? Erandur told me that Mara took it, to push me towards Ulfric. Talos sent me the ‘letters from a friend’, or so I still think, but Mara took my letter to Vilkas, because Ulfric needed me. Maybe because Skyrim and even the Empire needed Ulfric and me to be together. Ulfric made me strong, too strong maybe, but isn’t that what was needed? After all, some wilting flower wouldn’t have been able to do what I did. The war required another Tiber Septim, and that’s what I had to be. I had to be a killing machine, just as Vilkas did. What room does that leave for something warm and fuzzy at the end of the day? There was enough of me for the war, Ulfric, and the wounded. Then every time I look over Vilkas is there. Wanting. Staring. Pulling at me. I didn’t have enough left over for him, so to give to him I would have had to take from someone else. I am _spent,_ Lydia. I’m sick and tired, and this child of mine is sucking the life out of me. Do you have any idea what that was like, trying to fight for hours on end needing to puke, needing to pee, wanting to just lay down and take a nap for gods’ sake, wanting just a few quiet hours to yourself, but oh no, you have to keep pushing, have to keep killing, and the smells all around you, and the screaming, and even when it’s over for the day you still have to drag yourself into the hospital tents to heal the wounded, because there are only so many healers and people will die or end up crippled if you don’t, and yet you have this one man standing there, staring, wanting. The fate of Tamriel hinged on what we did down there, and yet I should have dropped everything to go hold his hand?”

Lydia stared at Bryn with huge eyes, the mad rush of words so overwhelming in their number and intensity that she didn’t know what to say. She had to wonder if this was the first time Bryn had let herself really think about it, put it into words, now that she had the time and space to do so.

Bryn went on, “Sure, maybe I could have spared some time here and there, sat and talked to him, tried to be warmer to him. Would he have been content with what I could spare? Or would he have been hurt that I was just throwing him a bone, giving him leftovers? There is no me and Vilkas. It… aggravates me that I saw what I did, that future with him, and have had to have it stuck in the back of my mind all this time, since Ulfric and I were newlyweds. It makes it feel like neither of us have a choice, like I’m one of the leaves caught in the stream.”

“But you said that while you were on Solstheim that you and Vilkas came to terms with it all. That you became friends and you thought that he’d learned to love you just for you. You’ve visited since then. I’ve seen you with him, the times you’ve visited Whiterun. I’ve seen how he makes you laugh. I’ve seen how he smiles and relaxes when you’re around.” She finally saw Bryn’s expression turn to one of sorrow, just barely, but enough that Lydia could see it. She squeezed her Queen’s shoulder and quietly said, “You’re right, I can’t understand what you two went through. I’ve only heard the rumors the bards started spreading, right before you came back. And what I did hear…”

Bryn gave a short laugh and said, “To paraphrase Wuunferth, whatever you’ve heard is probably true.” She sighed heavily and picked up the Ruby Paragon off its base, turning the softly-glowing jewel in her hands. “It’s funny, how well Vilkas and I fight together. Like two pieces of the same machine. We were perfectly in tune with each other, both in Cyrodiil and on Solstheim. We were unstoppable together. He’s…he became a hero there, in the south. I told him that once, did you know that? Early, early on, how he can’t help but be a hero.”

Lydia made a sound of pain and whispered, “Then you should have told him that now, damn it. You left him hanging, Bryn. You should have seen his face, when you got back. He was standing there watching you kiss and hug the soldiers, and it was like he was starving to death. You can’t even imagine how wounded he looked.”

“You’re right, I probably can’t,” she murmured. “He’s gotten good at hiding his feelings. For months now every time I’ve looked at his face there’s been nothing there.” She glanced at Lydia then put the Paragon back on its stand. “Empty. His face has been empty. Did he come to me at any point, asking what I wanted or needed? Did he at any point tell me how much he was hurting? No, and no. He was just always…there. Watching and waiting. Waiting for me to make the first move, waiting for me to make everything better. Just like everyone does. Because I’m the one who always has to fix things. After all, that’s what I was put on Nirn for: to fix everything for everyone.” Her gaze slid over to the dragon statue, and she felt hints of the oddness coming back, threatening to overwhelm her again, and she ruthlessly pushed it away. “Kill Alduin. Cure the werewolves. Stop the civil war. Fix Skyrim. Fix Ulfric. Kill Harkon. Kill Miraak. Help every single person who crosses my path with their hand held out. Destroy the Dominion. Rule an Empire. And I won’t even get the luxury of dying at the end of it all. And you know what, I’m fine with that, but Vilkas…Vilkas was the last straw. He was that one thing I couldn’t deal with. He…” She took in a deep breath then slowly blew it out. “Gods forbid that I should be so incredibly selfish as to want to be left alone for a while after Ulfric died. I’m sure Vilkas saw Ralof around me, and Erandur, and Galmar, and Siga, but none of them are Vilkas, and he just doesn’t get that, why I could tolerate them around me but not him. Ralof tried to tell him and he wouldn’t listen.”

Lydia sighed and took Bryn’s arm, and her Queen let herself be led to the bed. “Sit,” Lydia ordered, and Bryn didn’t resist in doing so. Lydia sat slightly behind her and started rubbing her shoulders, and at first it was like trying to massage a draugr, all stiffness and bones.

“Do you get what I’m trying to say?” Bryn said with a hint of desperation.

“I think I’m starting to,” Lydia replied softly. “I know Vilkas every bit as well as you do, if not better. He’s my brother.” And her heart bled for him, but she was beginning to see how he must have driven Bryn crazy. It wasn’t just the bond making him do it either; he was just Vilkas. There was an intensity to him that simply couldn’t be suppressed. He was too big a presence to just comfortably sit with, without his presence encroaching on you, and that wasn’t usually a bad thing, but in this case it had been.

“After Skjor was killed, all Aela wanted was the solitude to grieve him in peace. She let us in when and where she wanted, and the rest of the time we left her alone. Why couldn’t Vilkas acknowledge that I wanted the same?”

“Because Idgrod told him to stay close to you.” Bryn had just been starting to relax, but the stiffness came back with a vengeance at those words. Lydia sighed, “Vilkas told me, right before he left to join you. Idgrod told him at the last meeting of the Jarls that she and her son saw a vision, of you and Vilkas riding back to Skyrim side by side, leading the army, and a wagon was behind you with two caskets, and one of them had Ulfric’s shield on it.”

“Did—” Bryn cleared her throat as her voice cracked. “Did she know the other was Hadvar?”

“No. Absolutely not. But she told Vilkas to stay close to you after Ulfric passed.” She sighed again and added, “She also told him that you wouldn’t be yourself while you were grieving, and to not crowd you. Maybe he thought he wasn’t, but…he’s Vilkas.” Bryn closed her eyes, a look of sorrow on her face. Lydia continued rubbing her shoulders as she went on, “She told him if you turned to others for comfort to grit his teeth and bear it. I don’t think she realized who she was dealing with. I’m sure Vilkas tried, the best he knew how.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Bryn whispered. She felt a pang of grief and guilt as that last look of his crossed her mind’s eye, seething with bitterness and pain and resentment. Maybe if he’d let her see that look weeks ago it might not have come to this. But then again, knowing her and how detached she felt from everything this year, maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference. “I asked Erandur if I was a terrible person. He told me I was very good for a dragon. Maybe that was his way of telling me I am terrible.”

“You are _not_ terrible,” Lydia said firmly. “I’m sorry if I made you feel worse.”

“Maybe I needed to.” She opened her eyes, seeing Ulfric’s house boots by a chair. “Why can’t I cry?” she whispered in anguish. She'd never understood how Aela hadn't shed a tear for Skjor, at least not where anyone could see it. Now she knew.

“You just got home yesterday. It hasn’t all sunk in yet. And…well, you’ve spent the last two years grieving ahead of time. You knew before you left Skyrim that the war would take Ulfric. Give it time.” She leaned over and kissed Bryn’s cheek, and her friend patted her knee. “Give Vilkas time. He can talk it all out with Farkas on the way home. The time apart will do you both good.”

“I hope so.” Bryn surely couldn’t see how it would make things any worse.  
-  
Lydia shuddered and gripped Bryn’s waist tightly as Odahviing began to dive towards Skuldafn. For the first time in years she was truly terrified, in fear of her life. The entire flight had been…interesting, but Lydia felt ready to kiss the ground the moment they touched down. If nothing else it had given her and Bryn their first ‘adventure’ together since she had become Queen. 

As they came in to land she noticed the bleached and tattered gray dragon sitting on one of the walkways, several of his disciples perched here and there, ignoring the swirling snow. Lydia was excited to come here, the only person in a thousand years other than Ulfric who had been given the honor. Bryn had promised to show her around, show her the portal to Sovngarde. It was thrilling. Just like old times.

Lydia slid off the red dragon’s neck, wincing at the pain in her inner thighs. She held out her hand and helped Bryn off, even if she didn’t really need it. The Queen’s belly was just starting to show at a little over four months along. Bryn kept active, taking daily brisk walks through the city, even sometimes visiting the outlying farms and mills on horseback with Ralof and Yrsarald, something Ulfric had never done, and sparred with Lydia or the more enterprising female guards, something the men refused to do, even if they were expected to only be on the defensive. The people all loved her with an intense devotion that Lydia doubted any other Jarl held, though Balgruuf was well-liked by his people.

Bryn was healthy as a horse, as was the baby, but Lydia could tell something was still not quite right with her. There was always a wall there, always a reserve. The only time she had seen it waver even slightly was when Farkas had come to visit with Jergen two weeks ago. Lydia had run to her husband and son, sweeping up the toddler and hugging him while Farkas held them both, and she had heard Farkas grumble sadly and had looked up to see Bryn watching them from her throne with glistening eyes, a look of heartache on her face. Still, the tears hadn’t fallen, and she had sighed and looked at the fabric-covered painting on the wall. It was covered to this day. Lydia thought she might suggest it was time to uncover it when they got back. Life in Skyrim was such that long, formal mourning periods weren’t observed the way they were in the other provinces, and Bryn had mourned losing her husband long before it ever happened. It was also considered poor taste to publicly mourn for any length of time those who had fallen in battle; in the end those left behind were mourning themselves, for the fallen were feasting and drinking in the Hall of Valor.

Lydia had been sure that Bryn would waver somewhat when she had asked Farkas if Vilkas received her letter, and read it, and Farkas had looked uncomfortable and admitted that he had seen Vilkas get the letter but his brother had thrown it in the fire without looking at it. If anything it had angered her, and Lydia couldn’t blame her. It had been uncalled for on Vilkas’ part. Farkas had been defensive of his brother, having borne the brunt of Vilkas’ emotions for that time, but once he had gotten Bryn’s side of the story he had been able to see both sides and realized Vilkas was taking things too far, as he often did. Before he had left at the end of his week-long visit Bryn had given him another letter, telling him to stand there and make Vilkas read it if he had to bash him over the head to do so, and he had readily agreed.

Missing her husband and child intensely, Lydia sighed and bowed to the red dragon as Bryn had coached her to do, thanking him for the ride, and Odahviing had grunted in response, the best she could hope for. She watched Bryn run her hands along the dragon’s eye ridges and he nearly purred in pleasure.

_“Brit kulaansedov,”_ Bryn murmured.

_“Rekdovahi,”_ he replied, drawing out the word. _“Judsedov.”_

Lydia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She looked up at the dragon who had to be Paarthurnax and was certain she could see him resisting the same urge. She pulled her fur cloak more closely around her as a chill wind whipped through the area and said to Bryn, “We should get our business done and get inside. It’s damn cold out here.” Bryn nodded and kissed the dragon’s muzzle then walked away, Lydia following. She felt the strong draft of Odahviing taking off and couldn’t help wondering as she had off and on just how on earth Bryn was going to transform into a dragon, but more than that how the hell she was going to rebirth the dragon souls she held. Lydia was sure the notion had driven poor Ulfric to absolute distraction, the two of them the only ones who knew the full truth of it, though Lydia knew even more than the Jarl had. Bryn had even told Lydia weeks ago about her belief that her youngest child would be Ralof’s. That had actually been more shocking than finding out all the rest long ago had been. While Ralof was a very handsome young man, Bryn was definitely not attracted to him, and vice versa. Well, a lot could happen in that amount of time, fifteen years or thereabouts.

They walked together through the ruins, Bryn pointing out certain areas as they went, then they climbed the large main staircase to the upper level. The few dragons they passed inclined their heads to Bryn, calling her Rekdovah, or Monahsedov, seeming genuinely respectful. All in all however there were only a handful of dragons here, including Odahviing who had taken himself to the highest perch in the area. “Where are the others?” Lydia asked quietly.

“Hard to say,” Bryn answered. “After the war they said they were going somewhere to sleep for a while, after coming here to tell the others what they had seen and done.” She didn’t bother to say why; Lydia already knew that the three dragons had fed heavily on Elven dead during the war, finding it appropriately disgusting, as any normal person would. Bryn glanced up at Odahviing and even in the gray and white gloom he shone like a ruby, the red of his hide glossy, the whitish parts almost iridescent. She was sure he had also been sleeping for the last few weeks, somewhere close to Windhelm. He had certainly answered her call quickly. All the unaffiliated had scattered long ago, after the last time she had visited Skuldafn.

They made their way to the upper level, where Paarthurnax waited on one of the walkways. Lydia felt her insides quiver to be so close to the creature. Alduin’s brother. He was as worn and tattered as Bryn had described, nothing like the gleaming, prideful Odahviing. Bryn theorized it was the Old One’s long centuries of never eating and being constantly exposed to the elements that had made him so. Lydia wondered if Paarthurnax looked at Odahviing now and had regrets, but then he was probably above such things. Lydia bowed slightly to him, and he lowered his head and let out a long exhalation, the steam curling around her.

“Careful, _mal gein,”_ he said. “One could get used to such courtesies.” He turned his gaze on Bryn and looked her over. “So, it is done. Ulfric is no more. It is regrettable.” Bryn nodded. “Odahviing, Drunfaazkein and Maarluhkest came to this _hofkah_ upon your return and spoke long of the dealings in the south. They took great pride in their part. And yours.”

Bryn asked, “Was there some other way it could have been done?” As if she didn’t know the answer.

_“Nid._ I would not be so arrogant as to make that claim.” He lowered his head further, eyeing her intently. “Odahviing says you bear the child you saw. The _kodaav kulaan,_ he who will be _Kodaav Jun do Keizaal._ A child born of war who will grow old in peace.”

“I do carry Ulfric’s child. Fjonnar Stormcloak.”

“Have you considered fostering him with the Greybeards?”

_“Nid. Rok los dii._ I will not have his childhood stolen from him.”

“Hm.” The dragon lifted his wings briefly in a shrug. “Such is your choice. I doubt Ulfric would have chosen it for his son either. It was simply an option.”

“Ulfric’s _thu’um_ was one of the ways the war was won. I won’t have my child’s Voice stifled.”

“Ulfric was a Tongue. Fjonnar is Dovahkiin, though not as you are, _monahsedov._ The same rules do not apply to those of the _dovahsos,_ the _dovahsil.”_

Bryn gazed at him for a moment and he gazed back calmly. She finally said, “So, the children will be dragon-souled, then. Not simply dragon-blooded. This is something I’ve wondered about lately.”

“Hmm,” Paarthurnax rumbled thoughtfully.

“I would know the nature of my human children, _Wuth Gein._ Will it be as mine?”

“As yours? An interesting question. What is your nature, exactly?” She stared at him, not answering. “You do not answer, as if my question is rhetorical. What is your nature? That is something we have pondered here a great deal lately, in our joint meditations. There have been many Dovahkiin over the ages. There have been many kinds of Dovahkiin, as suited _Bormahu’s_ purposes at the time. But you… you are the first female Dovahkiin who has come about at our father’s bidding.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

“I have met many Dragonborn in my time on the _strunmah._ I have seen the dragon souls in them burning brightly, smelled the dragon blood pulsing in their veins. Most of them have come and gone, forgotten to the passage of time, only whispers of their deeds left behind. But you…you… What is your nature?”

“You tell me, _Wuth Gein,”_ Bryn murmured, moving closer to him. “There are only so many dragon souls, aren’t there? Will Akatosh craft a new soul for each newborn child of my bloodline, as he did for me?”

“Did he?”

“Didn’t he? If all dragons are male—”

“Are they?” Bryn went still, unblinking, and as her hand strayed up to her amulet he chuckled and said in a sly tone, “Yes. I felt the ripples in the _Vennesetiid, rekdovah._ As did all our kind. We felt you contemplate Time. We felt you recognize what you did when you saved Ulfric from yourself. We felt you contemplate the existence of a child you found improbable. We felt you sitting along the banks of the river of Time, viewing it as does a _dovah,_ but more than that, as does a _rekdovah.”_

“Sahrotaar told me there was no such thing.” _Rekdovah._ It was the first time Paarthurnax had called her such.

“Not all dragons know this truth. Not all dragons have lived as long as others. There are those of us who have existed since this world took form, when we did not yet have physical form, who have seen _Bormahu_ in all his glory, who once had the bittersweet pleasure of consorting with the _Jills._ The _Rekdovahhe._ Daughters of Akatosh, those who mend the minutes, who smooth the ripples and eddies in the _Vennesetiid,_ when they can, or when they can’t and Time breaks, repair the damage after the fact.” Bryn stared at him uncomprehendingly. He leaned close to her, his breath stirring her cloak. “I have thought long on this matter. I have considered calling you here. You have saved me the trouble.” Bryn clutched at the amulet, her eyes wide as she continued to stare in disbelief. His voice rumbling softly, he continued, “The Dragonborn come into the world at times of great need, as Arngeir once told you. Times of war and strife. But this era was different. This need was different. Too many factors were involved, a _pogaan-klov prakem._ The return of Alduin and our _zeymahhe._ The machinations of the vampires. The threat of the First Dragonborn. And most of all, the Thalmor, who would not have stopped their attempts to unmake Mundus. You think that removing Alduin from the equation was enough? _Nid._ They began working towards their goal long, long before Alduin became a reality to them. In their _pahlok_ they wished to undo what Akatosh himself had brought about, even if it was under trickery. The gods are used to _joorre_ going against their will, in their small ways, but this… this plan of theirs was beyond inexcusable, _vanmindoraan.”_ She nodded slowly, fingering the amulet. Paarthurnax went on, “We here have spent our every waking moment since your last visit pondering the meaning of what you saw in the _Dovah Kel._ Time shuddered when you touched the Scroll, quaked when the Scroll was used, as it does not when used by mortals. I made note of this long ago upon my former _strunmah_ but dismissed it as an effect of your being Dovahkiin. The Scrolls are outside Time and yet are intimately connected to it. When you came here to Skuldafn and opened the _Dovah Kel,_ you took grasp of the skein of Time and examined it, at least along the thread you had access to in this form. Such a thing should not have been possible even for Dovahkiin. And then…then we felt you do it again recently, without a Scroll. Somehow you looked at Time, your Time, the Time you had seen here in Skuldafn. You examined it as a Jill would.”

“How,” Bryn whispered hoarsely, her throat dry. “Why.”

“I am no longer close enough to our father to hear his words directly, _krosis,_ but in my meditations I have gotten whispers of his intent. And what have I gathered, hm? I have my theory, and my brothers here concur. I theorize that the _Monne do Bormahu,_ the Jills, saw the approaching knots in the fabric, then the complete unraveling of the fabric. They saw the manageable eddies becoming whirlpools… _zuldde._ Bormahu decreed as he had before, ‘I shall send one of my sons, one of the Dovahkiin,’ and the Jills cried, ‘No, it is not enough this time!’” He chuckled in a self-deprecating manner. “You see, and I am well aware, males can be short-sighted. Single-minded. This trait is useful in most situations where the Dovahkiin is brought about, but this situation was too complex. Subtlety and patience were called for, something a male _dovah_ does not have in abundance. You may feel that you do not possess these traits either, but it is all relative. A male dragon’s nature was proven most spectacularly by Tiber Septim. He ripped Time apart and remade it to his liking, remade _himself_ to his liking. The Jills foresaw another Tiber Septim if the usual male Dovahkiin was sent now. All the power you have gathered to you, all the dragon souls you have collected and held…a male would have simply devoured them, taken the power completely into himself, perhaps even achieved awareness as Tiber Septim did and remade the world to his liking in a way that could not again be allowed… _Dovah kend ni kos krent._ Akatosh saw the danger and asked the Jills what they would suggest, and they said ‘Send one of us.’” Paarthurnax blew out a warm breath. “And that is all I am inclined to say, for now.”

Bryn shivered, her heart racing, and when the dragon inclined his head to her and backed away then took off flying she closed her eyes, feeling faint. She felt Lydia’s hands on her shoulders, firmly moving her off the walkway, and she let herself be led. Lydia steered her to a nearby set of stone steps and sat her down, pulling up the hood of Bryn’s cloak then making sure it was wrapped securely around her. She sat down next to her Queen and put her arm around her, murmuring, “This doesn’t change a thing, you know.”

Bryn stared out at the ruins around them, bewildered, and whispered in a trembling voice, “How can I be such a thing and not know it?” She had accepted long ago that she had the blood and soul of a dragon, but she had assumed it had been a brand new soul, crafted by Akatosh from scratch as she assumed was the case with most Dragonborn. But to think she was one of these Jills, an already existing female dragon who assisted Akatosh in managing Time, who had existed as long as Nirn and maybe Time itself… She supposed in light of the strangeness she had experienced that night in Windhelm, and the way she had been able to manipulate the Dragon Scroll, it seemed plausible. But…how?

“Maybe you were made to forget. You’d have to forget, wouldn’t you? I don’t know, it all made sense to me.”

“But if only Jills are female dragons, what of my children? I could feel that they learned to Shout, the girls as well. I could see my bloodline, could see myself guiding them, teaching some of them to be true Dovahkiin, and just as many were female as male.”

“Maybe that’s the difference between bearing dragon-blood and a dragon’s soul. Maybe the blood is enough and all that’s carried through. The Septims couldn’t have all been true Dragonborn in the way you are, I’m sure, but Martin probably was, through the gift of Akatosh.” She patted Bryn’s back and said, “Maybe that kooky little Breton priest you told me about will come next summer and shed some light on things.”

“I hope so.” The whole thing was making her brain hurt right now, and she was hungry, and the thin air up here was making her feel woozy all of a sudden.

“Come on,” Lydia urged. “Show me the portal, then we’ll eat some lunch and go home. I doubt you’re going to get anything more of out that old dragon.” She helped Bryn to her feet, the other woman looking a bit sickly. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Fine,” Bryn whispered. “It’s…just a lot to come to terms with.” 

Her mind continued to wrestle with it as they went through the largest building in the ruins then up again, to the highest point in Skuldafn. In light of what the Old One had told her, it made sense; if a Jill’s job was to keep Time neat and tidy, if she had been sent here to keep a nasty combination of events from unraveling Time and unmaking Mundus, if she was fated to become a dragon after her mortal life came to an end so that she could personally see to matters down here, then it all made perfect sense. Perhaps the Divines, Akatosh in particular, felt the need to intervene more directly in worldly matters, and were constrained from doing so themselves for the most part, and so here she was.

Still, there was something upsetting about the notion. It seemed the Jills were more benign than the male dragons, or perhaps less selfish, because she had never believed that her _zeymahhe_ were evil by nature. Amoral perhaps, but not evil. But if she was a Jill, who/what did she used to be? Did the Jills have a personality as such? The male dragons did, to some extent. She realized then that her fear was the same as the distaste she had for Sovngarde: she didn’t want to lose who she was. She didn’t want to lose what made her, her. She was Brynhilde. She would have children she would grow to love. A human family. She had friends she cared about. She loved. Did the Jills love, in the way male dragons could not? But then her three brothers who had fought the war with her seemed to have started to gain the capacity for some small amount of caring, if only for her. Odahviing was invested in her well-being and showed some affection for her, viewed her somewhat as a mate. Perhaps that was what it took with male dragons: a counterpart, a female, a Jill, to rein them in. Perhaps at some point the dragons had been a whole, a race, and some event had permanently separated them.

Bryn shook her head, pushing the thoughts away, in no mood for any further woolgathering. It was making her head spin.

Lydia took her hand as they slowly approached the sealed portal to Sovngarde, and Bryn tugged on it and took her up the stairs of the small platform that overlooked it. “Wow,” Lydia breathed, unable to help trembling. “So this is it. You really…by the Nine, that's terrifying.”

“Yes. On the other side of that…is…” She let out a huffing breath, blinking as tears rose in her eyes. On the other side was Ulfric. The last time she had stood here she had been with Ulfric. She heard his voice, that rich, beautiful voice, could almost see him standing there next to her, feel his hand in hers. She saw flashes of his face pass before her, the deep sadness his eyes had sometimes held, those depths and complexities that were always under the surface, all the pain and love and duty and anger that had made him who he was, and what was left of all that now? If she opened that portal and jumped in, if she called him forth from the Hall of Valor, would he spout the same inane nonsense the other shades of the dead had, before she fought Alduin? Would he even remember the entirety of their lives together, or only the parts that would make for a good Bard's tale to spin in the Hall of Valor? Did he miss her at all? Did Hadvar miss Onmund?

“What is it?” Lydia whispered. The tears were finally falling, but Bryn almost seemed angry. Betrayed.

“I promised Ulfric that when I became a dragon that I would bring the staff here and open the portal and try to see him again. Him and Vilkas. Now…the thought horrifies me. All I would see is a caricature of who they used to be. If you strip away all the anger and hurt and sorrow, you strip away half of who they were.”

“Maybe those old heroes were just saying what they thought you wanted to hear. What they knew everyone else who was listening wanted to hear.” Bryn didn’t answer, maybe to let Lydia keep her own illusions intact. She put her arms around Bryn and to her relief Bryn brought her hands up to gently grip Lydia’s arms.

“I just…how can he be gone?” Bryn whispered in a pain-filled voice. “What must he have thought when he went down? Thank Mara I always, _always_ kissed him goodbye and told him I loved him before we went into battle. It’s seems as if he’s only on some extended vacation, but I saw his body. I touched it. And Hadvar’s. How can Hadvar be gone when he was supposed to be getting married? I was…I was going to help him, with the w-wedding…” The sealed portal blurred then she shut her eyes, feeling the tears nearly freezing on her face. Lydia clucked her tongue sadly and held her more tightly. Onmund had written back to her, briefly, telling her he appreciated her own letter and the gift of the shield, and that he would take the time to think about her offer, when it all wasn’t so fresh. Maybe once the child was born and past those first three tender months she could go up to the College to continue her studies and show everyone the baby. She really didn’t feel much like traveling yet, no longer sick but still tired, still recovering from the strain of fighting a war while pregnant, but she had promised Balgruuf she would consider going to Whiterun for the winter celebration he usually threw on the first of Morning Star. If Vilkas hadn’t answered her letter by then she might have to pay him a visit and get things sorted out.

She sniffed then sighed heavily as she opened her eyes, seeing that last resentful look of anguish he had directed at her before leaving. She honestly hadn’t realized she had wounded him that badly, as good as he had gotten at hiding his emotions. Well, she refused to torment herself over it. She had made it extremely clear that she needed to be left alone, as had Ralof, and he had ignored them both. Maybe the bond hadn’t allowed him to leave her alone, maybe it was nothing more than him being Vilkas, but that wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t his either. She wasn’t angry with him, and he shouldn’t have left so angry with her. Throwing her letter in the fire without even opening it however…that was uncalled for. It was as if he preferred being angry over understanding where she had been coming from. He hadn't bothered to ask, hadn't bothered to tell her how hurt he was. How he could hold against her the need she’d had to grieve her husband quietly was beyond her, except that he was Vilkas, and rationality didn’t always overcome emotion with him. She had loved that about him, once. Now…she knew she cared for him, but all she felt was this aching regret. Missing Ulfric and Hadvar got in the way of everything else.

Bryn let herself wallow in the memories as she silently wept, feeling warm and secure in Lydia’s arms. Ulfric had been interred not long after coming home, Galmar having secured an ancient Nord sarcophagus from Yngol’s Tomb that seemed to have no occupant and overseeing having it slowly and painstakingly hauled up to the Shrine of Talos and set in place. The priestess of Arkay, Helgird, had sanctified the sarcophagus then Ulfric’s body had been carefully transferred into it, thankfully frozen solid and wrapped in a heavy shroud, sparing her from a sight that would have no doubt scarred her for life. Bryn had set his war axe beside him, had laid around him the items from the makeshift shrine at the door of the tent that had held his body, then the heavy lid had been lowered, and the memory of it now nearly broke her.

“Come on,” Lydia whispered, turning Bryn about and leading her blindly down the steps to sit on them. Bryn put her face in her hands and wept, the sound echoing off the stone around them, and when Odahviing began to make a moaning sound it was more than Lydia could take. She had never heard any dragon make such a sound, not quite a roar, not quite a wail, and it made her insides tremble. The other dragons, even Paarthurnax, added to the sorrowful sound, and all Lydia could do was put her hands over her ears and lean against Bryn as her own tears fell. In the far distance she heard unknown dragons take up the mournful keening and was sure that it was spreading across Skyrim, no doubt worrying everyone who heard it.

_“Ulfric los saark!”_ Bryn cried.

_“ULFRIC LOS SAARK!”_ Odahviing shouted, the others echoing the cry, and then the others in the distance.

Lydia shivered and kept her hands clamped over her ears, and even then the sound was deafening, making her bones ache, but she didn’t move away, even as Bryn and the dragons continued to cry out the same phrase for what seemed like an eternity. When Bryn finally fell silent the dragons did as well, Paarthurnax letting out a low groan before going quiet again, as if the outpouring of emotion was too much for him to bear. Lydia slid off her pack and found a kerchief, pressing it into Bryn’s hands. Bryn let out a little sob then blew her nose, but her tears were drying, though her eyes were red.

“How can he be gone?” Bryn whispered, her voice hoarse. Lydia didn’t answer, because there wasn’t an answer. He was gone because he had fallen in battle, had been granted a warrior’s death. One day she would be glad for that. But Hadvar…Hadvar should have been allowed to grow old with Onmund. Her breath caught as she felt the tiniest bump in her abdomen, like the flutter of a butterfly’s wing, but when she concentrated nothing more happened. Maybe it was the little one, making his presence known; Erandur had told her that the birth waters amplified sound, so no doubt Fjonnar had felt the dragons and Bryn mourning his father. The thought sent a fresh wave of grief through her, but she had no more tears left for now.

Lydia kissed her cheek then squeezed her knee. “Let’s go inside and eat something,” she suggested.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I’m sure you aren’t, but you need to eat anyway. For the baby.”

“For the baby,” Bryn murmured. She let Lydia pull her to her feet, and she went along limply, feeling spent. For the baby. Everything she did from here on out would be for the baby, for her children, for others, but Ulfric had been for her. All the pain and suffering he had experienced in his life, all the bitterness he had lived with for so long, and yet he had loved her as well as any woman could have asked for.

Her head starting to ache, Bryn cast a spell of healing, making sure it enveloped Lydia as well, and to her relief it didn’t touch her friend. Ordinary mortals couldn’t take the full force of so many dragons’ Voices up close, but thankfully the others had been at a distance, and so Lydia hadn’t suffered any harm. She let herself get taken indoors, into the main temple building, out of the cold. She lit a brazier whose bowl had gotten knocked down, and they sat by it and warmed themselves, eating silently.

When they were nearly done, Bryn quietly asked, “What was Farkas like when you were pregnant?”

“Protective,” Lydia answered quietly. “A little overbearing at times. I think being apart lately has been hard on him, but that was why I left Jergen with him. Keep him distracted, give him someone to fuss over instead of missing me so much. Everyone’s been taking turns helping him. Adrienne and Ulfberth. Mjoll and Aela.” She hoped that Vilkas had spent some time with his nephew, hoped that being around the toddler would gentle him and help bring him out of his moodiness, but Bryn didn’t need to hear that. They had avoided talking about Vilkas as much as possible after that first night of clearing the air. It was only fair; Ulfric deserved to have this time be his, and Hadvar’s, instead of Bryn having to worry about the future. Lydia also thought that having Vilkas be a non-topic for a while would help clear Bryn’s mind about him.

“I think I’ll go to Balgruuf’s party.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I miss Whiterun.” When Lydia simply nodded, she added, “I love you, Lydia.”

Lydia sighed and gripped Bryn’s hand. “Oh Bryn honey, I know, I know. I love you too. I’m glad you didn’t come up here alone.”

“I could have brought Ralof, or Erandur. Even Calder. But none of them are you.” Lydia smiled at her, and she huffed and closed her eyes for a moment. “If everything works out, you should stay home in Whiterun,” she stated. “I hate you being away from your family.”

“I wouldn’t have that family if it wasn’t for you.”

“Still…well, I suppose we’ll see. I won’t grovel to Vilkas, or ask his forgiveness, but I’ll tell him I’m sorry. Try to explain why I shut him out. If that doesn’t work and he’s still angry… I suppose I’ll just go home, and he can come around when he feels ready. After all, no one said he had to be around to see the child born.”

Lydia’s expression hardened as she stated, “No way you're giving birth without him there. I’ll make Farkas tie him up and deliver him to Windhelm before that happens.” She made a sound of frustration and went on, “I’m sorry he’s upset, but you wanted space and he wouldn’t give it to you. You were grieving your husband. How he can expect anything from you at a time like that is beyond me. Even if he thought he wasn’t expecting anything, he can’t simply be around. He never could be. He’s Vilkas.” His presence was too big to be unobtrusive. He was too tall, too dark, too intense. It wasn’t his fault, but it wasn’t restful to someone who needed a peaceful personal space to mourn her losses.

“Maybe by then I’ll feel ready to let him in. For now…I just want to go home.”

“Have you thought that it might be time to uncover the painting?”

“I’ll…think about it.”

Lydia nodded and left it alone, helping Bryn to her feet, and the Queen swept her into a hug that knocked the wind out of her briefly. She hugged her back, glad they weren’t wearing armor, and she could feel the slight roundness of Bryn’s belly between them. She would be another month along by time the party rolled around, her belly a little bigger, the baby moving, and surely that would melt Vilkas. Surely. Hopefully it would melt Bryn further and make her finally really look at Vilkas again, see and acknowledge how hurt he was. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It never should have come to this. She hoped the two of them found some way to sort things out once and for all, or she was going to pitch the biggest fit Whiterun hold had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I credit the fabulous Morninglight for making me aware of the Jills many moons ago. The Imperial Library has some information on them but it was sparse, so I had to kind of run with it from there. I wanted to create an entirely different kind of Dragonborn, and when Morninglight slyly suggested that Bryn might be a Jill, I had no idea what that was, and when I found those few scraps of information on them it was like a light bulb going off.
> 
> I hope this helps kind of pull everything together with regards to why Bryn is what she is, and how she is.


	75. Chapter 75

For the hundredth time that day, Farkas looked up from his work attaching leather straps to a set of steel plate armor, hoping. It was the 1st of Morning Star, though early yet, and Lydia’s last letter had said she was coming home by then. With Bryn. He missed his wife so intensely that it was unbearable. It was just wrong to be separated this long, and this time it had been a month since he had seen her, though she sent letters every week. Jergen asked for his mama constantly and had started sucking his thumb again and acting fussy. If Lydia had to go back to Windhelm again then Farkas and Jergen would have to go with her, and stay there, and that was that.

Eorlund glanced over at Farkas, who was holding the plate in one hand and the leather straps in the other, gazing anxiously towards the Gildergreen, and he laughed quietly and said, “Go on, son. The work isn’t going anywhere.”

“Aye,” Farkas said with a nod. “Thanks.” He gratefully set aside the armor and got up, pulling off his heavy leather apron as he went down the steps. He would rather wait by the gates for his wife than up here. The weather in northern Eastmarch was foul this time of year, and it was possible they were having trouble traveling. Anything could have happened, so he just had to be patient.

He headed back to Breezehome to clean up, bypassing Jorrvaskr. Jergen was fine playing with Skjorta for now under Mjoll’s watchful eye. Vignar also enjoyed watching the little ones play, though Farkas wasn’t too happy about his frequent comments on them being ‘fine Nord children’, the old man’s pointed barb towards his nephew Thorald’s little son, who was dark-eyed and tan-skinned like his mother Carlotta. It was kind of ironic, considering Vignar’s weathered old face was darker than either Imperial’s.

He washed and put clean clothes on, and he was coming down the stairs when the front door opened then closed. When he saw his wife he cried, “Punkin!” and ran to her, scooping her up in his arms and spinning her in a circle then kissing her deeply, wildly relieved. She responded just as he’d hoped, not wasting any time, and as she backed him towards the stairs he murmured, “Where’s Bryn?”

“On her way up to Dragonsreach,” Lydia whispered, sliding her hands inside his shirt. “Where’s Jergen?”

“Not here.”

“Good.” Farkas growled and picked her up and carried her up the stairs, and Lydia nuzzled at his neck, letting go of whatever worries lingered in the back of her mind about Bryn and Vilkas. Lydia had done her part; the rest was up to them, and if they couldn’t sort it out, well, that’s what priests of Mara were for. Right now she was too happy to see her husband, and a certain part of him was too happy to see her, to think about anything else.  
-  
“I’m going to punch you.”

Vilkas’ jaw clenched at Mjoll’s comment and he nearly slammed the door in her face, in fact he started to do so but she slapped her hand out and stopped him. “Get out,” he growled.

“I’m sick of this bullshit between you two,” the Lioness said angrily. It took a lot to make her angry, but Vilkas never failed to do so. She loved the man to pieces, but he was enough to drive anyone mad when he was in a mood, and he had willfully kept himself in one for over two months now. Aela had told her wife to stay out of it but Mjoll had had it, and Aela wasn't here right now to stop her. She pointed a finger at his nose and he bared his teeth as if he was two seconds away from biting it off. “You need to see her. Now.”

“I’m not ready to,” he said, “and you can’t make me.”

“What do you mean, not ready?” she scoffed. “She’s five months along. You can see her belly. The baby is moving. What would it take for you to be ready, her going into labor? She’ll be here only two days then she’s leaving again.” Vilkas stared at her with cold anger. “She didn’t wrong you,” Mjoll insisted. “It isn’t her fault that she had nothing to give you then. She knew the war was going to kill her husband. Any day could have been the day, and she should have pulled attention away from him in his last days to give it to you?”

“All I wanted was to be there for her and she wouldn’t let me! Month after month after month I stayed out of the way, and once Ulfric was gone she turned on me and shut me out completely, like it was my doing, like my concern for her offended her! She can go to hell if she thinks I’m just going to turn around and do her bidding now!”

“Do you hear yourself, you stubborn jackass? I want, I want, me me me. Every time she looked at you she saw that in your eyes, your want, your neediness, your hurt, your loneliness. You couldn’t just be there.”

“That isn’t my fault!” Vilkas yelled. “You know why that is, it isn’t as if I could help it!”

“Then how is it her fault when she couldn’t help how she acted? You knew what she needed, Ralof told you what she needed, and instead of giving it to her and leaving her alone you kept pushing in on her, and now she’s here in town and wants to see you and you won’t let her? You want to have the upper hand now, is that it? Give her a little taste of what she did to you? Only she never hurt you on purpose. She never intended to hurt you at all. How the hell you can hold the behavior of a pregnant, grieving woman against her is beyond me.” He finally showed the beginnings of remorse at that. Mjoll shook her head at him and said with less anger, “You need to see her, Vilkas. How the hell do you think that’s going to feel to her to go back home to Windhelm knowing you refused to see her? Over and over you keep telling everyone who will listen how you wanted to be there for her, and now she’s ready for it and you’re going to hold out on her.” 

Vilkas sneered, “How nice that she’s ready. I’m not. I won’t be _fetched_ like some servant. If she wants to see me she can damn well come here.”

She made a sputtering sound and let go of the door. “Fine. Let’s just all wait with bated breath then for Vilkas to be ready. Bryn’s belly will get bigger and she will get lonelier, and you can sit here nursing your wounded pride. You know, you should’ve talked to a priest when you came back. You’re even worse than you were when you two first split up, and you have even less reason for it now.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Yes there is. You stand there and tell me it didn’t move you when you heard the dragons wailing. When you found out that everyone in Eastmarch and The Rift heard Bryn grieving. If that didn’t move you then…ugh, I’ve had it with you,” Mjoll said in angry frustration as she turned and walked away to go back upstairs. She knew the man was just being obstinate, and was still hurt, and she probably hadn’t helped matters, and now that she was thinking about it Aela was probably going to give her hell for it, but sometimes she could swear Vilkas really did have some kind of mental disorder. It was as if the war had killed any kindness or empathy he had in him. Even the children didn’t seem to reach him. Well, whatever, Mjoll was done with him.

Vilkas glared daggers into Mjoll’s back as the Lioness stalked down the hall then yanked the door open and went upstairs. The woman was so damn pushy at times it was unbearable. It wasn’t as if he didn’t realize everything she had said, but he wasn’t about to admit to it when she was in his face like that. Of course it had hurt to hear the dragons keening. All of Skyrim had heard it, the dragons spread out across the province. He knew the dragons hadn’t cared one way or the other for Ulfric himself, and so they were grieving for Bryn, echoing what she was crying out in her grief: _Ulfric is gone! Ulfric is gone!_ Only a monster wouldn’t be moved by that, and he had shed his own tears anew over it, in private, but damned if he was going to give Mjoll an inch when the damn woman was acting like that. And frankly, he wasn’t about to be the one to give at this point. Bryn was going to have to come here, into his territory, and look him in the face and acknowledge what she had done to him, before he considered making up with her. She’d had her time alone, and if she was here now and wanted to see him then she would have to come see him. If he wasn’t satisfied that she was fully recognizing how she had wounded him then he was sending her on her way again.

He made a sound of hurt aggravation and moved to close the doors to his sitting room, when he saw someone come out of the hallway that held his and Farkas’ old rooms, both now sitting empty. His heart went into his throat when he saw it was Bryn, her lips pressed together as if she was trying to keep her chin from trembling. She stared at him with glistening eyes then she looked away, her arms tightly folded above the soft swell of her belly. Her hair was loose except for a few thin braids, a pale gold curtain around her, blending with the gold embroidery on her Eastmarch-blue tunic. She was so fair, and yet all he could think was to wonder how long she had been hiding there and what she had heard.

“She didn’t know I was there,” she muttered. “Don’t blame her for that.” Vilkas didn’t answer, staring at her with a stricken expression. She shook her head slightly and said, “All I could see was Ulfric. I didn’t have enough in me for both of you. I hope that someday you can accept that, but if you can’t by now…” He swallowed hard, his cheeks red, but didn’t defend himself. “Well all right then. I _will_ go to hell, as you suggested, since Windhelm probably would be hell for you. I was going to try to make peace with you and ask you to go back with me, to see if we could work things out, but...” She waited a few moments longer, and when his silence continued she made a huffing sound of grief and left. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe she really had screwed things up beyond all recovery.

“Brynhilde,” Vilkas whispered in anguish. She ignored him, and he nearly let her leave before he forced himself to move and went after her. “Brynhilde, wait.”

She kept walking as she choked out, “I came here hoping to surprise you. I suppose I’m the one who got the surprise.” She shook her head. “If I’d known the war would ruin you I would have left you behind. I had no idea so much venom was building up inside you. I never would have let things get to this point if I’d known what it would do to you.” He had the right to his anger and bitterness, too. Mjoll had had no call to say most of what she had to Vilkas, but she was Mjoll. Mjoll and Vilkas going head to head with both of them in a mood was guaranteed disaster.

“Brynhilde, stop,” he pleaded. To his surprise she did, but she didn’t turn around.

“All the tears I’ve cried, all the hours I’ve sat alone... Sometimes my only comfort was knowing that I still had someone who loved me, who wanted to be with me when I was finally ready to start thinking about it again. It was…selfish. Of me. To think I could just come here and…fetch you.”

Vilkas said in a shaking voice, “I’m not ready. I can’t get my head back on straight and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Have you tried? Are you even willing to? Or is it just easier to hate me?”

“I could never hate you,” he whispered. “Gods, how can you say that?”

Bryn turned on him and cried, “You could have fooled me! Saying I can go to hell, telling Mjoll I’m here to fetch you and make you do my bidding…how dare—” She stopped and closed her eyes, her breath catching as the child inside her kicked fiercely, his tiny feet drumming on her insides, as if demanding that she stop, as if sensing that she was growing angry, and without cause. She took deep breaths and rubbed the side of her belly, and when she opened her eyes Vilkas was staring at it hungrily, his fists clenching and unclenching, the intensity of his expression almost frightening. Wolfish. And that really was at the root of the entire problem: the mating bond. He had a mate who had ignored him, who carried a child he was denied, who hadn’t provided him any comfort when he was heartsick, a mate he hadn’t been allowed to really touch in years. His instincts had been thwarted at every turn. How she wished she’d had the brains to not get mixed up with a werewolf way back then. It had done Vilkas no good at all being stuck with her.

“I shouldn’t have said any of that,” he muttered. “I was angry. She was hounding me.”

“Yes, she was, and yet some part of you meant it.”

“The part that is an idiot and always has been.” Bryn sighed and he whispered, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what more I can say.”

“I didn’t come here to get an apology.” He groaned and rubbed his eyes, and she asked, “What more can _I_ say? I’m sorry the bond did this to you? I didn’t put it there. You made a choice when you stepped aside for Ulfric, and you made it again when you rejected my advances, after I dealt with the vampires. And it was the honorable thing to do, but after that Ulfric became my focus, the way he was supposed to be, especially after Solstheim. I couldn’t keep getting pulled two directions, especially after I knew he wouldn’t be going home alive. Every day I had with him was precious. Every…” She trailed off, feeling that familiar pang of intense loss that made tears well up in her eyes. She went on in a tear-choked voice, “I _never_ hurt you with intent. I didn’t even realize how hurt you were until you left. I wrote you a letter that very night and what do you do? You threw it in the fire. Gods know if you read the second one.” He licked his lips and looked away then curtly shook his head. She made a scoffing sound and shook her head, roughly rubbing the tears away.

“I couldn’t take any more,” Vilkas said roughly. “I still can’t. I don’t have it in me. I can’t just be there. I can’t go to back to Windhelm and just stand around looking supportive and keeping my mouth shut and my eyes and hands to myself while I’m dying inside. I will lose my mind if I do that. I was nearly to that point when Farkas took me home. I can’t do this…this standing aside anymore. I can’t do it. I know you only lost him three months ago, I know that, but…” He shook his head. “I…I’ll try not to be so angry,” he muttered. “I’ll try, but…I can’t go to Windhelm. I thought I could do it, right after Ulfric died, but…no. I know I promised him certain things, but that was before I realized what it would do to me. Maybe that’s selfish, but having me around in that state would do you and the babe no good.” It killed him to say it, but it was still preferable to the slow death that he had been suffering for nearly a year now. He hadn’t even been able to manage being pleasant enough for Skjorta and Jergen to be around, could barely manage himself right now, so how could he help care for a newborn, who would be so much more demanding? It wouldn’t be fair to Fjonnar. Better to have no father around than one who was cold and angry. Bryn stared at him with an unreadable expression, her golden eyes giving away nothing. He reached up a hand to touch her cheek then clenched it and pulled it back as he stepped away. No. She was going to have to be the one to reach out this time. “Send me a letter when you get back,” he whispered past the lump in his throat. “I promise I will read it this time.”

He walked away from her, and it was nearly impossible to do, but if he didn’t he wasn’t sure what he would do or say. He supposed it wasn’t either of their faults; it simply was. No, he couldn’t have expected anything from Bryn last year. Anything she would have given him would have taken away from Ulfric. He knew that. But what he felt was something else entirely. It had just been easier to stay mad at her, but he couldn’t stand there looking at her now, with the lingering grief in her eyes and that round little belly of hers that he ached to touch, and still stay mad at her. But he couldn’t stand there looking at her and just…be there. Idgrod had told him that was what he had to do, but she hadn’t known what he was. He hadn’t imagined he would be unable to do it either, at the time. And he had coped well enough, until the child came along, a child his instincts told him was his yet whose mother wouldn’t give him the time of day. And why should she? She was losing her husband, and her husband was not Vilkas. At this point he couldn’t quite believe that he ever would be, and the thought filled him with such despair it made him want to weep.

He went into the sitting room and moved to shut the doors, dreading seeing her still standing at the end of the hall, and he yelled in shock to find her standing right behind him, her footsteps as silent as ever in her doeskin boots. She walked past him, and he said through gritted teeth, “I don’t want to talk anymore right now.”

“All right,” she said with a nod. “No more talking.”

She walked towards his bedroom, making his temper flare, then it immediately died when he saw her pulling the tunic up over her head as she disappeared into the room. He blinked in shock, confused as hell, and when he heard her boots hit the floor he quickly shut the doors and locked them. He kept his back there, his heart pounding, so turned around he couldn’t think straight. He heard her moving around in there then it was silent, and a moment later she poked her head out of the doorway. She nodded slightly, as if satisfied that the doors were closed, or maybe to give herself courage for something, then she hesitantly appeared.

Vilkas’ mouth opened and nothing came out. He couldn’t think of a word to say, couldn’t even think to think, his mind a blank. She was wearing nothing but an Amulet of Akatosh. And a blush. As she came towards him it was simply impossible for anything to register with him other than the fact that she was stark naked. Of course he had seen her naked that last day of the war, when he had helped Siga clean her up, but that was different. Entirely different. And her belly had been flat then instead of the slightly rounded bump that was there now. She was so beautiful it took his breath away, like some wondrous merging of Dibella and Mara into one splendid goddess that encompassed everything perfect in a woman.

When she tentatively put her hands on his shoulders he whispered hoarsely, “W-what are you doing?”

“Working things out. Fixing things.”

“I’m…this isn’t how I…” His protests died as she leaned into him and gently pressed her lips against his. He whimpered helplessly at the feel of her breasts against his chest, reminding him of their first time together when he had taken her in full armor. He gave up even trying to resist, too bewildered to form a coherent thought, and kissed her back fervently as he ran his hands over her. She led him backwards, towards the bedroom, and felt her hands slide up inside his shirt then give his nipples a gentle tweak. He broke away to pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside.

She took his hand and pulled him into the bedroom and shut the door as he scrambled out of the rest of his clothes, and the first real swell of lust went through her at the sight of him, at the toned perfection that he was, at the smoldering look in his eyes as he advanced on her again, that certain something behind his eyes that Ulfric had never had, the sensuality and intensity she had always missed, though she could say for certain that she would miss Ulfric’s love in the years to come more than she had ever missed Vilkas’ loving.

Vilkas’ mouth latched onto her neck, and she whispered, _“Kun zey, grohiiki.”_ Maybe later she would be in the mood for more than that, maybe she wouldn’t, but this was something necessary, the only way to make real peace between them and fix what was ailing her beloved. And he was beloved to her, something she was only now starting to feel again. Ulfric’s love had helped her past losing Vilkas; Vilkas’ love would help her cope with Ulfric’s absence. There was balance there.

She climbed onto the bed, chiding herself for over-thinking this. It was so classically her, or at least it had been for much too long. She remembered Ulfric once, in one of his self-deprecating moods early on, worrying that he would ruin her, that he would take the gift that Vilkas had first unwrapped and nurtured and end up stifling—

“You’re thinking.” Bryn blinked in surprise, and as he crawled to kneel over her he softly accused, “You’re doing this for me, aren’t you. Your heart isn’t in this.”

“I’m doing this for us. Is that wrong?” He nibbled at his bottom lip, his eyes dilated with need as they drifted down to look her over, and she took his face in her hands, pulling his gaze back up to hers. “This will make things right, beloved,” she stated with gentle certainty. “Or at least start to.”

“Beloved,” Vilkas whispered. He couldn’t remember the last time she had called him that. She stroked his cheek and he made a sound of grief and kissed her, pushing away any doubt and doing as she’d demanded, simply taking her, remembering the times she had impishly demanded the same of him when they were first together, when things had been so easy, when she had been so girlish and carefree in bed, something he doubted she would ever be again after dealing with Ulfric’s emotional wounds for the last few years. Still, he could feel the reserve in her melting as she wrapped her legs around him and rose up to meet him, the feel of a woman’s body beneath him after all this time so delicious that control was nearly impossible, and it was _this_ woman, the one he had hungered after for so long that he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to stop even after this.

When the release came it was almost painful in its intensity, as was the clarity that came afterward. He knew that taking him to bed had been a calculated move on Bryn’s part. She surely hadn’t come here to Jorrvaskr with this in mind. And yet she had been right; whatever anger he had felt was gone, at least for now, and if they were together then maybe it would stick. They had damn well better be together or he still wasn’t going to Windhelm. He kissed her tenderly, keeping his weight off her, trying to enjoy the feel of her around him, alien after all this time. Ah, but it was so perfect, the way they fit together, lock and key. He felt a fluttering bump against his stomach and his eyes shot open, and when he felt it again he laughed hesitantly. He pulled out of her and lay on his side next to her, reaching out to place his hand on her belly, the soft swell of it barely sticking up above the cradle of her hip bones. He felt a gentle bump against his hand and stared in wonder. “So hard to believe a tiny person is in there,” he whispered.

_“Mal dovah-kodaav.”_

He laughed at that. “So he is.” A little dragon-bear. He leaned over and kissed her abdomen, halfway expecting a kick to the face, but it didn’t come. Vilkas sighed and ran his hand over her, still finding it hard to believe she was here, naked in his bed. That they had finally come together after so long apart. She put her hand over his, her left one, and he realized with a pang that there was no wedding ring there. She had taken it off at some point before coming here. He stared at the indentation there and could tell it hadn’t been off long, maybe only a few days. 

He glanced up at her and she was staring at his face with a sorrowful expression, and he whispered, “Ah love,” and lay down to pull her into his arms, pulling the blankets up along with them. He tucked her head under his chin and felt her legs twine with his as the scent of lavender floated up from her hair. There was another tiny kick between them, and he closed his eyes and sighed with bittersweet pleasure at the feeling of completeness it gave him, finally being with his woman and child. _His._ He supposed one day he would make Bryn his wife, after Fjonnar was born, after the anniversary of Ulfric’s death had passed. It wouldn’t be right to do it before then. It was still all too recent, too fresh. Even if there was no prescribed period of mourning, there were certain niceties involved. Whatever was between him and Bryn now was private, not something to be paraded about in public, and certainly not in the Palace where Ulfric was still being mourned. Vilkas could only imagine how it would look to everyone to simply move into her room, put his things were Ulfric’s had been, like he was laying claim to Ulfric’s widow. The thought made his skin crawl.

“You’re thinking,” Bryn murmured. He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest, though not the way Ulfric’s had. It was odd to see dark hair in front of her instead of blond and silver, though she could see one or two white hairs here and there.

“Just…trying to figure out how this is going to work,” he admitted.

“Hm. Worry later. Sleep now.”

“Still bossy, I see.” She laughed sleepily. Vilkas kissed the top of her head and she snuggled into him. “I love you, woman,” he whispered. They still had a hell of a lot of things to sort out between them, but he did love her.

“Mm, love you too…”

Bryn quickly dropped off, no doubt tired, and it was so warm and cozy like this, floating in post-coital contentment, that Vilkas wasn’t far behind.

A pounding on the outer doors sometime later brought him out of it rather rudely, and he blinked in confusion, feeling a warm body next to him in the dark, the candle burned out. The pounding came again, and he grumbled and reluctantly rolled away from what had to be Bryn from the familiar scent. He supposed there was no one else it could be. He opened the bedroom door to get some light, hearing her stir, and found his pants on the floor and pulled them on, not bothering to fasten them as he went to unlock the outer doors.

Farkas stared at Vilkas in confusion, and Vilkas squinted back, his hair mussed, holding up his pants with one hand. “What,” he grunted.

Farkas said, “Uh, Ralof and Yrsarald can’t find Bryn. They said she was coming here to talk to you, but Mjoll said she didn’t see her. Nobody saw…uhh…” He trailed off as Bryn came out of the bedroom, a blanket wrapped around her, her hair as mussed and eyes as squinty as Vilkas’. Farkas looked between the two of them, and when he saw a hint of a smile on his twin’s face he whispered in relief, “Thank Mara.” He nearly grabbed his brother into a hug, but really didn’t want to smell Bryn on him, what they had just done patently obvious. It was what he and Lydia had spent all afternoon doing. He watched Bryn walk up behind Vilkas and his brother turn and pull her against him and kiss her forehead, and the sight just about made Farkas want to cry. He’d waited so long to see them together again that it almost didn’t seem real.

Vilkas laughed and said to his brother, “I can feel the baby moving right now.”

“That…that’s just great, Vilkas,” Farkas said in a choked voice. Bryn looked up at Farkas from underneath her disheveled hair with a look of deep sadness in her eyes, but it was a resigned sort of sadness, and she smiled slightly at him, letting him know she was fine. Vilkas certainly seemed to be. It lifted such an immense weight off Farkas’ shoulders that it about made his knees weak. “I’ll uh, tell them she’s with you,” he said to Vilkas, who simply nodded and nuzzled Bryn’s hair, looking…happy.

Bryn asked him, “What time is it?”

“Four-ish. I think that’s why they were asking. The party’s in a couple hours.”

“I’ll be along in an hour or so.”

“Uh, sure. No problem, little bird.” He grinned happily. “Little sister.” Even if they weren’t married, Vilkas and Bryn were together now, finally. Bryn wouldn’t just throw Vilkas a bone and walk away. She could have done that at any point while Ulfric was alive, with Ulfric’s permission, and she hadn’t. This was for keeps. Maybe it really had been the only way to fix whatever had been eating at Vilkas since returning from the war. Mara and Dibella worked in mysterious ways sometimes. 

He petted Bryn’s hair and patted Vilkas’ shoulder and left them alone, and he heard the doors close behind him. It was good that they had worked things out, though Farkas had the feeling that the process was in the very early stages. Vilkas would be going back to Windhelm with Bryn when she left in a couple days and there would be all sorts of things to work out there. Lydia had told him that she had helped Bryn put Ulfric’s things away not long before leaving for Whiterun, giving away items Bryn knew people would want to have, keeping some things for Fjonnar, like the stalhrim dagger she had brought back from Solstheim for Ulfric and now carried herself instead of the Blade of Woe, and the chainmail and wolf fur coat that he had worn nearly everywhere, and of course the Shield of Eastmarch, which Lydia said Bryn had had mounted above her throne. Still, even with all that out of the way, Vilkas would have to be careful and not step on any toes or make Bryn look bad. Well, Bryn knew what she was doing. They’d work it all out. With the war over and Vilkas and Bryn back together, maybe things would finally get back to normal.

“Normal,” he said to himself laughingly. Right. At this point if things were normal it would just confuse everyone.

He went upstairs to where the two big warriors waited by the fire pit, one in dragonscale and the other in bear fur and leather. Njada and Ria were on either side of Ralof, who had on his most charming grin, while the married Yrsarald watched with amusement. Mjoll and Lydia were playing on the floor with the little ones, Lydia having missed their son intensely, as any mother would. Farkas said to the men, “Bryn’s downstairs. Uh, talking to Vilkas. Said she’d be up in an hour or so.”

Mjoll said in annoyance, “That sneaky brat! She better not have been spying when I was ripping your brother a new one.”

“Yeah, she probably was, but everything seems fine. They’re…uh…working things out.”

Lydia asked, “Is he going back to Windhelm with her?” He had damn well better be.

“Yeah, I think so. Well, I know so, I guess. I…” He trailed off as he heard the low rumble of distant thunder. Except it wasn’t distant. It was coming from downstairs.

Ria asked in concern, “They aren’t fighting, are they?”

Ralof glanced at Yrsarald, who was pointedly looking elsewhere. He then glanced at Farkas, who was biting his lip against a smile. Ralof laughed sadly and said, “No, I don’t think they are.” It pained him to think of his Queen with someone other than Ulfric, the sound associated with Ulfric in Ralof’s mind, but she was lonely and hurting, and Vilkas was lonely and hurting, and they were going to be together again someday anyway, and this was simply the best way to start ‘working things out’, as Farkas had said. Some might think it was too soon, but that wasn’t anyone’s business but theirs. It was their grief to handle as they saw fit. He grinned at Ria and Njada and said, “So, I think I have the next hour off.” The two young women’s eyes lit up and Njada reached up and gave Ralof’s braid a tug as Ria patted his backside.

Yrsarald rolled his eyes and jerked his thumb at the front doors, saying, “There’s an inn down the hill. Get out of here.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” It would be nice to get back into his old groove after a long dry spell. He’d had some random encounters during the war but they had been few and far between, and since the Queen had gotten pregnant it had been the last thing on his mind. Yrsarald was here now to help take up the slack, and Vilkas would be going back with them to take care of Bryn, now that she was ready to let him, so maybe now Ralof could finally have some sort of love life again. Or sex life, anyway.

As he led the two women out of Jorrvaskr he couldn’t help feeling sad about it though, thinking of Hadvar, how he had always found Ralof’s randy nature amusing, though Hadvar had been just as quick to jump on an opportunity in his own quiet way. Ralof wondered if there was sex in Sovngarde, but that led his mind down distracting paths, because if there was then did that mean you forgot the loved ones you left behind? It made him think of Bryn’s words in the tent the last day of the war, and that was not what he wanted to be pondering on his way to get laid. He wanted to forget things for an hour, wanted something uncomplicated, something easy. Something the direct polar opposite of whatever his Queen was doing with Vilkas and what she had always done with Ulfric. The idea of that sort of sex was unsettling, that sort of ‘working things out’, using it to fix hurt, because it wasn’t simply having fun. No, he was going to stay as far away from that sort of thing for as long as humanly possible. He would start running the second he saw it coming.  
-  
Vilkas ran his hands up Bryn’s thighs as they caught their breath, and when she looked down at him he smiled hesitantly at her, seeing hints of anguish seeping into her expression, which just moments ago had been one of pleasure. It hadn’t taken him long to get used to the rumble of soft thunder that accompanied her moans and cries, but the first time had been a bit startling. He lifted a hand to brush her hair back from her face and murmured, “Why are you sad?” She shook her head slightly as her gaze moved to his chest, and she lightly ran her hand over the dark hair there. He left the matter alone, for now. But only for now.

Bryn bit her lip as her other hand moved up to touch Vilkas’ cheek. It still didn’t seem real, even after this second go around. Everything about him was so entirely different from Ulfric. But that was a good thing. She placed her other hand next to his head and he held still as she leaned down and slowly, tenderly kissed his cheek. _“Grohiiki,”_ she murmured.

_“Lokali,”_ he replied just as quietly. He said nothing more than that, didn’t do anything but lay there with his hands on her legs. It seemed she was wrestling with something, and he left her to it, hard as it was. She sat up enough to look into his eyes, their faces only inches apart, those golden, inhuman eyes slowly moving over his face as her thumb stroked his cheek. Her hair fell around them, ticking his ribs, but he ignored it.

“I wish we’d had the sense to stay away from each other, at the start. For your sake.” Vilkas frowned, and surprisingly stayed silent. “I’ve been poison to you.”

Vilkas shook his head. “No. That is not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Last year…yes,” he admitted frankly. “The rest of the time, no.”

“What possible good has being shackled to me done you?”

“It forced me to start finally thinking of someone other than me, or Farkas, for once. It made me stop prowling around. After you left I would have drowned my sorrows in other women, without the beast turning them off, and the bond wouldn’t let me. It made it so that I was stuck with myself.” He could tell by her expression that she didn’t like hearing that, but it was the truth. He’d never told her how many women he had been with before she came along, and never would, and frankly he had lost track before he hit thirty. It didn’t embarrass him, because he had done nothing wrong, had never forced a woman, or slept with another man’s wife, had never led a woman to believe there was anything more involved than the mutual scratching of an itch, but Bryn wouldn’t want to hear that, and really it was none of her business. He shook his head and said tiredly, “I don’t want to rehash the past. It is pointless.”

“All right,” she agreed softly. She slid off him, grimacing at the dampness between her legs and the sweat on her skin. “Do you think we could sneak into the bath without anyone seeing us?”

He snorted a laugh and said, “You’re worried about that when everyone in Whiterun heard you?” She frowned, her cheeks pink. “Ah love, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease.” He rolled onto his side to face her, and she sighed and stroked along his flank, an admiring look in her eyes, which he couldn’t help but find flattering.

“Are you going to Balgruuf’s party?” Vilkas hesitated, and she quickly said, “If you don’t want to, I won’t force the issue. I realize—”

“Yes. I eh, wasn’t going to, but…perhaps I could manage it now.”

Bryn made a sound of pain and reached up run her fingers back through his dark hair. “Oh Vilkas. I wish…I wish things had been different. Last year.”

“I said I didn’t want to rehash things.”

“But it isn’t pointless. I’m sorry.” He didn’t answer, his lips pursed as he stared at her nose, not meeting her eyes. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Yes, I realize that,” he stated flatly. “I know there was no intent.” He huffed and shook his head. “Don’t. I don’t want to talk about anything that happened before today.” The peace between them was too fragile to risk it right now. He knew all too well that it wouldn’t take much to make the resentment and anger flare up again between them. Better to just move forward and let things go, even if it wasn’t in either of their natures to do so. Bryn stared obstinately at him for a moment then nodded and looked away. He pushed her hair back over her shoulder and asked, “How do you want to do this?”

“I’d like you to come back to Windhelm with me. I brought your horse.”

“All right.”

“You can put your things in Rikke’s old room, but sleep in mine. I won’t hide that we’re together, but…there are certain proprieties involved.”

“Fair enough. That is also what I would prefer.” There was something vulgar about moving in on a widow, no matter who that widow was. People would no doubt talk, but he wasn’t about to give them unnecessary fodder for it. He suggested, “You should ask Siga to come to Windhelm as well. She is struggling a bit here. Danica thinks she is not suited for the life of a priestess. She has a talent for healing, but not the mindset for living in a temple.”

Bryn nodded and gave him a brief smile. “That’s a good idea.” She liked the girl a great deal and could certainly use another woman around. 

“You could use the help, I’m sure. Especially once the little one arrives. And perhaps it would be good for you to teach her. I could help her with her reading and writing and history.” Bryn gazed at him evenly for a moment then made a small sound of assent. He supposed he was being a bit forceful, but they were either together or they weren’t, and if she said they were then she could damn well listen to his advice. Teaching Siga about the healing arts and the school of Restoration would help heal Bryn in turn, and tutoring the girl would do the same for Vilkas, the two of them needing objectives like that after spending too much of last year dealing out death. And Siga was a charming lass, stubborn but eager to please. It was a bit disheartening to realize that he was reaching the point in his life where women Siga’s age were young enough to be his daughter. 

“Well then, off to the bath. We have a party to go to,” Bryn said briskly, rolling off the bed. Vilkas sighed and did so as well, and as he stood she couldn’t help feeling a helpless thrill at the sight of him. There was not one bit of softness to that man's body. He was a work of art, the epitome of beauty in a man’s form. Well, maybe now they would be able to form some kind of relationship that didn’t revolve around the bed. The year they had spent together it seemed that was all they had done, trying to cram in all the intimacy they could in the brief times she was home. The time in Solstheim had shown her what it could be like, if they could just get past the hurt that last year had built up between them. She bent down to pick up her clothes off the floor, and when she straightened up again he gently grabbed her upper arm.

“We are starting over.” She stared at him a moment then nodded, and he let go of her.

“Yes, beloved.” She supposed that was for the best.

“In Skyrim there used to be a New Life Festival on this day. That is no doubt why Balgruuf throws his parties. We are starting our new life today, you and me. Last year is behind us. We will grieve Ulfric and Hadvar when it comes up, but whatever bad things were between us are in the past now.”

“All right.” Bryn tried not to smile at the ring of authority to his tone, knowing it wouldn’t go over well. She didn’t mind his bossiness. The dragon in her liked strength in a mate. The woman in her liked a man who was a match for her, and if last year had done nothing else positive for him it had made him a force to be reckoned with in his own right. He certainly had no reason to fear standing in her shadow. He was the North Wind, the Killing Frost. A hero. People fell out of his way when they saw him coming, viewed him with a certain fear that they didn’t even view her with. And yet she knew that once Fjonnar was born that Vilkas would be a loving and devoted father, fiercely protective of their little cub, as any good man would be. Because he was a good man.

Vilkas pulled on his pants and saw Bryn watching him with a warm expression, her eyes shining, and the look melted him to the core. He smirked at her and asked, “Are you trying to get yourself put back into the bed, woman?”

“I love you, Vilkas.” He looked startled for a moment then he smiled at her, grinned at her, and it was so beautiful it took her breath away. It was the first real smile she had seen on him in longer than she could remember, chasing away some of the shadows behind his eyes. She would simply have to keep at it, do as he demanded and let the past go. Or at least not bring it up. It was the least she could do for a man that had put up with more bullshit from her than anyone had a right to expect.  
-  
Yrsarald bowed to his Queen then headed off to his home, eager to get back to his wife and children, not at all used to being away from Windhelm for any length of time. Bryn couldn’t blame him. It made it apparent to her though that she needed to find someone else to take Hadvar’s place. She would occasionally need to travel, and she didn’t want someone who had young ones at home and couldn’t bear to be away from them for even a week. Erandur could function as a fair battlemage, but his focus was on peaceful things, on Mara’s works, and he simply didn’t have the mindset for being a guard. She feared nothing for herself, but the child would be born in a few months and she would be distracted, as would Vilkas.

She glanced at him and he was staring down the hall with a stricken look on his face, as if dreading seeing the portrait. It still made her heart clench with loss to look at it, though some times were worse than others. Jorleif came towards her, his expression passing between relief that she was back and wariness over Vilkas’ presence, having seen the way he left. Well, she had warned him before she went to Whiterun that Vilkas might come back with her, and Galmar had promised to try to explain things a bit more to the steward while she was gone. She didn’t fool herself that everything would be rosy from here on out, but Vilkas was here and was willing to try, and she was willing to try, and one couldn’t expect a whole lot more than that at this point.

Jorleif bowed to Bryn and said, “My lady, how was your trip to Whiterun?”

“Fine, Jorleif, thank you,” she replied. “It was nice spending some time with the Companions, and Balgruuf.” She gestured behind her, and Siga hesitantly came forward, her eyes wide with awe as she took in the massive hall, the grandest in all of Skyrim. She put her arm around the girl and said, “This is Siga.”

Jorleif smiled at the young woman and stated, “Ah, our lady told me about you. Welcome to Windhelm.”

Siga put her hands to her cheeks and Bryn laughed quietly and gave her a gentle shake. “None of that. You’re doing me a favor by coming here, little one. I need your help.”

“Yes, milady,” the girl murmured, lowering her hands. She had jumped at the chance to go with the Queen when Yrsarald had approached her on Bryn’s behalf, asking if Siga would be willing to be the Queen’s handmaiden, something Bryn had never had and needed desperately. Siga knew she didn’t have refined manners, and she was still barely literate, but Yrsarald had made it clear that the Queen didn’t care about any of that but trusted her a great deal and needed someone to be a general helper to her, especially after the baby was born, and would prefer that it was her, and Siga couldn’t say no to that. She wouldn’t dream of it. She simply wasn’t cut out for the quiet, contemplative life of the temple, but she enjoyed healing, and she enjoyed helping, and she could do both here. The Queen had promised to continue her magical training, and Vilkas had offered to help her with reading and writing, and even some basic weapons training if she was interested. She’d have to think about that last part though. The Harbinger was still much too intimidating. She could handle the rest of it, but she didn’t think she could bring herself to face Vilkas with a weapon in her hand. Or in his. She had spent too many months watching him on the battlefield for that.

Bryn went on to Jorleif in a more subdued tone, “I was thinking she could stay in Hadvar’s old room.”

“Aye, my lady,” Jorleif said with a sad nod. The young man’s room hadn’t been touched since his death, but Hadvar had kept little in there. Jorleif glanced at Ralof, and the Guard was looking past him, a look of restrained sorrow on his face. The steward quietly said to him, “I’ll box it all up and leave it in your room, lad. You can take it to Riverwood, next time you’re there.” Ralof nodded, probably not trusting himself to say anything.

As the steward bowed to the Queen then walked away, Siga murmured, “My lady, he was dear to you. I feel awful taking his room. I can sleep in the servants’ quarters, really. I got…” She cleared her throat and corrected herself. “I have no problem with it.” _Country bumpkin!_ she chided herself. If she was to be the Dragonborn’s handmaiden then she had to stop talking like she had just stepped off the farm.

Bryn stated, “There are no servants’ quarters. The staff who work here all live in town, other than the cook. And I’d like to have you close, especially after Fjonnar is born.” The girl nodded then shivered, rubbing her arms. Bryn touched Ralof’s arm and he drew in a breath and looked at her with sad eyes. “Could you take Siga around the city? Show her where everything is. Stop by the market first and get her a warmer cloak, and whatever else she would like.” Hopefully it would help distract Ralof from his sadness. Bryn knew it wouldn’t be easy to have Hadvar’s room taken, but it was better than having it sit empty and provide fodder for grief.

“Aye, my lady,” Ralof muttered. He motioned with his head towards Siga and the girl was staring at him, then she dropped her eyes and blushed then curtseyed to the Queen. When Ralof glanced at Bryn she was looking between the two of them with a single raised eyebrow. Ralof grimaced slightly and gave the tiniest shake of his head, and Bryn smiled at him then patted his arm. He had no interest at all in the girl, cute as she was. There was something so childlike about her that Ralof couldn’t look at her that way. And living in close quarters? Forget it. He liked not bumping into his bedmates on a regular basis.

Bryn watched the two leave the Palace, Siga practically radiating anxiety. Bryn didn’t blame her; Windhelm was the biggest city in Skyrim next to Solitude and the layout could be confusing at first. She felt a presence at her side and smelled Vilkas, and she resisted the urge to lean against him. While there was still some slight tension there, things that still hadn’t been said, she was glad he was here. He had stayed close to her at Balgruuf’s party, though he had acted more as a guard to her than a partner, as he had on the way here as well, which really was for the best. They hadn’t slept together since that single afternoon, which was also for the best. There was peace between them, and that was all that mattered for now.

“So she is sweet on him?” Vilkas asked quietly, a tone of amusement in his voice.

“It looks that way,” Bryn murmured. “I didn’t notice it…before.” During the war. Well, there were many things she hadn’t noticed, being slightly preoccupied by a great many very important things. “He’s a handsome man,” she said with a shrug as she turned away.

Vilkas picked up his packs and said in a wry tone, “Yes, so you have said.”

She laughed and stated, “He does nothing for me, which I have also said.”

“So you have.” He took a deep breath and followed her down the length of the grand hall. He hadn’t been to the Palace of Kings since that fateful day that Miraak’s minions had shown up, and even then he had only gone to the barracks; before that he had only ever come to Windhelm to collect payment for a job, and he had always left as quickly as possible. This place had always struck him as cold, and not because of the weather. Balgruuf’s palace was a home, warm and timbered, full of activity. Vilkas supposed this had been Bryn and Ulfric’s home, and he supposed if he gave himself time it would become his as well, especially once the babe was born.

“I’m having new rugs and banners made,” Bryn stated, keenly aware of how an outsider must view the tattered remnants that had been there since Ulfric’s grandfather’s time.

“Eastmarch colors?” Bryn nodded. He grunted and said, “It’s still odd to me. I can’t wrap my mind around you being a Jarl. Silly, I know.” Her being Queen was something he had gotten used to long ago. He wasn’t sure why it felt so strange to him that she was Jarl of Eastmarch, but it did. Perhaps it was because Ulfric had ruled here for so long. Well, this was Bryn’s city now, Bryn’s hold. It had been before, as Ulfric’s lady, but it was fully hers now, and she would put her stamp on it all to the point where one day it would be hard to remember it being any other way.

“Being a Jarl is harder, in a way. More intimate. Any man or woman of the hold should be able to come to their Jarl for aid. Ulfric was always busy with hold business. I haven’t been approached much, yet, because of how things have been, but I’ve made sure to get out among the people and let them know I’m there. He…Ulfric, didn’t do that. He didn’t do a lot of what he should have.” And she had let it go, to keep him happy and comfortable, knowing he had little time left.

Vilkas stated, “Most of the Jarls don’t go amongst the people as they should. I suppose they consider that the thanes’ job.”

“Well, I really only have two thanes, Brunwulf and Torbjorn, and they’re both older.” She eyed him sideways and said, “Go out and help my people, and I’ll make you a thane.”

“You do and I’ll wring your neck.” Bryn giggled quietly at that and he snorted a laugh, knowing that she had been joking. At least they could laugh and joke now, if only a little. His smile faded as they reached the large portrait that dominated one wall. “So there it is,” he whispered. Bryn nodded, her expression bleak, and he put his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her, and himself, as anyone else would do. The painting was stunning, nearly life-sized, Bryn crowned and wearing dragonscale armor, Ulfric wearing ebony with the Shield of Eastmarch at his feet. Both wore somber expressions, as if they had understood at the time what the portrait would mean to Bryn and their son. This would be the only way Fjonnar would know that his father had looked like. It was a perfect likeness of them both, the painter obviously incredibly talented. “This…this will mean a great deal to the boy one day,” he softly said.

“Yes.”

She walked away, and he stared at the portrait a moment longer before following her, his heart aching. It still didn’t seem real to him that Ulfric was dead, but Vilkas had seen the body up close, had said his final goodbyes in that tent before Ulfric was shut into the oak coffin. Before long he would force himself to go up to the Shrine of Talos overlooking the city and pay his respects there as well.

Vilkas followed Bryn upstairs, and as they neared her quarters he felt his heart start to pound with anxiety. He saw Jorleif moving around in a room that must have been Hadvar’s, and he turned his eyes away. Bryn led him to a room across the hall and over one that must have been Rikke’s once upon a time. He shivered at the cold inside, but the room seemed ready for him, even if he wouldn’t be sleeping there. Well, he supposed he might once in a while if he pissed off the Queen. He doubted Ulfric had ever been the one to sleep anywhere else when they fought, but then Ulfric had told him that his infrequent though spectacular spats with Bryn had always blown themselves out fairly quickly, for the most part. Vilkas didn’t fool himself that he and Bryn would never fight, but he didn’t have Ulfric’s temperament. His temper was every bit as bad, but Ulfric had a tendency to dig in that put Vilkas’ stubbornness to shame.

He left his bags by a dresser and tossed his gauntlets on top of them, and when he nibbled at his bottom lip Bryn said, “We don’t have to do this now.”

“Yes, I do. Now, later…better that it’s now.” She nodded and held out her hand, and he let out a sigh that seemed to ease some of the tension in him. This hall was truly home, where only those who were close to her and had been close to Ulfric lived. She would hold her beloved’s hand here if she felt like it. As she led Vilkas up the last set of stairs she promised, “This will feel like home one day. I didn’t like it here at first, with all the stone and the tiny windows you can’t even see out of, but…after a while, after I got used to it, it was…snug. Safe. It isn’t Jorrvaskr, or Whiterun, but…we can make more changes, later, after… Well, later. To make it feel more like home to you.”

“Aye,” he murmured. It was good that she was thinking about that. Thinking about them being married. Thinking about his comfort. He still wasn’t used to it, her consideration. He felt a swell of gratitude all over again to his brother for taking him away before things blew up catastrophically, and to his sister-in-law as well for the time she had put in here in Windhelm working on Bryn. Mara only knew how long it would have taken for Vilkas and Bryn to straighten things out on their own. He had to wonder if they ever would have, and it made a twinge of anxiety go through him at the thought that maybe the two of them weren’t capable of staying on track without Farkas and Lydia. The two had promised to visit in about a month, with Jergen, and of course the other Companions would be coming and going from time to time. Vilkas was fairly certain that the next time he saw Mjoll that his shield-sister was going to be looking for any signs at all of discord. And looking to blame him for it.

Bryn didn’t pause at the top of the stairs and went right in, and Vilkas’ hand fell out of hers as he stopped in his tracks in the doorway. He blinked as he took in the room, exactly as he had envisioned it, though the furniture was arranged a bit differently, and there were knick-knacks on the mantle. Well, not knick-knacks, obviously, but—

“What do you think?”

The gruff question from behind startled him, and he turned to see Galmar coming up the stairs. The older man was in regular clothing, though fine, with a bear fur vest and boots. Vilkas had never seen him wearing anything but some form of armor for so long that he was nearly unrecognizable. Galmar’s eyes were shadowed with grief, his expression tense and chin jutted out. It was no doubt extremely difficult for him to see another man entering his best friend’s bedchamber. Vilkas stated, “I think I would turn around and leave right now and never look back, if I could have him here instead of me.”

Galmar huffed and leaned against the wall at the top of the stairs then muttered, “That isn’t what I meant.”

“Aye, but it had to be said.”

“No one with any brains is going to give you a hard time over being here. This is what Ulfric wanted. It’s gotten around plenty in the last two months how close you two were and that Ulfric made you swear to this. I’m not sure how, Rikke and Ralof maybe, but it has.” He looked past Vilkas at Bryn, and the Queen was standing by the cold fireplace, staring at the dragon statuette as she often did. Her cheeks were pink, of all things. Well, Galmar didn’t like talking about this either. He missed Ulfric like hell and knew his love for his friend and Jarl had been every bit as great as hers, if not greater. A different kind of love, but not any less, and she had loved Ulfric deeply. 

But always Vilkas had been in the background, if not literally then in thought, and here he was now, and Galmar knew damn well why she was blushing, something he hadn’t seen her do in years. Galmar knew that Vilkas would never sleep in Rikke’s old room. Maybe the Queen and the Harbinger had already done the deed, back in Whiterun. Maybe that was how she had gotten the Harbinger to come here, and why Galmar had seen them holding hands on their way up the steps. It was hard to not view it as a betrayal of Ulfric’s memory, even if it wasn’t. Galmar hadn’t even been able to think about any other woman after his wife’s death, for years, not until Rikke had shown up, but everyone grieved differently, and Bryn was young and pregnant, and the child needed a father, and Ulfric had demanded that Vilkas be that father, that Vilkas take care of Bryn for him, and Galmar couldn’t resent that. Galmar certainly wouldn’t want to be in Vilkas’ shoes, competing with a ghost, having every eye on him. Maybe no one would have the balls to say anything, but people would think what they would, and silently judge.

Galmar repeated, “So. What do you think? Is it the same as your dream?”

“Close enough,” Vilkas muttered.

“Huh. Well, for what it’s worth…welcome to Windhelm, Harbinger.”

“Thank you.” The former housecarl nodded and turned away and went down the stairs, and Vilkas watched him go, seeing the older man’s shoulders hunched. Galmar’s tone hadn’t been particularly welcoming, but it hadn’t been hostile either. Galmar had lost someone who had meant to him what Farkas meant to Vilkas, so he understood what the other man was feeling. It didn't matter that Galmar had accepted back in Cyrodiil, and had been relieved, that Vilkas would take care of Bryn and the child, raise Ulfric's son for him. Galmar could accept it, even be glad for it, and still be hurting.

He sighed heavily and closed the door partway, and Bryn knelt down to start the fire, feeding magical flames into the piled tinder and wood there. He looked around the room, feeling another shiver of… well, it wasn’t foreboding. It was confusing, actually. The memory of the vision made him feel warm and happy, but all he could think about right now was that this was Ulfric’s room. None of Ulfric’s things were still lying about, something Lydia had had a hand in, but it was still as if the room was steeped in the Jarl’s presence. Ulfric had probably been conceived and born in this room. This room had seen forty generations or more of Ulfric’s bloodline, and Ulfric had very nearly been the last. It seemed risky for any Jarl to have only a single child, but Balgruuf was the rarity with his three for some reason. Vilkas had heard that Falk Firebeard and his wife Bryling were expecting. That probably wasn’t sitting well with Elisif, wherever the hell she was.

“Galmar will get used to this,” Bryn murmured, “the way everyone else will. It’s going to take time, but they will.”

“Aye.” He stood where he was, still unable to take his eyes off the room, especially the stone columns that were adorned with the screeching ravens that could be found all over the city. Vilkas couldn’t recall ever seeing them anywhere else, though he supposed a similar motif graced the pauldrons of the Nordic armor that he and Bryn had seen on Solstheim. He wondered if they were an ancient Atmoran totem. Windhelm was the only truly Atmoran city left in Skyrim, Ysgramor’s legacy. Vilkas ventured, “I was thinking…next month, I would like to have a reading of the names of the Five Hundred Companions.”

“Ah,” Bryn said, surprised. “There hasn’t been a Feast of the Dead here in…well, a long time.” Since Ulfric had become Jarl. She stood and rubbed the side of her abdomen, saying, “That’s a wonderful idea. Jorleif and Rikke can help with it.”

“It should be a somber event.” He didn’t want her to think he was trying to throw a party. It was a tradition that it seemed only right for him to reinstate, being the Harbinger. It was his duty and his privilege to uphold the legacy of Ysgramor in the city the first Harbinger had founded. Wuuthrad was hanging safely in its old place of honor in Jorrvaskr or else he would have gone to fetch it himself; Vignar had insisted the Circle go get it from Ysgramor’s tomb last year, both to keep the weapon safe and seal back up the tomb. Vilkas couldn’t quite figure out why they had all left it there for so long. It was a bit embarrassing, really.

“Yes, I imagine so. I remember you telling me that Kodlak used to bring you and Farkas here for it.”

“Perhaps I will invite all the Companions here.”

“I would like that. They’re all free to stay in Hjerim at any time.” She heard Vilkas grunt in assent. She went back to gazing at the dragon statuette, and when he came over to stand by the fire with her she asked, “Is it strange?”

“Yes.” Bryn looked up at him and her eyes glittered in the dim firelight, and when she turned back to the ivory dragon he looked at it as well. He had never seen it before, and he had to admit it was stunning, one of the finest pieces of craftsmanship he had ever seen. The jeweled Paragons were interesting as well, but for now he only had eyes for the dragon. It was about six inches tall, smooth-skinned, with those odd extra forelimbs. Bryn had told him long ago about what she would one day become, but he knew he didn’t have the whole story. Maybe over the years he would get it out of her. He ventured to touch her, laying his hand on her small belly, and she put her hand over his and leaned against him without hesitation, and he had been looking for it. He put his other arm around her shoulders, careful in his armor, though she had a cloak over her fine clothing.

Bryn whispered, “I’m so glad you’re here, Vilkas.”

“As am I, love.” Mostly, and the reasons he wasn’t had nothing to do with her. It was touching to hear her say his name, something she rarely did.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” 

He grumbled and let go of her, muttering, “Save it.” He should have known she wouldn’t let it go.

“But—” He made a growling sound of annoyance and shook his head. She clenched her fists and demanded, “Just let me get it out, damn you!”

“I don’t want to hear it!”

“We can’t just ignore it. If you couldn’t have the decency to read my letters, at least stand there and listen to what I have to say.”

He narrowed his pale eyes at her and said, “And _that_ is why I don’t want to talk about it. What is the point of dredging up all the nastiness and pain? It won’t make me feel any better. The only thing that will is moving forward.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

“So you are still angry then.”

“I never said that.”

“You don’t have to. I can tell.”

He snidely retorted, “Oh, can you read minds now? You grow ever more amazing.”

Bryn’s eyes widened as her nostrils flared. “You…you _ass.”_ It was so much like the old Vilkas from before he was cured that it made her want to smack him. She had never hit anyone in anger and never would, but gods it was tempting. He was completely unfazed by her accusation, glaring coldly at her, his arms folded. There were so many things she could say right now to wound him, dancing on the tip of her tongue, begging to be said. Once she would have. Some of the arguments they’d had when they were together had been terrible, both their tempers awful, followed by some of the most fantastic sex imaginable. Well, it wasn’t like that anymore, and she didn’t want it to be. If she let them argue now, if she jabbed at him now, while he was still angry and hurting, serious damage would be done. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment then muttered, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you that.” His lips pursed as he stared at her, as if debating whether to accept it, then he sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead then let his hand fall.

“We can’t do this, Brynhilde,” Vilkas warned in a tense voice. “We aren’t who we once were. We used to argue like it was foreplay, but I can’t do that anymore. I don’t have it in me.”

“I know.”

“I wish it could be like it was on Solstheim, but I know it can’t be, because we aren’t those people anymore either. I know…” He huffed tiredly. “I know you didn’t hurt me with intent. I know that everything you had left in you was Ulfric’s, and I don’t begrudge him that. I hid how hurt I was like some wounded animal, and it made things worse, and then you were grieving, and it was a shitty mess and all I could do was walk away from it. I’m not Ulfric. I can’t dig in and meet you head on the way he did, and…this was his place. I have no…I have no leverage here.” Bryn looked astonished, her mouth slightly open, then she nodded slightly in understanding and looked down at her hands. He tentatively took one then took her head in the other one and pulled her close, and she was a bit tense but let him. “There will be children in this house soon,” he murmured.

“Yes,” she whispered. She understood exactly what he was saying. Vilkas felt awkward and vulnerable here, in this place that had been Ulfric’s all his life. Vilkas ruled in Jorrvaskr, but here he was…well, she wasn’t sure what he was at this point. Lover. Companion. Ulfric had never walked away from an argument, had refused to be the one to quit the field, because this had been his field. It had been her home too, but neither of them had ever forgotten that he was the Jarl of Eastmarch and this was his Palace, his room, his throne, his territory. Now it was Bryn’s, and Vilkas was very aware of that. And as he had reminded her, there would be children here before long, and neither of them wanted to raise children around bickering and tension.

“There. I said it for you, so…leave it be. Please.”

“All right, beloved.” And so she would. He’d gotten to the meat of the matter and the only reason for hashing it out further would be to spill her own guts and unburden herself, and he didn’t need to hear that. Lydia had already accepted that duty willingly. Ah, but she missed Lydia. There was still no one here who could mean to her what her former housecarl did, but she would see her soon enough, and Lydia and Farkas had promised to stay for an extended period of time once Fjonnar was born. In the meantime she would help Vilkas settle in here, and Siga, and try to attain some sense of normalcy, for once in her life. Surely the Divines would leave her alone for a year or two and let her enjoying having the family she had always wanted, with the man she had never stopped loving.

Vilkas kissed her forehead then said, “I need out of this armor. Help me out of it and I will rub your feet for you.” Bryn’s expression brightened at that.

He self-consciously let go of her hand as they went down the stairs, and he couldn’t help feeling a bit claustrophobic at the sight of stone walls pressing in on either side of him. Much of Jorrvaskr was underground, but the halls were wide, and the building was always warm. He supposed he would get used to the cold just as Bryn had, and she had been bred and raised in the warmth of Cyrodiil. He would have to get warmer clothes, something that was suitable for being seen in Bryn’s company. He couldn’t help squirming internally as he removed his armor over the thought of one day being a Prince Consort. Ulfric had had a princely bearing about him, noble born as he was, every Jarl basically the king of his own hold. Vilkas didn’t doubt his own bearing, but all this was going to take getting used to. A lot of getting used to. He supposed he was glad though that he had been given the chance to get used to it.  
-  
Vilkas took his seat with the others at the dinner table, waiting for the Queen to take hers first. The bench felt awkward, well, everything did, but he knew everyone here to some extent. He sat at Bryn’s right hand and Ralof at her left; Rikke sat next to Vilkas, then Galmar next to his wife; Jorleif sat between Ralof and Siga. Yrsarald took most meals with his own family, now that he had children. Bryn had told Vilkas that sometimes Jora and Lortheim joined them for dinner, but it was being kept small tonight. For obvious reasons.

Ralof passed the first dish to Bryn, and Jorleif smiled at Vilkas and said, “So Harbinger…not quite what you’re used in Jorrvaskr, yeah?”

Not quite sure what the steward was getting at, Vilkas answered in an uncertain tone, “It is cold here, but I will get used to it.” He did miss eating around the firepit. Nord or not, he hadn’t been warm all afternoon and evening. Jorleif nodded, and Vilkas had to assume that was what he’d meant.

Rikke touched his arm and said, “We’re moving into the coldest part of the year. It’ll warm back up before you know it.”

“Yes, I suppose freezing is an improvement over sub-freezing.”

She laughed and Ralof snorted and said, “Don’t feel bad, this Riverwood boy knows where you’re coming from. I’m never warm.”

Jorleif motioned towards the ceiling and stated, “High ceiling, doesn’t hold any heat.” Vilkas nodded. “Jorrvaskr still has the old Atmoran heating system, I’ve heard.”

Vilkas took the serving dish of meat from Bryn, nodding as he said, “Aye. Ulfric…he told me this place used to have one, long ago.” Bathing was something he was not looking forward to here. When Bryn had told him that they used portable tubs and had to haul water in buckets he had been appalled, spoiled as he was by the hot spring fed bathing room in Jorrvaskr. Well, if nothing else he was going to find a way to build a sauna here, maybe by Hjerim. Bryn had already promised him earlier today that the house was his to get away to whenever he wanted, or for the two of them to get away to. The house was warm and pleasant; it was a shame the two of them couldn’t actually live there, raise the children there. The layout of the Palace wasn’t conducive to raising a family, but like everything else they would find a way.

The figurative ice broken, dinner passed quietly but pleasantly. Vilkas noted Galmar’s gruff silence, though the older man wasn’t angry or resentful that Vilkas could tell. No one seemed to be. Halfway through the meal one of the great bronze doors cracked open just enough to let in a courier, and Jorleif stood from the table and intercepted the young man.

“Letter for Her Majesty, Queen Brynhilde,” he said, his teeth nearly chattering.

“Aye,” Jorleif said, taking the thick leather envelope from him. He handed him some coin and said, “Get yourself a warm meal and a drink at Candlehearth, lad.”

“Will do, thank you.” He bowed deeply to the Queen then left as quickly as he came.

The steward opened the leather pouch as he returned to the table, and when he saw the red wax seal stamped with the Imperial dragon symbol of the Empire he took a deep breath and said to Bryn, “My lady, it’s from Cyrodiil. Would you like to open it in the sitting room?”

Bryn shook her head and held out her hand, and as Jorleif handed her the envelope she had to still her nerves. She had been waiting two months to hear something from the Emperor. She broke the seal with a table knife and unfolded the fine parchment, seeing Titus Mede’s deeply slanted but neat handwriting. She felt all eyes on her as she read, and within the first paragraph she felt deep relief flood through her. She heard a collective letting out of breath from everyone at the table when they saw her smile, and when she finished she let the letter fall into her lap as she looked up and smiled more broadly at everyone, though briefly. She couldn’t help taking the news with an aching heart, wishing Ulfric had lived to see this day.

“Good news, my lady?” Rikke prompted.

“Very. The Emperor received the Aldmeri Dominion’s unconditional surrender not quite three weeks ago. Alinor’s surrender, I should say; the Dominion is no more.”

“Praise Talos,” Galmar whispered roughly, bowing his head as his eyes squeezed shut. He felt Rikke’s arm go around him and he leaned his head against hers. He could only hope that somehow Ulfric and Hadvar, and the rest of the Nord fallen in Sovngarde, had some way of knowing that their sacrifices hadn’t been in vain. He took in a shuddering breath and opened his eyes, and when he looked up at the Queen she was holding Vilkas’ and Ralof’s hands. Ralof had his own eyes closed, a look of pain on his face; Vilkas and Bryn were looking at each other with expressions Galmar couldn’t quite sort out, equal parts sorrow and relief, and other things. He asked in a rough voice, “Who gave the surrender? And how?”

“Well, their government is rather disorganized right now,” Bryn stated as she let go of the men’s hands and picked the letter up again, scanning it once more. “It seems the more the Thalmor poured into the war effort, the thinner their ranks became back in the Isles. Left them in a rather vulnerable position, I would imagine.”

“As we expected.”

“Yes, and as expected as their losses mounted the Thalmor conscripted even more heavily, resentment started to build more openly, and so on. Those ships that my _zeymahhe_ wrecked on the coast had come to retrieve the remaining Aldmeri forces to quell rebellion back in Alinor. Or is the Summerset Isles again? I suppose we’ll see. The Thalmor government left are currently being purged, very elder members who spearheaded all this from the beginning. Most have gone into hiding but on an island how far can you really run? They might take a boat somewhere, but where would they be welcome?” She scanned further down. “Valenwood has shut its borders to everyone, man and mer alike. There seems to be a new Silvenar and he’s sent letters promising future discussions of treaty and stating their break from the Dominion. Hammerfell refuses to rejoin the Empire but is willing to discuss alliances. Morrowind…” She laughed quietly. “They’ll consider an alliance with the Empire once I’m on the throne and not before, but are willing to consider trade and agreements of mutual assistance with Skyrim.” She smiled slightly at Vilkas, both of them knowing it was partly the result of their time on Solstheim and their dealings with Councilor Morvayn. He smiled back the tiniest bit, briefly, then turned back to his food. Food was easy to manage. She thought she would like to visit Solstheim again, when Fjonnar was a little older but before that first daughter came along. They weren't setting foot on another ship though until everyone had waterbreathing-enchanted gear, including the baby.

She went on to the others, “There isn’t a centralized government as such right now in Alinor. The local heads of the various city-states are trying to hold everything together and sent a party waving the white flag, so to speak. I imagine that was a tense and frightening trip into Cyrodiil. They threw themselves on the mercy of the Emperor and let him set the terms of surrender. It seems they were under the impression that the dragons were going to start flying over the Isles if they didn't.” She folded the letter neatly and laid it once again in her lap. There were other matters there, more personal ones, new condolences over the loss of Ulfric and thanks for her service, hopes that she would visit the Imperial City at some point after the child was born. She would show the letter to Vilkas later, but the others didn’t need to read it; she thought her beloved might like to see the City and White-Gold Tower one day, or poke around in an Ayleid ruin with her. She glanced at Rikke and said, “I could use your help, after dinner, to craft some letters to the Jarls.” Rikke nodded, looking happy at the prospect, her arm still around her husband. Bryn turned her gaze on Jorleif and said, “Start spreading the word here among the guards and tell Elda in Candlehearth Hall, and have that courier stay until I need him. I want our people to know what they’ve accomplished.”

“Yes my lady,” he said, hopping up to do so.

Siga cleared her throat and Bryn smiled at her, encouraging her to speak up, and she asked, “Milady, is the Emperor going to make the Elves rejoin the Empire?”

Bryn shook her head. “Hm, doubtful,” she stated. “There’s really no point in it, and it would only give them fresh fodder for resentment. Tiber Septim started all this, you know. Some of the more ancient Thalmor were probably there when he used the Numidium on them, and I'm sure they never forgot it.” The girl looked at her blankly and Bryn didn’t elaborate. It wasn’t the time or the place. “Tiber Septim did accomplish something grand when he put the Empire together. Tens of thousands died, but people had been dying all along in the border wars and constant bickering before that. His mistake was in forcing the other races into the Empire. The ways of the Bretons and Redguards and the Colovians and Nibenese may seem odd to Nords, and vice versa, but in the end all are still human. The Mer races, the Khajiit and Argonians…they are not. We can’t expect them to think, feel or act just like humans, or have the same motivations. The ones who leave their homelands and live among us are the ones we’re most likely to understand and relate to, but the others?” She shook her head. “I want peace. My way is not Tiber Septim’s. I’ll protect the Empire, but I have no interest in expanding it the way he did.” She shook her head once more and picked back up her fork. _“Rok lost tarvokus punmak dovah.”_

The others stared at Bryn without comprehension, and Vilkas helpfully supplied, “He was a greedy male dragon.” They nodded and everyone quietly continued eating. The silence wasn’t an uncomfortable one. Even back in Jorrvaskr sometimes dinner was a quiet thing, everyone lost in their own thoughts, and this letter had provided plenty of material to ponder. He took a drink of mead and saw Ralof staring across the hall at the portrait, and when the young man’s gaze fell on him Vilkas said, “Tomorrow I’ll start teaching you.” Ralof nodded, and when Bryn looked between them in surprise then smiled brightly he ventured to touch her hand under the table. She took his and gave it a gentle squeeze, her eyes shining, and it made a bit more of the tension start to ease. It would be okay here. It might take time, but he could be okay here. The folk here were likable and the inner circle had been accepting of him, and tomorrow he would start teaching Ralof the dragon tongue, perhaps even start tutoring Siga in her letters. It was something to look forward to. That and Fjonnar’s birth. Yes, it would be okay here. He would be okay. Finally, after nearly a year of stress and war and misery, he finally knew they would all be okay.


	76. Chapter 76

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **So sorry for the long time between updates. This story is not dead by any means, I just got wrapped up in the other one to the exclusion of all else and had trouble shifting myself back into the mindset required for this one. It was nice to climb back into the head of Good Vilkas. :)**

The sound of one of the great bronze doors opening brought Vilkas running out of the sitting room. He had been waiting for seemingly endless days for his brother and Lydia to show up with Jergen. Bryn was overdue to bear Fjonnar by a week and was so miserable and grouchy that it seemed the entire city was on tenterhooks, waiting for her to give birth to Ulfric’s heir. Vilkas was grateful that the priest Erandur seemed to have endless patience with her moods, something Vilkas did not no matter how he loved the woman. And love her he did. 

He thought he had loved her before. How naïve he had been. They hadn’t spent a single night apart in the four months since he had come to Windhelm with her, and while some of those nights had been hard, nights that she had wept for Ulfric in his arms, nights that he had sat with her in silent support while she and Ralof held each other and wept over the Jarl and Hadvar, they were all nights that he cherished, because he was here, because she never shut him out. He had finally given up any pretenses and moved his few possessions into the room several weeks ago, at the same time that they had finished rearranging the furniture in there and setting up the exquisitely carved maple cradle Balgruuf had sent her as a baby gift. He was finally starting to feel like the room was his as well, and that feeling would only grow once the little one arrived. If he ever did.

Vilkas stared in confusion at the small group that entered the Palace, accompanied by Eastmarch guards. It was half a dozen Imperial soldiers, dressed warmly for the mid-spring weather that even in Whiterun would be considered wintry, some of them carrying boxes. Most shocking of all, at the center, bundled in furs, was an Altmer woman. She was as tall as Bryn, maybe even an inch or two taller, with wide bright green eyes and a pouting little rosebud mouth, wisps of white-blond hair curling out of her hood. She was a lovely thing, in that inhuman way that had never done a thing for him, even before the war.

Jorleif hurried to the group, and the lead guard in Eastmarch blue said to him, “They’re from the Imperial City. This Elf says she’s Her Majesty’s aunt.” Jorleif stared at the mer in surprise and she gazed back, lifting her chin, though it was obvious she was nervous by the way her thin hands in their fine kid gloves trembled as she clutched the fur cloak more tightly about her. Might also be the cold, but Jorleif doubted it.

One of the Legionnaires said, “We have papers. Letters from the Emperor. Gifts for Queen Brynhilde and the little Prince.”

Jorleif grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck, saying, “Yeah, eh, he’s a bit overdue. The healer says any day now though.”

“Oh, my poor darling,” the mer said with anxiety. “Can I see her? I came all this way, I _must_ see her!”

Jorleif gazed at her for a moment then took the letter of introduction from the soldier’s outstretched hand. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Yrsarald coming, Vilkas at his side. It was still hard to get used to Yrsarald being the housecarl here after the last twenty-five years of Galmar. Some days it seemed the Stone-Fist didn’t know what to do with himself, though he had done some traveling with Rikke to visit the Queen’s properties and spent a great deal of time with his granddaughter, and would do the same with Fjonnar when the boy was old enough. If Ulfric’s son ever left his cozy nest, that was.

Jorleif opened the letter and read it then nodded and handed it to Yrsarald, who quickly read it through. It was from Commander Maro of the Penitus Oculatus, stating that Queen Brynhilde’s aunt Elluhrine, an Imperial citizen of good standing, was traveling to Skryim for an extended stay. Yrsarald grunted and asked Jorleif, “Did the Queen know she was coming?” Because Yrsarald sure as hell hadn’t. Jorleif shrugged helplessly.

“No, she did not,” Vilkas stated. The Elf woman turned her big eyes on Vilkas, and he tried not to let his distaste show, feeling his upper lip twitch slightly. He had no actual dislike for Altmer, in theory, but since the war the sight of them rankled him. Elluhrine shivered under his cold gaze, seeming to sink into the fur cloak as recognition lit in her eyes. So she knew who he was. Well, everyone did, the stalhrim greatsword across his back evident, and she was even more of an idiot than Bryn had hinted at if she hadn’t realized he would be here. “I will tell her you are here,” he stated, and Elluhrine nodded slightly, her eyes still fixed on him like a frightened rabbit. He saw her shiver again, but the Colovian Legionnaires were also trying not to do so in the cold. He wasn’t about to think less of them for it. During the war they had shrugged off the summer heat of Cyrodiil with only mild complaints while Nords were passing out in it.

Bryn was upstairs in their room, and he clucked his tongue in sympathy to see her bent over with her hands on the bed while Erandur deeply rubbed her lower back, his hands glowing yellow. The Dunmer never made Vilkas uncomfortable with his closeness to Bryn since coming here, the priest clearly not interested in women, however he didn’t seem interested in men either, in fact seemed to have a complete lack of interest in general. Vilkas had heard there were people like that, but it was still bizarre to him, something he didn’t think he would ever get used to. Still, the mer was soothing to have around, and Bryn had grown to love him dearly over the last year, and Erandur seemed gratified to be here. No one gave him a hard time in the Palace, close to the Queen as he was, and while the few Dunmer who had started working here over the last few months did get the occasional dirty look from the Nord staff and guards nothing was ever said outright. Everyone knew better. Vilkas liked the Dunmer people in general nearly as much as Bryn did. Altmer however were a different story.

Vilkas went to Bryn, giving the priest a brief smile in greeting, and said to her, “There is someone here to see you, love. A, eh, surprise visitor.” She made a sound of acknowledgment, as clueless as he would have been. It could have been anyone, really, with all the connections she had made over the years. They were expecting Farkas and Lydia so it wouldn’t be them. “It’s your aunt.” 

Bryn’s eyes widened in shock as she asked, “She came all the way up here on her own?” She had intended to bring her aunt here after the war, but that was before Ulfric had died. She hadn’t gone anywhere near the Imperial City on the way home, knowing her aunt’s fussing would enrage her at that point, though she had sent her aunt and grandmother a letter before returning home, telling them she needed time to grieve before seeing them again. But now…now the idea of being fussed over was irresistible.

“There’s a small group of Imperial soldiers with her as an escort, along with letters and gifts from the Emperor.” She nodded and stood up, giving Erandur a smile of thanks with a touch on his shoulder, and the mer bowed slightly and left the room. Vilkas stroked her cheek and said with sympathy, “My poor dear, do you feel any better?”

“It works for a while then the pain comes back again.” She made a sound of frustration and twisted from side to side then huffed miserably. “I just want him out,” she growled.

“But you’re so adorable like this,” he murmured as he rubbed her belly. She grumbled and he tilted her chin up to kiss her, one hand still cradling her roundness. Erandur had assured them that the child would come any day now, and many of the signs had been there including several instances of false labor over the last week. Vilkas sighed happily as he petted her, the same warmth going through him that had since fully moving into her room, though he had spent every night in it. He had never in his life been as content as he had been lately. He missed Jorrvaskr terribly, but the contracts were all coming directly to him here in Windhelm now, and he sorted out those that were worthy and sent them on from there, and all the Companions had visited at one point or another. Athis had been a frequent visitor, coming along on his own or with whomever else was visiting; Bryn suspected he had a lady love in the Snow Quarter but they hadn’t asked him about it, Bryn trying to figure out who it was on her own, and not getting much of anywhere yet.

She gave him another kiss then took his hand, and as they went downstairs she made a sound of discomfort, her feet and ankles so swollen that it was hard to walk, her hip joints also aching. This really was completely unfair, how miserable she was. She was going to think long and hard before she let herself get pregnant again. Not that she had put any thought into getting pregnant this time, she thought with sorrow. The distractions of the war had made her completely forget to brew the contraceptive potion, and Ulfric had never been reluctant to make love to her, treasuring every night they had together.

Vilkas made a sound of sympathy and murmured, “I wish I could carry you. My poor love.” Bryn was heavy even without an extra thirty pounds of pregnancy weight, simply due to her height and musculature.

“I just hope it’s over soon. I’m so sick of being pregnant and waiting to see him.” It was strange, thinking of her child in future terms, seeing what he would look like as a teen, an adult, an older man, but not having any idea of what he looked like now.

“Any day now,” he assured her.

Vilkas let go of her hand as they entered the sitting room, looking forward to the day when they didn’t have to play that game any longer. All of Skyrim knew they were together and had been for months, and everyone in the Palace certainly knew it, but he supposed certain social niceties had to be observed. Still, it was aggravating to not even be able to hold her hand in public. If he pushed the matter he was sure she wouldn’t pull away. It was never her that did, Bryn caring much less about how she appeared than he did. Ulfric had been gone nearly seven months though. Vilkas didn’t think he could keep doing this another five.

He paused by the painting that dominated the hall, nearly life-sized, and hung back while Bryn’s aunt cried out with mixed happiness and concern and ran towards her, the two women embracing. Bryn seemed genuinely happy to see her, which was odd considering the not entirely flattering things she’d had to say about the mer, but Bryn had softened in a number of ways during the pregnancy, and maybe at this point she wanted to be petted and cosseted. His eyes narrowed as the Elf stroked Bryn’s hip-length hair in a covetous manner. He hoped to hell Bryn didn’t put her in Rikke’s old room.

He sighed and looked up at the painting, and Ulfric gazed back sternly, as if disapproving of Elluhrine’s presence here as well. It was funny, really, how Vilkas had lost his tolerance for Altmer when before he hadn’t felt one way or the other about them. He truly liked the Dunmer people, and got along fine with the usually cheerful Bosmer. He had never spent time around Orsimer and so didn’t know how he felt about them. Vilkas wondered if the dead really did watch from Sovngarde, and if they did if it was only the battles they watched. In a way he hoped so, because if Ulfric could see the mer coming and going from the Palace he’d be throwing a fit.

Jorleif directed the Imperials to set the boxes off to the side while he took charge of the letters, and as the steward was setting the soldiers down for a meal Yrsarald made his way over to Vilkas, close enough to keep an eye on the Queen since Ralof had the day off. And so did Siga, funny enough. He looked up at the painting that the Harbinger was staring at, and he quietly said, “Hjerim, I think.”

“Aye,” Vilkas said shortly. He liked the former Stormcloak a great deal, the other man easy-going with a good sense of humor, the two of them maybe five years apart in age. He could see the two of them becoming good friends eventually, something that wasn’t easy for him. He sighed and muttered, “I wish I could be a bigger man than this, but…”

“It’s too soon,” Yrsarald said in understanding. “When every face you saw coming at you was gold…eh, that can’t be easy to get over.” He glanced at the Queen and saw her going over to talk to the Imperial soldiers and the men glowed under her attention as she made a point of meeting each one. Her aunt watched her with an anxious expression, her slender hands fussing with her cloak, though he saw the mer smile tentatively a few times. Yrsarald couldn’t tell if it was a nervous reaction or if the mer was actually proud of what her adoptive daughter had become and how the soldiers and common folk reacted to her.

Vilkas asked, “Do you think she truly realizes yet what Bryn is?”

“No, other than that she’s wealthy and a Queen and Jarl. She’s dim, from what I’ve heard, but our lady was genuinely happy to see her. There still aren’t enough womenfolk around day to day, other than Rikke and Siga, and Rikke’s like one of the men most of the time. I’d bring my Ingie around, but she’s scared shitless of the Queen. Galmar’s girls can’t relate to her either, and vice versa.”

“It’s lonely, being the only one of your kind.” Vilkas was well aware of what Bryn’s nature was, too, in ways Ulfric hadn’t been, simply because the Jarl hadn’t lived long enough to find out. It hadn’t changed anything for Vilkas when Bryn had told him what she and Lydia had heard in Skuldafn. It had all made more sense afterward, certainly. Bryn was a dragon trapped in a human body, simple as that. She had human feelings and concerns, and thought she would retain them for the most part, and who was to say that these mysterious Jills didn’t have similar feelings? Really, it was impossible for anyone to say. It had been so long that maybe even Paarthurnax couldn't for certain.

“Aye, I could imagine so.” He saw Bryn stretching slightly, a look of discomfort on her face, and the Elf hesitantly went to her, touching her shoulder then reaching down to touch the Queen’s back, her hand lighting up with a golden glow. Everyone had seen Erandur do it often enough to not flinch at it, and the Queen used magic whenever it was convenient to her. Out of the corner of his mouth he murmured to Vilkas, “You know, there’s something that might help bring on labor.”

Vilkas frowned at him. “Why wouldn’t Erandur say so then?” Yrsarald nudged him with his elbow and wiggled his eyebrows, and Vilkas’ own rose. “Really,” he murmured back in surprise. It was a little embarrassing, actually, but not as much as it would have been several months ago. It had taken some getting used to, realizing everyone in their part of the Palace could hear Bryn when they were going at it and knew he was responsible. And he’d been gentle with her, too, considering her condition. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do when they were finally able to have sex the way they used to. Her screaming might literally bring the roof down.

“Yeah, really. My older cousin’s wife was always late. Babies wouldn’t come until Papa did.” 

Vilkas snorted then let out a laugh that he quickly smothered when Bryn glanced over, and Yrsarald chuckled. “She hasn’t been in any kind of mood for that lately though,” Vilkas muttered.

“I think at this point that she’ll probably try anything.” The housecarl rubbed his chin and said in a more serious tone, “You know, I was sure your brother and his wife would be here by now.”

Vilkas frowned and said, “So did I. It has me worried.”

“I could send some men along the road to Whiterun.”

“I would appreciate that. I would go myself, but… Thank you.” Yrsarald slapped him on the shoulder and headed across the hall towards the barracks. It was odd for Farkas and Lydia to be so late, but if something had happened back in Whiterun to hold them up they would have sent a courier. Lydia had wanted to be present when Fjonnar was born, and Farkas was an experienced father and would help keep Vilkas calm. Vilkas supposed Erandur would be there no matter what, and Rikke and Siga could be with Bryn if she needed female company, though now that Elluhrine was here and was in many ways Bryn’s mother Vilkas supposed she might want to be there. Not that Vilkas really wanted her to be.

He steeled himself as Bryn took Elluhrine’s hand and began leading her over, and when the mer’s hand went to her mouth and she looked up at the painting with glistening eyes and a grief-stricken expression he sighed silently and decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. Bryn had said her aunt had a good heart and was simply a weak individual who had let her own mother walk all over her. That Elluhrine had come up here on her own without the bossy grandmother said something about her, he supposed.

Bryn led her aunt towards Vilkas, feeling the tension in the mer’s hand as Vilkas’ expression went cold and neutral. It was something that still pained her, his ability to do that now. She stopped about five or six feet away and said, “Auntie, this is Vilkas, Harbinger of the Companions and my…” Vilkas’ eyes flicked to hers as she hesitated, suddenly at a loss. “Partner,” she finally said. The moment the word left her mouth she knew how very inadequate it was, but what else could she call him? They weren’t spouses, even if he was mated to her. They weren’t just lovers, something that made him sound like a male mistress. He wasn’t even her betrothed, even if they did intend to marry later in the year. Vilkas’ eyes narrowed slightly, telling her he wasn’t happy with the label either. Well, if he could come up with something better she was all for it, but until then he was her partner. Bryn had never had to put it into words with anyone before, and it was a lame word to be sure.

Elluhrine inclined her head to him and murmured, “Harbinger. I’m honored to meet the North Wind, he who helped save our Empire from Thalmor depredation.”

Vilkas said, “Eh…yes. Good to meet you.” He bowed slightly to Bryn, as he always did in public, then said to her, “I need to speak to Yrsarald. He’s sending men to look for Farkas and Lydia.”

Bryn nodded and Vilkas left without another word or another glance at Elluhrine. She patted her aunt’s hand and murmured in Altmeris, “He still has trouble sometimes. From the war. Bad dreams, reactions to Altmer that he has trouble controlling.”

“I won’t hold it against him,” Elluhrine assured her in the same tongue. She squeezed Bryn’s hand as she looked up at the painting and said in a sad whisper, “Oh my darling. I’m so sorry. Everything you’ve been through…and I know not even a fraction of it.”

“We didn’t get the chance to talk much, back in the Imperial City.”

“Because of my mother,” Elluhrine said, her voice hardening. Her expression then fell and she added in a whisper, “And my own weakness.” She swallowed and lowered her gaze from the painting. “My mind hasn’t rested for one moment since the last time we met, two years ago. Mother…she said things to me, after you were gone. Cold, selfish things. Hurtful things. She wanted me to write to you, to ask if you could use your influence with the Emperor to gain advantages for us. For her. A bigger house in a more prestigious neighborhood. Servants. When I told her I felt uncomfortable with that she called me small-minded. She grew angry and said that it was shameful that the kin of a Queen and future Empress were forced to live in a townhouse in the city, that we should have a country estate, something befitting our station. I told her that the station wasn’t ours, that we had done nothing to earn it, and she…oh Brynni, the things she said!”

Angry, Bryn stroked her aunt’s hand and said firmly, “You did the right thing, coming here.”

“But what if she comes after me?”

“I highly doubt she’ll put herself to the trouble, or lower herself to come to a country full of barbarians.” She sneered and added, “I’m certain she had choice words to say after meeting Ulfric.” Elluhrine hesitated, and Bryn nodded, snorting in derision. It was sadly sweet that the woman who had raised her had come to her partly for refuge. Well, better that than coming here to order Bryn’s life to her liking. It seemed her aunt had experienced some kind of epiphany recently. 

“He was a…stern man,” the mer said carefully, “but he was good to you. That is more than I could ever say about your uncle.”

“Yes, Ulfric was a good man. A wonderful man. And so is Vilkas, I swear.”

Elluhrine shivered. “He’s handsome for a human, I will admit, but so cold. The stories about him…terrifying.”

“And the ones you heard about me?”

Her green eyes stared into Bryn’s golden ones, eyes that didn’t belong to man or mer. She admitted in a near whisper, “Also terrifying. And yet…and yet I thought of the little girl I raised. I thought of the child you carry, and that you’ll be a mother soon. I know you are not…not…mortal. You command dragons, and people say you _are_ a dragon, that you are as Tiber Septim was. I thought of the rages you went into when you were a little girl… I’ve spent the last year telling myself that I didn’t raise a half-Elven child, I was raising a little dragon that Auriel had forced into a Nord girl’s body. And maybe that isn’t right either, thinking of you that way, but what else can I do? If she was right about nothing else, Mother was right that I am small-minded.”

Bryn made a sound of sorrow and kissed her aunt’s cheek. “No. No more of that. You did a brave thing coming here.” She couldn’t help agreeing with her assessment of her intellect, but Elluhrine didn’t need to hear that. She was trying, and she was here, and that was all that mattered. And Lydia was _not_ here, something that worried Bryn. Bryn had to agree with Vilkas and Yrsarald that something might be wrong. Without Lydia here, Bryn also had no experienced woman to help her during the labor. If nothing else, Elluhrine had had a child before, had raised two babies and would be some sort of help. Vilkas would simply have to cope with having an Altmer there. Bryn patted the frail hand and said, "I'm glad you're here, Auntie. The baby is due any day now."

“I want to help with the baby. I want to help you. I have nothing back in the City. Mother made sure I didn’t. I never would as long as I stayed there. I’ll do whatever you ask of me here, I promise. I’ll…I’ll get used to…things.”

“It won’t be so bad,” Bryn said in a soothing tone. “Nords can seem rough at first, and they will take some getting used to, I don't deny it. The Dunmer too. There are several Altmer here in the city, you know, and they seem content here. But once you get used to Nord and Dunmer manners you’ll find that they’re good people, like anyone else, just a bit gruff.” She patted her aunt’s hand and said, “You simply haven’t had time yet to find what you’re good at. Think of this as a chance to start over. Forget about Grandmother and everything she’s ever said. I was reborn here in Skyrim. You will be too.” Her aunt smiled hesitantly at her, then more fully, and Bryn gave her hand a gentle squeeze, careful of the bird-like bones there, then let go. She felt that old sting of envy over Elluhrine’s willowy beauty, but it was tiny and fleeting. It made as much sense as an eagle envying a songbird.

“So…Vilkas…” Bryn gazed at her evenly, waiting. “I’ve heard…rumors, in the City. That you were once a couple.”

“Yes. He’s that parentless mercenary I once told you and Grandmother about.” Elluhrine took a deep breath, blinking, her hands fluttering together, then she cleared her throat and took her hood down as she looked away. “You will find such matters are very different among humans, Auntie. In Skyrim even more so. If you find a man or mer who takes your fancy, and you take his, do what you will as long as it harms no one else. I know a potion that prevents conception, a recipe only women know, that works on mer as well. I’ll teach it to you if you’d like.” Elluhrine didn’t answer, so Bryn let it go. One thing at a time. “I know it seems shocking, that I would be with Vilkas. Ulfric was nobility. The Jarls were once kings of their own holds, you know. Ulfric’s bloodline goes back a thousand years. Vilkas has no idea who his parents were. He’s never been able to find out a thing about them. Whatever he is, it’s of his own making. He’s the greatest warrior I’ve ever met, anywhere. I certainly couldn’t best him in straight combat. In Skyrim, what matters is words and deeds, not just some accident of birth. I could ask for no better man than Vilkas.”

Elluhrine nodded and gave her a brief smile. “Well then, I will do my best to have him think well of me.”

“I appreciate that, Auntie.” She took the mer’s arm and led her towards the boxes, though it was at a sedate pace considering all she could do was waddle. “I have a lovely manor in the Valunstrad district, not far from here, that you could stay in as long as you’re here. Unfortunately we don’t have any free rooms in the Palace right now, but Hjerim is much nicer than some tiny quarters here, and much warmer. It’s very spacious.” She smirked at her and added, “Much larger than Grandmother’s house.”

Elluhrine giggled quietly. “Oh Brynni, you’re awful.”

It was good to hear her aunt laugh, and as they looked at the boxes Jorleif came over to help open them. She saw Vilkas come out of the barracks a few minutes later followed by Yrsarald and half a dozen Eastmarch guards dressed for the road, and Vilkas stopped and stared at Elluhrine for a moment then visibly steeled himself and came over. Yes, Hjerim would be the best place for her aunt, with the issues Vilkas was still having, and Vilkas had to come first with her. She also had to keep Rikke’s room free for a new Guard. Bryn had to wonder if she would ever find anyone who could take Hadvar’s place. Yrsarald was fine for around the city and outlying areas, but for extended travel she didn’t want to take him away from his young family. Vilkas was of course better than any guard, but it wasn’t his job, and any day now there would be a child that would take his attention. 

At least they had Siga here to help with Fjonnar. Now that Bryn was responsible for running not only all of Skryim but Eastmarch specifically she wouldn’t be able to carry a baby around with her everywhere. Elluhrine was here, but again she would have the same issue as she’d had with Bryn: a human child could only confuse an Elven woman, and a Dragonborn child? No, Siga would be the one to help, once Fjonnar was past those first three crucial months of bonding, because it was going to be hard for either Bryn or Vilkas to allow anyone else near their child before that.

Vilkas stayed on her other side as they went through the gifts, ones fit for a little prince, and he tried to pay attention and smile at the appropriate moments, but his mind was on his brother. He couldn’t imagine why Farkas and his family would be so late, with no word. It wasn’t like them. He feared that something had gone wrong on the way here from Whiterun and they were stuck somewhere in between. He didn’t know what else it could be, though they had surely taken a wagon. Whatever it was, Yrsarald’s men would get it sorted out. Vilkas was trapped here and didn’t dare leave when Bryn was so close to giving birth. But if his twin hadn’t arrived by time Fjonnar was here all bets were off.  
-  
Vilkas squinted at the light coming through the slanted eastern windows, seeing only hints of dawn coming through the thick, frosted glass. For not the first time he wondered if the glass really was thousands of years old, or if it had been replaced over the years. The glass itself was several inches thick, with small bubbles here and there, a bit wavy, like nothing he had seen anywhere else, but then Windhelm was the most ancient human city in Tamriel and the Palace the oldest building, one of the few remaining examples of Atmoran architecture left in—

A smothered grunt drew his attention from the windows, and he rolled over to check on Bryn to find she wasn’t there. He sat up in bed and looked around the room to see her standing by the banked fire, hunched over slightly with one hand on the mantle and the other cradling her belly, a look of discomfort on her face. He threw the covers back and hurried to her, asking hopefully, “Is it…?”

“Yes,” she whispered through gritted teeth.

 _Thank you, Yrsarald,_ Vilkas thought with gratitude. Neither he nor Bryn had thought it would work, and it hadn’t exactly been the best sex they’d ever had, considering, and maybe it was just coincidence, but he was glad regardless. He rubbed her back as he asked anxiously, “Has your water broken? Should I get Erandur?”

“No, and no. It’s early yet.”

He said in a chiding tone, “How long has this been going on?”

“Less than an hour. I didn’t want to wake you. Gods know when you’ll ever get a full night’s sleep ever again.”

He shrugged and said without concern, “I can just go sleep in Rikke’s old room.” Bryn sputtered and gently smacked his arm, making him laugh. She let out a breath of relief and straightened up, the contraction passing. “Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

“Tell me what you want and I’ll get it.”

“No, I’ll walk downstairs. It’s better if I keep moving.”

She pulled on a thick robe and slid her feet into fur-lined slippers then grabbed her stalhrim dagger, while Vilkas pulled on some boots and slung Hoarfrost onto his back. Going about their own home constantly armed was something he had gotten used to within several days of coming here. The constant folk coming and going from the Palace had quickly driven home to him just how dangerous Bryn’s life had become; she no longer had two Guards at her side, or a husband who could use the _thu’um,_ and as not only High Queen of Skyrim but Titus Mede’s heir she had enemies in abundance. No one was allowed into the Palace without clearance from the guard outside, and certainly no one who wasn't well-known to the Queen was allowed anywhere near the door that led upstairs to their wing of the Palace.

As they went down the hall they heard Ralof’s door open, and Vilkas glanced at him to see the door only cracked open. The Harbinger raised a single eyebrow at the younger man’s messy hair, what he could see of it, and asked him in a wry tone, “Have a late night?”

“Everything okay?” Ralof countered.

“Are you avoiding my question?”

“Are you avoiding mine?”

Bryn said in annoyance, “Good lord, you two. Yes Ralof, everything is fine. Go back to sleep.” The banter between Vilkas and Ralof was usually entertaining, but she had no patience for it this morning. She continued walking, Vilkas at her side, and when she was nearly to the turn in the hall she heard the patter of bare feet run across the hall behind them then the sound of a door being discreetly opened then closed again. She heard Vilkas snort in amusement. Well she wasn’t amused. She wasn’t about to say anything to the two of them, but she was most certainly not amused. Leave it to Ralof to not be able to keep it in his pants around an available female, even one that lived right across the hall. Bryn was rather surprised that she hadn’t caught on to the little affair before this, but she had been rather preoccupied with more important matters. Nearly any matter was more important than her Guard banging her handmaiden. Siga hadn’t come here a virgin and was a full adult, and Ralof’s free time was his own. But if things fell apart or began to interfere with their jobs Bryn was most definitely going to have words for them both.

Vilkas wisely kept his mouth shut about the matter, seeing the irritation on his beloved’s face. He was a bit surprised actually that this bothered her, though he could see the potential for awkwardness there. He supposed it wasn’t any worse than when he and Bryn were carrying on as shield-siblings, and then had split up, causing a great deal of discomfort for everyone who knew them. At least Ralof and Siga were being discreet, something that Vilkas and Bryn had not been by any stretch of the imagination. The memories were finally becoming a source of warmth and amusement instead of regret, something he was glad of.

By time Bryn waddled her way downstairs to the sitting room they heard Ralof’s booted feet behind them, jogging to catch up. The Harbinger glanced back and saw that Ralof looked fairly presentable, fully dressed and his hair combed, though he hadn’t had time to put on his armor, and he had _Fahliil-Maar_ across his back. Vilkas nodded in approval then quietly said, “Bryn is in early labor. We’re getting something to eat.”

“Aye,” Ralof answered, leaving it at that, the Queen’s mood easy to read. He didn’t ask if she wanted the priest, or her aunt; if she did she would say so. Ralof hadn’t met the Altmer woman yet but had heard last night about her arrival from Galmar. He also didn’t ask if she wanted Siga. Bringing up Siga would probably be the most unwise thing he could do right now.

He followed them into the kitchen, standing guard in the doorway as Vilkas roused old Sifnar, who didn’t take kindly to anyone messing about unsupervised in his kitchen. He heard a soft sound of discomfort and glanced behind him to see Bryn bent over again, hugging her belly. He went against his better judgment and asked, “Should I get the priest?” Bryn nodded, grimacing as Vilkas rubbed her back and looked helpless. Well Ralof felt damn helpless too, a fifth wheel if there ever was one.

He headed for the side door that led upstairs to the other living quarters, where Erandur occupied the small private dining room, one that was almost never used. Ralof was nearly to the door when he heard one of the great bronze palace doors open. To his surprise a young Orc woman came in, accompanied by a pair of guards. She wore steel plate armor and had an air of competence about her, though she looked young. Ralof honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had seen an Orsimer up close. He supposed she was…not completely unattractive, for one of Malacath’s folk. He diverted to head her direction, wondering what would bring an Orc here, now of all times.

One of the guards nodded to Ralof and said, “This one has news for the Queen. Says they were acquainted once upon a time.” The skepticism in the man's voice was obvious.

“The Queen is Blood-Kin,” Ralof reminded him, and the Orsimer woman lifted her chin and nodded briefly in approval. He gave her a small smile of greeting and said, “I am Ralof, the Queen’s Guard.”

“I am Borgahk gra-Bagrak, called Steel-Heart,” she stated, “a warrior of the stronghold of Mor Khazgur, in the far west.” The blonde nodded in recognition. “My father is chief there. He has sent me here with news for Queen Brynhilde.”

Ralof nodded to the guards and said, “It’s all right. The Queen traveled the Reach with her in the first year she was here. They’re battle companions.” Borgahk looked pleased by the recognition, at least as far as Ralof could tell. Ralof remembered Bryn talking about the Orc maiden and saving her from being married off, though they had gone their separate ways after a few weeks together and as far as Ralof knew hadn’t spoken since. The Dragonborn had met so many people over the last several years that keeping track of them all would be an impossible task. The guards left and Ralof motioned for Borgahk to follow him, and he said in a lowered voice, “The ah, Queen is in labor. Early labor. So be…careful.”

Borgahk grunted. “Understood,” she stated. A birthing woman was a testy creature, and a birthing Dragonborn probably a dangerous one as well.

“So what brings you?”

“I see no harm in telling you,” she said matter-of-factly as they walked. “My folk keep to themselves for the most part. We trade between our strongholds. I have no…set duty in my stronghold, so I often act as go-between for my people and those of Dushnik Yal. We take the roads along the Karth River. There is an old temple that overlooks that road. One that was abandoned until a few years ago.”

“I know of it,” Ralof murmured. Sky Haven Temple. The Queen had been there but once when she opened the place to the Blades and hadn’t gone back since, furious with them over their never-ending demands. Ralof still couldn't imagine the sheer balls of the people to put their desire to hunt dragons over their traditional duty to protect and serve the Dragonborn. It was as if they had in one move negated their entire reason for preserving themselves for the last thirty years, negated all the sacrifices they had made.

“There are people there now.”

“People,” he said in confusion. “How many?”

“A dozen, perhaps. They’ve been seen drilling outside the temple.”

Ralof nodded and said, “Maybe you should save the rest for the Queen.” The moment after he said it, Bryn came out of the kitchen walking slowly, holding onto Vilkas’ left arm while the Harbinger held a plate in his right. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Borgahk, and the Orc woman smiled in return, though a touch uncertainly. Ralof couldn’t help thinking she was actually somewhat pretty when she smiled, if you didn’t mind the tusks. She had lovely eyes and high cheekbones. He mentally slapped himself and continued towards the Queen with the Orc woman on his heels, saying, “My lady, you have a visitor.”

“I see that,” Bryn said happily.

“She has news about Sky Haven Temple,” he added quietly as he reached her. Bryn’s smile faded, replaced with a look of mixed annoyance and apprehension. He watched as the two women clasped arms and gripped each other’s shoulders in what must have been an Orcish greeting.

“You’ve come a long way on your own,” the Queen stated in admiration. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?” It was rather odd that she’d had two such unexpected visitors so close together.

“Such things can wait, though the offer is appreciated,” Borgahk stated. She looked between Vilkas and Ralof and asked, “You have taken two husbands? They look strong.” The Queen was in essence the chief of the Nords, and as such it was her right to take as many husbands as she could win and keep satisfied.

Vilkas nearly dropped the plate as Bryn let out a guffaw then gasped and bent over, holding her belly as she continued to laugh and gasp at the same time. Ralof and Vilkas looked at each other then cleared their throats and looked away, making Bryn laugh even harder. “Merciful Mara no,” she said breathlessly. The contraction gained strength, her belly tightening painfully.

“Erandur,” Ralof muttered to himself, then took off at a run.

“Coward,” Vilkas called after him, and the blond waved his hand over his head, not denying it. Vilkas nodded to the Orc woman. “I am Vilkas, Harbinger of the Companions.”

“I am Borgahk gra-Bagrak,” she replied with a nod. "Well met." This one's name she knew.

He set the plate on the table then helped Bryn to sit down. “Bryn has spoken fondly of your adventures together.”

“They are good memories. I wish I could say I have come here to reminisce.” Vilkas motioned for her to sit as well but she declined with a shake of her head. She began, “I told this to the yellow-haired one. I travel at times between strongholds, in the conduct of trade. About three years ago we noticed the temple over the Karth was being cleared of overgrowth. No one has occupied the place in over a thousand years, maybe more, so this was odd to us, but we paid little heed since it had nothing to do with us. We keep to ourselves.”

“Aye.”

“As time has gone on we have seen people up there, as if keeping watch. At first only one or two, and even then they were usually noticed at night, as if they were carrying torches. They have added to their numbers. We think that there are perhaps a dozen there now. They have been seen drilling in arms in the courtyard outside. Even this would not concern us, however one of the warriors of Dushnik Yal left to join them. His name was Gorbash, called the Iron-Hand, brother of Chief Burguk.” Bryn nodded in recognition. Borgahk knew that the Dragonborn had trained extensively with that chief. “Gorbash was once in the Legion. He was approached by an old man about ten months ago, as he was coming to our stronghold to trade. He returned to Dushnik Yal long enough to tell his brother he was leaving the stronghold for good this time, to become a Blade.”

Bryn let out a long breath as the contraction passed, and Vilkas said to her, “We thought they might try to rebuild.” It was surprising that they hadn’t heard anything of the Blades before now, as a matter of fact.

“It seems they are rebuilding their numbers, and yet they are not here serving the Dragonborn. But that is not the part we find troubling,” Borgahk said. “Or at least not the most troubling.” Bryn motioned for her to sit, and the Orc woman relented this time, seeing as how the Queen was turning around to eat. Borgahk went around the table to sit across from her while the big dark-haired man took up position behind her. She continued as the Queen began to eat. “You sent an edict not long after you took the throne, forbidding the hunting of dragons unless they had attacked. The strongholds have respected this. We are on the edge of the mountains, so we see dragons at times, either passing overhead or while we are out hunting game. We keep a distance, and they do the same.”

“And that is greatly appreciated,” Bryn stated.

“Someone is not following your edict.” Bryn lifted her head, her nostrils flaring as an expression of anger suddenly crossed her face. “The Blades have been seen leaving their temple in small groups of four or five. They carry crossbows. We do not use such weapons but know of them. However these ones are braced with Dwemer metal, and we haven’t seen the like before.”

“Dwarven crossbows,” Vilkas said in a tone of disquiet. “Could the Blades be working with the Dawnguard?” Vilkas had never met any of the Dawnguard but Bryn had told him plenty about them over the years. As suspicious as Isran was in nature, it seemed unlikely that he would let any of his people sell their technology or weapons without earning his trust first. Vilkas could see how getting hold of crossbows could be a boon to dragon hunters, especially with those exploding bolts Bryn had told him about. As Harbinger, Vilkas would be damned before he let any of his people use crossbows.

“No,” Bryn said with a shake of her head. “Isran’s paranoia is on par with Delphine’s. He would want to know what she wants the weapons for. He also has no interest in hunting dragons. He also has no interest in pissing me off.” Her gaze hardened further as she looked at Borgahk. “Did they manage to take one down?” If they had...if they were ignoring her direct orders to leave the dragons alone…her brothers, her _zeymahhe…_

Borgahk stated, “Dragon remains were found by one of our hunting parties near Deep Folk Crossing. You and I have hunted a dragon together. I’ve seen what happens when you take its soul. It crumbles but for the skull and a handful of bones and scales. The party said that it looked like an animal that had been butchered. The head and hide were gone, and—” Borgahk cut herself off and leaned back slightly, seeing a look of such pure rage cross the Dragonborn’s face that her heart nearly skipped a beat in fear. And for the briefest moment, for just a split second, it had looked as if the shadow of a dragon surrounded her. A golden dragon. It wasn’t as if the Orcs hadn’t heard. They were isolated, deliberately so, but they paid some attention to the outside world. They had heard tales of the war. And the Dragonborn was Blood-Kin. Still, it was frightening to see up close. There was no shame in admitting fear. The shame was in letting it rule you.

“You did the right thing in coming here,” Vilkas stated, seeing as how Bryn was too furious to say anything, and then another contraction was going through her. He could only imagine how helpless it was making her feel, because it was doing pretty much the same damn thing to him. This was the worst possible timing, too. Even after Bryn healed from the birth, which she would no doubt do quickly, she would still be nursing a child, and she had been adamant that she was not turning over any of her children to a wet nurse. In order to do anything about the Blades, Bryn would have to leave here and drag the baby along with her, and Sky Haven Temple was on the other side of the country.

Borgahk nodded to Vilkas and said, “We honor our ties with the Dragonborn. The chiefs of all the strongholds have agreed to follow her laws, as long as it doesn’t contradict the Code, and it has not, and will not. That we trust. It was agreed that she should know, and I volunteered to bring the message.” She glanced at Bryn, who was trying to breathe her way through the discomfort. “And…it was good to get out of the stronghold,” she added. Bryn looked up at her, and though her expression was tight the Queen smiled. Borgahk quietly said, “You opened my eyes to the wider world. You have made the strongholds seem…small. Confining. I only wish that we had been able to travel together longer, and farther.”

“As do I,” Bryn said with a nod. She heard the side door to the upstairs living quarters open, and Ralof came out followed by Erandur, who was beaming from ear to ear. Well it was good someone was happy this morning.

“I haven’t been able to find a place for myself that is comfortable, or challenging enough,” Borgahk muttered. “Though you paid my dowry, my father still presses for me to become a chief’s wife. He says my value as a bride has increased greatly since I returned.” She made a growling sound of frustration. “I have no interest in becoming a chief’s wife. Or anyone’s wife. All my life I have wanted to fight, to become the greatest warrior I could be, to see the world, to have my name live on long after I am gone. I will never do that as long as I stay in the stronghold, and yet…I do not know where else to go.” She glanced up at Vilkas. “I had…considered joining the Companions. But I fear I would not be well-suited to such a life.”

“It is not for everyone,” Vilkas said diplomatically, “but you would be welcome there.” He could very much see it not being a good fit though. Jorrvaskr was rowdy and the folk there close to each other, and Orsimer had a tendency to be stern and had little sense of humor. Feeling a kernel of inspiration, Vilkas asked Borgahk, “Where do your strengths lie?”

“I am proficient in the wearing of heavy armor and the use of one-handed weapons. My shield work could use improvement,” she admitted, “and I am a passable archer.”

Vilkas thought that wasn’t bad considering how young she looked, which wasn’t more than a couple years older than Siga, but then Orsimer children probably started training young. Just as Vilkas had. The Orc woman had a serious demeanor, but there was a spark of hopefulness in her eyes as she met Vilkas’ gaze. As if she knew where he might be going with this. Vilkas glanced down at Bryn and her eyebrows rose as she caught on. Usually she was the first one on something like this, but she wasn’t exactly at her best right now, for very obvious reasons. Bryn nodded and Vilkas smiled briefly and nodded back. The timing was odd, but that seemed to be the case with such things. Vilkas smiled at Borgahk and she brightened slightly. He had to admit she had very pretty eyes. “All right then,” he quietly said. “I think we have a place for you here.”

Borgahk took in a shaky breath, her eyes shining, and Bryn smiled at her and said, “I’ve needed another Guard for over six months now. I could have picked anyone, but…I couldn’t find anyone who felt right. I think this does.” It was fortuitous that the young woman had come here now, though the news she brought was terrible, something Bryn had to shove away. She simply couldn’t deal with that right now, though once the child was born and she could move around she was going to call Odahviing and have him spread word among the _dov_ that the Blades were hunting them and to be more careful, perhaps retreat more deeply into the mountains. She would do it right this moment, but she wasn’t altogether sure what Shouting at this point would do to the little one. Bryn knew from her own experience that a sleepy dragon was highly vulnerable to a stealthy archer, and if the Blades had Dwemer crossbows… And just how _had_ they gotten their hands on them? Or the schematics for them?

Borgahk said in a barely trembling voice, “I would guard you with my life, my…my Queen.” The term didn’t roll off her tongue, but she would get used to it. She hadn’t imagined being offered this kind of opportunity coming here but she would grasp it and hold on to it for all it was worth. The honor was as great as any she could imagine. At the Dragonborn's side she would travel all of Skyrim, and one day go to Cyrodiil. She would show all of Tamriel what a great warrior an Orc girl could be. She would rise higher in status than any stronghold Orc ever had. Even higher than her father.

“I know you would, and I’m glad to have you here.” Borgahk tentatively reached across the table, and Bryn smiled reassuringly at her and gave her hand a squeeze. As she let go she went on, “I won’t lie, you might get…looks, from people. Until they get used to the idea. We have no Orcs here in Windhelm.” The term didn’t feel good to her, preferring to call them mer as they were, which people often forgot, but it was what Malacath’s folk called themselves and she would honor that.

“Then I am proud to be first,” Borgahk stated with a lift of her chin. “I will do whatever I must to prove myself.”

“You’ll have to get used to magical healing. That is non-negotiable, I'm afraid.” The young woman hesitated then nodded, as Bryn had known she would. Orcs disdained the use of healing spells and potions, preferring to let their wounds heal naturally, but a Guard was of little use when compromised, and Borgahk understood that. The Orsimer woman was young, maybe twenty-two if Bryn remembered right, but she was highly intelligent and skilled for her age. There would no doubt be grumblers that the Queen was replacing Hadvar with a non-Nord, a non-human at that, but frankly Bryn didn’t give one single crap about people’s opinions at this point. It made sense to have a Guard who was female, as there were times Vilkas couldn’t be around, and times when Ralof shouldn’t be around. This would work. They would make it work.

As Erandur and Ralof approached, Vilkas said to the blonde, “You have a new partner, Ralof.” Ralof’s eyes instantly went to Borgahk and his expression tightened the slightest bit, telling Vilkas the young man was shock and not at all pleased. Well, better this than trying to replace Hadvar with another Nord man, because they couldn’t replace Hadvar, especially not in Ralof's heart. Better to go in a different direction entirely. Vilkas thought it would be interesting to have an Orc around, unfamiliar as he was with them, and the young woman seemed eager to please. Vilkas did remember Bryn speaking fondly of her and the time they had traveled together. He would give her a few days to settle in, and give himself a few days with the baby once it was born, then he would run her through her paces and see if her strengths really did lie where she said they did and where she needed work. With any hope, by that point Farkas and Lydia would be here.  
-  
Vilkas rubbed Bryn’s back, feeling it coated with sweat, and wondered if this was ever going to end. The thought made him feel like a selfish ass, considering he wasn’t the one in labor. He hadn’t thought he would be so grateful for Elluhrine’s presence, or grateful at all really, but the Altmer woman had been a blessing through the last fifteen hours. Erandur swore this wasn’t a long or difficult labor and Vilkas was about ready to call him a filthy liar. Elluhrine stayed by Bryn’s head as she knelt on the bed on hands and knees, the only position that seemed to help with the pain, offering Bryn sips of water and wiping her face with a cool cloth. The room was much too warm at this point, but the baby was nearly here and it wouldn’t do for him to get chilled, Nord child or not. Vilkas wanted to hold Bryn’s hand but had already tried once and wasn’t about to risk it again.

“Ah, there he is,” Erandur said happily. He gestured to Vilkas. “Come closer, Companion, if you wish to see the child enter the world.”

Vilkas did not, he very much did not, afraid that if he did he would never be able to bring himself to make love to Bryn ever again, but he knew if he didn’t watch that he would regret it the rest of his life. Farkas had warned him in overly graphic detail of what childbirth looked like, so he felt like he was prepared, but nothing could have prepared him for what he now saw. He felt a wave of near hysteria pass through him at the sight of the baby’s head crowning and couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing. It didn’t seem possible that it could fit. It didn’t seem possible that Bryn would ever go back to normal after this. Surely it wasn’t possible. Farkas had said that it did go back, obviously, or no one would have babies after the first, and so Vilkas had to trust his twin’s particular brand of wisdom. How he wished his brother was here. And Lydia. Elluhrine was being truly helpful, but both Bryn and Vilkas had counted on Lydia being here.

Erandur soothingly stroked Bryn’s calf, murmuring, “Gently, gently. If you push too hard you may tear, or the child’s shoulder might dislocate.” He kept to himself his fears that the Queen’s ungodly strength might harm the child during birth, a worry neither she nor the Harbinger needed. Subsequent children would be easier, but this truly had been a normal birth so far, other than Bryn breaking the Harbinger’s hand a few hours ago when she held it too tightly. That would be an entertaining story for the couple to tell further down the road. The poor man looked like he was about ready to pass out, staring at the top of the child’s head with an expression of pure horror, something Erandur couldn’t help finding highly amusing. Even the strongest, most competent man who never flinched in battle could find himself fainting at such a time.

With a pounding heart and no small amount of lightheadedness, Vilkas kept his hand on Bryn’s lower back as she gave one more push and the baby’s head emerged. He held his breath at the first sight of the child’s tiny face, turned upwards due to the position, eyes closed and expression as sour as could be, as if he had hated the entire process as much as his mother had. Another push and the shoulders slipped free in a rush of birth waters, and the priest gently caught the child and held him up for Vilkas to see, the Dunmer grinning from ear to ear in a way Vilkas had never seen, though he barely noticed, his eyes only for the baby. Fjonnar. Fjonnar Stormcloak. His son.

The baby’s face soured further and he gave a gurgling cry, and Vilkas’ eyes filled with tears, his previous anxiety forgotten. He pulled his eyes away as he noticed Elluhrine helping Bryn lay down on her side, and he quickly moved to help. The priest laid the baby on the bed against Bryn’s bare belly and the child immediately calmed, his eyes cracking open as his bottom lip stuck out in a sullen pout. Vilkas stared in wonder, hardly believing it was over and the baby finally here. He moved closer as Elluhrine stroked Bryn’s hair back, and Bryn smiled tiredly at him, reaching out to take his hand. He held it tightly and whispered, “He’s so beautiful, love. I…I see Ulfric in him.” Mostly due to the child's somber expression, but still.

“Me too,” she whispered, feeling intense grief warring with happiness. _Oh Ulfric,_ she thought in anguish. He would have been so thrilled at this moment, seeing the child he never imagined he would have. She could see hints of the future young man Fjonnar would be, could see Ulfric’s broad mouth and gentle brow in the child’s face. But how she missed Ulfric right now. She felt the brief urge to call one of the heroes of Sovngarde, to pass along to Ulfric that his son had been born, but...no. It would only cause her pain and serve no useful purpose, because there was always the possibility that in his current state Ulfric just might not care. Better to remember Ulfric as he was, with all his pain and love and humor and anger. Better to remember and hurt over that than hurt over whatever ghost of his former self was left now in Sovngarde.

Vilkas saw the infant nuzzle at Bryn’s breast like a puppy as the Altmer woman leaned over Bryn’s back. “Is he hungry?” he asked, unable to take his eyes from the baby boy. He reached out and touched the baby’s feet, seeing the toes curl up, and he counted every single one then did the same with the infant’s hands, so tiny, such perfection. He was a stout-looking child, with plump thighs and arms and round cheeks. He was still messy from birth, the cord still attached, but he was the most wonderful thing Vilkas had ever seen.

“You should try to nurse him,” Elluhrine counseled softly. “It will help your milk come in, and help you start to heal.” If nothing else, she felt good for something here, useful, and in certain things human children were no different from mer children, and human mothers no different from mer mothers. She helped Bryn position the baby while Erandur watched with a serene expression. Bryn’s friend Lydia would no doubt be the greater help once she arrived, but for now Elluhrine was all her niece had in the way of womanly advice. It made her glad that for once she had ignored her mother and done something brave and impulsive, had done the right thing. Vilkas glanced at her and gave her a broad smile, and she had to marvel at how handsome he was now that he wasn’t being cold. She smiled back hesitantly and said, “I’m grateful that I was allowed to be here, Harbinger.”

“I…am glad that you were here,” he replied just as hesitantly. “Very glad,” he added, lowering his eyes to the boy again. The child seemed confused as to what he should be doing, and Elluhrine clucked her tongue and helped Bryn reposition him, and he soon latched on and began suckling. It was such a beautiful sight that it brought tears to his eyes again. He had a family now. His own family. The child he had waited years for was finally here, and in another two years that lovely little dark-haired daughter would arrive, though Vilkas had the sense not to mention that right now. Bryn would probably break his neck if he brought up having another child.

“As am I, Auntie,” Bryn said. The Altmer woman made a happy sound and kissed Bryn’s temple then moved away to help Erandur. Bryn honestly wasn’t sure what she would have done if Elluhrine hadn’t been here. It made her worry all over again about Lydia and Farkas, wondering why they hadn’t arrived yet. Well, there wasn’t anything she could do about it right now. She would have to trust Yrsarald’s men to look into the matter. She sighed and reached out to stroke Vilkas’ cheek, and her beloved put his hand over hers, his gray eyes shining. It hurt that Ulfric wasn’t here, but Vilkas was, and always would be. “I love you,” she whispered.

“Ah woman, I love you too,” he replied. He held her hand again and they watched the baby together, and Fjonnar pulled away from the nipple and stared up at his mother. Vilkas remembered Jergen doing this with Lydia, as if the child was trying to learn her face. His eyes were dark blue, and as he frowned slightly Vilkas felt a bittersweet pang at how much the boy looked like Ulfric.

Bryn tenderly touched the newborn’s damp hair and murmured, _“Valokein wah lein, mal kodaav.”_ She let the _thu’um_ rumble in her voice and the baby’s mouth formed an O as he gazed at her thoughtfully, as if he were carefully considering her words.

“He’s terribly serious,” Vilkas stated in a tone of amusement. “Like a tiny Greybeard.” Bryn laughed quietly at that then winced, and Vilkas saw the priest move to do something that Vilkas decided he didn’t need to see. The bed had been covered in leather sheets but there was still a great deal of cleaning to do, and the child and Bryn both needed bathing and dressing. He stayed with Bryn and the baby as Erandur dealt with the afterbirth, and when the priest tied off the cord and handed him a knife to cut it with he did so happily, though with a touch of wistfulness. The child was his own little person now, separate from Bryn, though he’d never be far from the breast for the first year and a half of his life. Vilkas really wasn’t sure how they were going to manage that, caring for a child with Bryn ruling a country, and a hold, but he supposed like everything else they would figure it out as they went along.  
-  
The door closed softly and Bryn walked slowly towards the fire, where Vilkas stood tenderly rocking Fjonnar, gazing at the baby’s face as the child gazed back. Fjonnar was several hours old and the household was going to bed; Rikke and Galmar had just left, the old housecarl weeping unashamedly at the sight of Ulfric’s child then vowing he was going to teach the boy to swing an axe as soon as he could hold one. Bryn winced at how her body ached and how sore she was, Erandur having made it clear that too much healing up front would interfere in the body’s natural processes. As she approached she wryly asked Vilkas, “Are you ever going to let me hold my child?”

“No,” he said flatly. “You will have to fight me for him.” She laughed at that, and as she came close he handed the baby over with a sigh then moved to put his arms around her. He nuzzled her hair, breathing in the scent of lavender, unable to help feeling a touch of bemused wonder at it all, at how things had come to this, at how everything had changed and yet felt like it had been this way forever, maybe because for him it had never ended. He asked her, “Do you want to sit down?”

“No. Sitting is a bit uncomfortable right now.”

Vilkas shook his head and said in disbelief, “I simply can’t believe it will ever go back. Not after what I saw.” Bryn laughed and shook her head at him, her golden eyes shimmering in the firelight. She looked tired but healthy, and he supposed he should have more faith in a woman’s ability to recover. Most women did, obviously, and Bryn was no ordinary woman. Childbirth wouldn’t keep her down for long.

“All the battles you’ve been through, all the sheer gore you’ve seen, and you can’t handle that?”

“You didn’t see what I saw. What I have seen cannot be unseen.” Bryn laughed again, and he sighed happily and held her close. She had laughed more in the few hours since the child was born than she had in months. It was a good sound. It was a sound that was good for the child to hear. The babe was still wide awake and only had eyes for whoever was holding him, and he seemed quite the little old man, as if he was pondering the meaning of life or something equally profound. Vilkas quietly said, “I wonder what he is thinking. Jergen and Skjorta were like this as well. It’s as if every child is born with an old soul and then forgets it all.”

“Every child is born with an old soul, in a manner of speaking.”

“Yes, I suppose so, if the philosophers are right. Who knows.” He made a thoughtful sound and petted the baby’s downy hair, still surprised that it was light brown, though Galmar said it would fall out before long to be replaced with real hair. “I wonder about Fjonnar’s soul though,” he murmured. “I remember you telling me about your conversation with Paarthurnax last year, and he didn’t give you a straight answer about the children.”

“It may be that he doesn’t know. He may not know until he meets them.” She lifted the baby to kiss his forehead and breathe in his scent. What a wonder it would be to take the children around Skyrim to the word walls and see what happened. There were three Shouts within a day’s ride of Windhelm: one was harmless but could be a nuisance, the three words together at Shearpoint that could be used to throw one’s voice; another was at Mount Anthor, a component of Ice Form; the third was one that she would not be showing any child of hers until they proved themselves worthy of it, one that leeched the life force and weakened the armor of an opponent and had the potential to kill with a word, if your enemy was weak enough. No, none of her children would learn any Shouts until they earned the privilege, and even so they would be taught the gentle ones first…the ones to soothe Kyne’s beasts, to detect life, to take ethereal form, to throw one’s voice, to slow time. But how to unlock those Shouts, how to transfer Bryn’s understanding to her children…that was still beyond her, until she could get either Paarthurnax or a Greybeard to teach her, and she didn’t think they would willingly. She doubted the Shout she knew to bend the wills of _dov_ and men would work on either the ancient dragon or one of the monks, and even the attempt would be enough to alienate them, something she was not willing to do. Not yet. Hopefully never. Time would tell.

“And have you given any thought as to where we are going to put all these children?” He still didn’t know how many she had foreseen, but he was going to have at least three including Fjonnar and wasn’t going to take no for an answer. At Vilkas’ mock scolding question Bryn looked up at him in surprise, and when she saw him smirking she shook her head at him and laughed again, though tiredly this time. He rubbed her back and said, “Come lay down, love. Try to get a little sleep.”

“I am a bit tired.” At least the swelling in her feet and ankles seemed to finally be going down a bit.

Bryn set the baby in the center of the bed then gingerly climbed in, and Vilkas tucked the blankets around her, careful to keep them away from the little one who was swaddled into a little bundle. He went to the wardrobe to change into his own nightclothes. He pulled on his tunic, then the glint of something peeking out from the top shelf caught his eye. Something bronze. He had put it there weeks ago when he moved his things in, shoving it to the back of the shelf. He was fairly certain that when he had gotten dressed this morning that it had still been at the back.

Vilkas pulled on his pants, nibbling his bottom lip as he mulled it over, the impulse nearly irresistible. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw Bryn lying on her side with her arm under her pillow, lifting her head up enough that she could look at the baby, and when he saw her tenderly pet Fjonnar’s hair he took a deep, decisive breath and turned back and pulled the necklace down and put it his over his head. He was going to do this. He was going to do it, and do it today, right now, on the day of their first child’s birth, before the day was over. He was going to ask her to marry him, and they were going to do it as soon as the child could travel, propriety be damned. Anyone who had a problem with it could go hang.

Bryn sighed happily as Vilkas slid into bed on the other side. This felt good, and right. It felt like family. It felt complete. This was what she had come to Skyrim for all those years ago, for this moment right here. There would always be a hole in her heart that pined for Ulfric, and maybe that hole would never completely go away but it would grow smaller over the years. She still had a man, a good man, one who made her laugh and was already a devoted father to Ulfric’s son.

She heard Vilkas clear his throat, and she glanced up at him then her breath caught as her eyes widened. She quickly looked up at him and he was gazing at her expectantly, a look in his eyes that she had never quite seen before, one she couldn’t quite define. Maybe it didn’t need defining. She sat up on her elbow then lifted her hand from the baby’s head to touch the Amulet of Mara, whispering, “Oh Vilkas.”

He took her hand and held it to his mouth and murmured, _“Sokeytol zey, lokali.”_

“Oh Vilkas,” she choked. “Are you sure?” The second the words left her mouth she knew how foolish they were. Of course he was sure. Instead of scoffing at the question he nodded seriously.

“I am. I would be proud to stand at your side as your husband until the Divines take me, if you’ll have me.”

Bryn nodded. “Yes. Yes I will.” She tried to stop it, but she suddenly burst into tears, and as Vilkas kissed her forehead then pulled her close with the baby between them she found herself sobbing, and she couldn’t sort out how much of it was after-birth hormones and how much was happiness and how much was grief, remembering the night Ulfric asked her to marry him in his tent outside Whiterun. At the moment she missed him more than she could stand.

“Ah love, I miss him too,” Vilkas whispered. She cried harder, telling him he was right. That was all right though. That was perfectly all right. She wept for a few minutes and it nearly sent him over as well. He was just so damn relieved to have finally asked her after all these years that it tempered any sadness he might feel.

Bryn finally pulled away, wiping her eyes as she sniffed, and when she saw the Amulet of Mara again it almost made her start bawling anew. “How long have you been planning this?” she asked tearfully.

“I didn’t.” She looked surprised. “Not to do it tonight, anyway. I wanted to do it sometime soon, after the baby was born, but…it felt right.” Bryn nodded, smiling briefly as she stroked his cheek. “I was thinking…we could marry once the little one is old enough to travel. I considered waiting until fall, but I don’t want to.”

“Neither do I,” she admitted. There was something morbid about waiting until after the anniversary of Ulfric’s death. And there was the baby. The child was as surely Vilkas’ son as he was Ulfric’s, and marrying Vilkas would make him officially the baby’s father, in a way. And Vilkas had waited for her for so long. He deserved this. He deserved to be recognized as her husband and not…whatever he was right now. Well, she supposed as of now he was her betrothed. The thought sent a swell of relief through her.

“Erandur could marry us,” Vilkas suggested impulsively, and Bryn nodded eagerly, smiling, her tears drying up. “Maybe we could talk Balgruuf into letting us do it in Dragonsreach. We could have a grand party and invite everyone we know.” Well, not everyone Bryn knew but the palace in Whiterun was big enough to hold a large number of people. Bryn’s marriage to Ulfric had been too quick to plan a proper celebration, but this would be a proper wedding, and as the center of Skyrim, Whiterun would be easier for everyone to get to than Riften. Having the wedding here in Windhelm was not an option.

“That would be wonderful. He would be over the moons to host it. I’ll write him a letter tomorrow.” She ran her finger along the braided leather cord of the necklace. “Did Erandur give this to you?”

“No. I brought it with me from Whiterun. It…is the same one you wore, that day.” She looked shocked and he went on, “I kept it, in the chest in my quarters. I couldn’t bear to part with it, all this time. And once I knew what was going to happen, I knew it was the one I should use, someday. It’s only right.”

“Yes,” she quietly said with a nod. “It is.” She sighed and put her hand behind his head to pull him close for a kiss, and when he deepened it she felt a painful tightening in her belly that made her gasp and pull away.

“Sorry, sorry,” Vilkas said hastily, grimacing. He patted her shoulder and motioned for her to lay down, and he got up and went around the room putting out the candles one by one. Faint moonlight came through the upper windows, enough to see by. He took off the Amulet of Mara and looped it over the bedpost at the end of the bed then slid back under the covers, carefully feeling his way in to make sure he didn’t bump into the baby. He heard a soft snuffling, suckling sound and realized the little one was nursing again, a good sign. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too, _grohiiki.”_ She heard a contented sigh from him as he lay down, feeling his hand gently reach over Fjonnar to rub her shoulder. Within a minute it dropped away and a minute after that she heard his breathing even out and deepen. She snorted a soft laugh, glad that one of them was able to sleep. She supposed after fifteen years of never getting a decent night's sleep due to the beastblood that he was entitled. She was exhausted but couldn’t slow her thoughts, her mind running from one to the next. Baby. Wedding. Blades. Borgahk. Farkas and Lydia. Elluhrine. Too much to think about for sleep to come, but most of all her thoughts were on the baby at her breast and the man lying next to her. Her family. She sent a silent prayer of thanks to Mara and left it at that. Self-absorbed as she often was, she wasn’t so much that she thought Mara had done her any personal favors. 

Bryn lightly petted the baby’s head and felt the instinctive emotions that were still so foreign to her, one of them a sort of deep protectiveness that she had never felt quite like this before, though she had felt something like it for Ulfric. She knew that before long she would forget how it could have ever been any other way, but for now the idea that she was a mother seemed impossible, even if she had carried this life in her for nine months. It had been easy then, having the child inside her, part of her, and she felt a little bereft now that he was out, his own separate person. Vulnerable. Fjonnar might need a Guard of his own, someone whose sole job was to protect the future High King of Skyrim. Yes, that was exactly what was needed. Someone young, someone clever and quick on his feet who could keep up with Fjonnar when he was up and running about but who could follow the older Guards’ directions. She would have to keep her eye out for a lad like that, once she was able to travel. Maybe after her wedding she could go on a tour of Skyrim, show Vilkas the newer houses and their housecarls, and get back in touch with her people. Reassure them that all was well. As of tonight, all was very well indeed.


	77. Chapter 77

Vilkas grinned and clapped Yrsarald on the shoulder then hurried downstairs, relief flooding every fiber of his being. Finally, his brother and Lydia were here, with their son, safe. Yrsarald hadn’t said what the situation had been, having only gotten word from the guards at the front gates that they were coming down the causeway in one piece. That was all Vilkas cared about at the moment.

He reached the front doors of the palace just as the group of guards was coming in, Farkas’ family at the center, and Vilkas’ smile faded as he saw his brother’s steel armor dented, stained with dried blood, missing his right gauntlet; Lydia’s steel plate armor had seen battle as well. He nodded his thanks to the guards then swept his brother and Lydia into a hug, his sister-in-law holding their toddler, who was sucking his thumb hard enough to just about take the skin off, his anxiety obvious.

“What the hell happened!” Vilkas whispered fearfully. “Where have you been!”

“Mixwater Mill,” Farkas stated in a quiet voice. “We had a problem.”

“No shit there was a problem!” Lydia clucked her tongue at him and he let go of her to hold his brother at arm’s length. “Was it bandits?”

“Giant. Damn thing came at us right after the cart crossed the bridge by the big falls, started chucking boulders at us from the cliffs there. It was like it had gone crazy or something.” He shook his head and said with regret, “One of the rocks hit Bjorlam head on. I think he died right away. Or I hope he did. Giant jumped down and went after the horse next, and Lydia grabbed Jergen and ran. I had to stop it from going after my wife and kid, and I wasn't fast enough.” Vilkas took a deep breath and closed his eyes, his grip tightening on his brother’s shoulders. “I was able to hold it off long enough for Lydia to get Jergen to Gilfre down at the mill, and by time she got back the thing had smashed my right arm and left leg. She finished it off.” He smiled proudly at his wife and she gave him a fleeting smile back. The smile was so brief it hardly counted as one, her eyes still haunted by the encounter. It had been a close one, for sure. He wasn’t exactly in the shape he had once been, at least not when it came to fighting.

Vilkas said angrily, “Why the hell didn’t you take Jergen and let Lydia deal with it!” Farkas’ eyes narrowed at his twin, but before he could respond Vilkas exclaimed, “You know what I mean! Lydia is the best fighter in the Companions other than me and Mjoll, she could have taken it down without getting all beaten to Oblivion!”

“Yeah, well, hindsight,” Farkas grumbled. “You try thinking straight when you’ve got a crazy ass giant throwing rocks at you and bellowing like a mammoth. She had Jergen in her lap and she ran, just like she should’ve.”

“All right, all right,” Vilkas whispered, grabbing them both into a hug again then kissing his nephew’s cheek. “Poor little lad. That must have been terrifying.” The little boy stared at him with big hazel eyes, looking on the verge of tears, though the incident must have happened well over a week ago. “So what was the hold up? Were you that badly hurt?”

“Yes, he was,” Lydia stated flatly. “We had no potions to deal with his wounds, and the few Gilfre had were minor and only healed up his internal injuries. We had to splint his arm and leg as best we could and hole up in the empty worker’s house until help came. Gilfre or I couldn’t risk leaving and traveling alone.” She shifted Jergen over to his father then dug into her belt pouch. She took out a kerchief wrapped around something, and she gingerly unwrapped the item then held it up to show him.

Farkas scowled at her and said in a tense voice, “You never showed me that. What is that?”

“A poisoned dart,” she murmured. “I found it stuck in the giant’s back, when I went back to take care of Bjorlam’s body the next morning.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Farkas said in a hurt tone.

“You were hurt and Jergen was scared. I told Gilfre, but I wasn’t about to tell you until we were safe. I’m telling you now.” Lydia quietly murmured to Vilkas, “It was probably dosed with frenzy poison. There’s a giant camp not too far from there. Lure the giant towards the road then poison it… Who would ever think it was anything but a giant going mad? They do sometimes.”

“May I have it?” Vilkas asked. Lydia laid it back into the handkerchief then carefully handed it over, and Vilkas looked closely at the projectile. It was about four inches long, fletched with rabbit hair, still brown on the end with the giant’s blood. He made a sound of confusion and muttered, “What would even fire something like this?” It was much too delicate to even be fired, as such, and certainly too light to be thrown. He knew the Dunmer sometimes used heavy hand darts and throwing stars, but this was nothing like that at all, made of a thin wood shaft shaved down to a sharp point, incredibly light.

“Bryn might know,” Farkas offered, his anger at his wife fading. He knew the knowledge would have driven him crazy with fear and worry while he was injured, with only Lydia there to protect him and Jergen. He’d never felt so helpless in his life, or so aware of his own mortality. He had to thank the Nine that he had a tough, level-headed wife who was more than capable of handling pretty much any situation. He certainly wouldn’t have thought of checking the giant’s body for any reason.

Vilkas shook his head and said, “Maybe later. The little one was born only a few days ago. We’re both tired and things have been…interesting.” Lydia clapped her hands together in delight and grabbed her husband’s arm and began tugging him along, and Vilkas laughed and followed, not about to suggest that they go change and get comfortable first. They needed some happy news right now.

When they reached the sitting room Yrsarald was standing guard at the door to the upstairs, and he patted them both on the shoulder and let them through. Vilkas closed the door behind them, and Yrsarald frowned at the look on his face and said, “So, not good then.”

“They were ambushed,” Vilkas stated in a tense voice. He held out the dart on his palm, still on the kerchief. “Lydia found this dart in the back of a giant that attacked them just after they crossed the bridge west of Mixwater Mill. It killed Bjorlam, the Whiterun carriage driver, and nearly did the same to my brother.” It was terribly sad, Bjorlam a friendly, knowledgeable man, pleasant to talk to, someone of long acquaintance to nearly everyone in Whiterun. He had no family that Vilkas knew of, but it was still a great shame, and Vilkas would have to make certain that he sent a letter to Skulvar at the Whiterun Stables first chance he got, though the stable master was probably already wondering where on earth his driver was. Yrsarald looked troubled, and Vilkas said, “Lydia thinks it was a frenzy poison, but I have never seen a dart like this before.” The housecarl nibbled at his lip, glancing at Vilkas, who prompted, “You have?”

“Eh…it looks a bit like an Argonian hunting dart. When I was a lad I was fascinated by the lizard folk and used to watch them every chance I’d get. I’ve seen them hunt game birds and rabbit with these, fired out of a blowgun…a long tube you blow through. Every bit as accurate as a bow.” Vilkas shook his head, looking perplexed. Yrsarald folded his arms and continued, “The Argonians here have no quarrel with the Queen or her kin. I can’t think of a reason why someone would set an ambush there, specifically for your brother and his family. The only real grievance anyone has against Brynhilde is the Blades, and from what she’s told me about them this isn’t their way.”

“No, it isn’t. They’re not above assassination, but only in the line of duty, to protect the Dragonborn.”

“Huh. Well, they aren’t doing that. I can’t think…” He trailed off with a grunt. Vilkas stared at him expectantly, and he hesitantly offered, “Assassin. The Dark Brotherhood, maybe? Whatever is left of it.”

“There _is_ nothing left of it. Only some madman and Elisif, wherever they’ve gone.” Though he had to admit that if anyone other than the Blades still held a grudge against Bryn it was the former Queen. He folded the kerchief around the dart. “There was an Argonian assassin in the Falkreath Sanctuary, when Bryn took them out, and a couple were sent against her before that, but they’re all dead now.”

“Want me to go ask around at the docks?”

“It wouldn’t hurt.” He handed over the wrapped dart, which Yrsarald handled with the appropriate caution. It was hard to say how long the poison stayed potent, but it had to have been fairly strong to affect something the size of a giant. “A mage might be able to find who fired it. With a Clairvoyance spell.” He couldn’t say for certain if Bryn knew it or not.

“I’ll keep it safe.”

Vilkas smiled gratefully at him, and the housecarl nodded then headed out, sending another guard to watch the door. Vilkas nodded to her then went upstairs to join the others. The amount of tension in the house was only going to go up with this news, and the timing was terrible, though he supposed there really was no good time for something like this. He and Bryn together could root out whoever had attacked Farkas’ family, easily, but that was impossible with Fjonnar. Vilkas had never been so acutely aware as he was now of how tiny and vulnerable a child was, or how the babe would tie down Bryn. And maybe that was why things were happening now. Delphine had known Bryn was due to give birth and couldn’t come after her for hunting dragons, and the mysterious almost-assassin no doubt had chosen his or her timing for the same reasons.

Feeling a flush of helpless fury that he fought hard to contain, Vilkas made his way upstairs, passing several guards on the way. By Ysmir, he hated living like this. He had known what he was in for, and he regretted nothing, but he hadn’t quite realized how hemmed in nobility could be, or how much the baby would hamper the two of them. Newborns nursed almost constantly, and even as Fjonnar got older he would still need to be nursed every couple hours, and Bryn absolutely refused to get a wet nurse, a decision Vilkas wholeheartedly agreed with. The children wouldn’t simply be heirs that they produced then handed off to someone else for raising. The thought was appalling.

No, they would simply have to cope as best they could until Fjonnar was older and Bryn had more freedom to move. She could call Odahviing and have him pass word to his brethren to pick their sleeping spots more carefully, and Vilkas would have to get word to the other Companions to watch their backs, because if the mysterious attacker had sent someone after Farkas and Lydia then the others might be targets as well. He couldn’t imagine who was cold-blooded enough to do such a thing when a child was involved. It made his heart ache to think of how terrified poor little Jergen must have been.

He nodded to Ralof who stood guard at the bottom of the stairs. The younger man was taking his job with a new seriousness since Fjonnar’s arrival, something Vilkas heartily approved of. He had always done his job well, but the birth of Ulfric’s son had seemed to deeply affect him, in ways that Vilkas thought were easily understandable; Bryn was more than capable of taking care of herself, under ordinary circumstances, but the baby was tiny and extremely vulnerable, and Bryn was still sore and tired, and Vilkas was sleep-deprived as well. There was also the fact that Ralof was now responsible for protecting the life of a child, his beloved lord’s son, though now at least he had some help in that.

The blonde had been a bit sullen for a couple days after Borgahk’s arrival, but he seemed to have accepted her after seeing how gravely the Orc woman took her duty. She watched the area around the Queen and the little Prince like a hawk, viewing everyone not within the small inner circle with suspicion at best, even the palace guards. Vilkas couldn’t fault that. Access to the palace had been severely restricted for over a month now, and that wasn’t going to ease up. It _shouldn’t_ be eased up. Vilkas had watched Ralof and Borgahk spar the day before and the young woman was quite skilled with a one-handed sword, but she had been right that her shield handling needed a great deal of improvement. The Harbinger planned to start working with her in a few more days, once everything had settled a bit. He was definitely not on his game with the lack of sleep, but he knew he was sleeping better than Bryn did. With the babe in bed with them he only woke up when the little one needed changing, something he readily did, considering he wasn’t the one with the child constantly attached to a nipple. And he wasn’t the one expected to rule a hold and country at the same time.

Borgahk stood watch at the door and let him through, and as it closed behind him he smiled, feeling warm all over as he saw Lydia holding the baby, while Farkas held Jergen in one arm and had the other one around his wife. Jergen was peering at the baby curiously. Vilkas felt a fresh surge of relief at the sight of the three of them whole and in one piece. The thought of his brother getting smashed to death by a giant was enough to make his heart stop.

Lydia sighed happily at the feel of the little bundle in her arms. “Oh Bryn, he’s precious,” she cooed. She had never been one of those women who went gaga over babies, but it was hard not to feel that certain something while holding one, now that she’d had one of her own. She had forgotten how tiny newborns were.

“I try to remember that when I’m feeding him for the fifth time a night,” Bryn stated from the nearby chair.

Farkas said, “Eh, that won’t last forever. Jergen was sleeping through the night by time he was two months old.”

“Yeah, but Skjorta didn’t until she was over a year,” Lydia reminded him. “Every baby is different.” She lifted him to kiss his forehead then smelled his hair, the downy light brown fluff tickling her nose. Fjonnar would be blond, but the newborn hair would start falling out before long. It was sad though how much the little one looked like Ulfric, though without the nose, thank the Divines. Lydia sighed again, then she felt Farkas’ arm tighten around her, and when she looked up at him he was staring at her with a hopeful look on his face. Her expression turned to one of surprise, and when he raised his eyebrows in question she let out a long breath then smiled at him. He grinned in delight and kissed her soundly. Well, she had known he would get around to wanting another child sooner or later, and Jergen could use a sibling. Lydia had been an only child and fine with it, but not everyone was.

Vilkas smiled at what had obviously just happened between the two, warmed by the thought of it, and when he glanced at Bryn she smirked at him and said, “Don’t even dream it.”

“I’ll give you a few months,” he said charitably, making her laugh. She slowly raised herself from the chair and he moved to take her hand. He kept hold of it as he cleared his throat and said to Farkas and Lydia, “We have some good news.” The other two looked up from the baby and he smiled and stated, “We’re getting married. Soon.”

Lydia made a sound of delight, and Farkas grinned and said happily to Bryn, “Now you really will be my sister…when?”

“As soon as I can convince Balgruuf to host the wedding,” she stated. “I had Rikke send out couriers the day after the baby was born, with an extra letter from us to Balgruuf. We want to get married in Dragonsreach, in Whiterun. Mid-summer, we hope.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Lydia said warmly. _Us,_ Bryn had said. _We._ The new parents smiled at each other, _beamed_ at each other, in a way Lydia had never seen in all the time she had known either one, and she felt her last worries about the two of them finally fade for good. Finally. She and Farkas had visited twice since Vilkas had moved to Windhelm and had very deliberately stayed out of their business, though she had been ready to step in if asked. They never had. It seemed the two had sorted things out completely on their own. It was such a damn relief. Now if they could all figure out who the hell had nearly killed her husband and had scared the living daylights out of her child so she could go after them. No way Lydia was going to let anyone else have that pleasure without her involved.

Bryn sighed happily and leaned up to kiss Vilkas’ cheek, his hand warm and calloused in hers, and he smiled warmly at her and gave it a squeeze. She kept hold of it as she turned her gaze onto her two best friends. “So,” Bryn said as her smile faded, “who attacked you?” The signs of a fight were obvious, even in the low light of the room. She’d hadn’t left it since the baby’s birth, too tired to make her way downstairs, and it was cozy up here. ‘The nest’ Vilkas called it, and it certainly was, up high and removed from everything as it was. She was more than ready to leave it though. She trusted Rikke, Galmar and Jorleif to handle nearly anything, and bring her any important news, and of course Vilkas had been up and down along with the Guards and Siga and Elluhrine, but Bryn wanted out of here, so she could stretch her legs and talk to people. She only wished she could finish healing herself all the way, but Erandur had been adamant that she had to allow nature to take its course; magical healing couldn’t be targeted with deliberation, and if she finished the job her womb might not finish contracting back to its pre-pregnancy size. And so she was stuck being sore and bleeding for weeks on end.

Lydia quietly said, “I’ll explain everything in a bit. Your aunt is here?” And an Orc was guarding the Queen’s door, of all things, a high honor. Lydia didn’t have a clue who the Orsimer woman was or what she had done to earn such a position. The housecarl hadn’t missed that the girl was carrying Hadvar’s dragonbone sword, _Fahliil-Kriid,_ either.

“I’ll explain everything in a bit.” Lydia rolled her eyes, making Bryn chuckle, but she was definitely taking all this seriously. She said to the couple, “Take your armor to Oengul for repairs. He’ll put it on my account. Auntie is staying in Hjerim for now but there’s plenty of room. She’s…trying.”

“All right,” Lydia said with a nod. She glanced at Vilkas and he didn’t seem uncomfortable, so it must be fine.

Vilkas noticed the look and stated, “I wasn’t happy to see her show up, but she has been helpful. She stayed with Bryn through the birth and helped her with getting the babe to nurse. Which reminds me…” he crossed the short distance to Lydia and gently took the sleepy infant from her. “Give my son back, thank you.”

Lydia made a sound of mock offense but smiled, and she watched with warm contentment as Vilkas tenderly kissed the baby’s cheek then gazed lovingly at Fjonnar. It was a look she had never imagined seeing on her brother-in-law’s face. She felt Farkas’ arm tighten around her again and she leaned into him, petting Jergen’s hair to reassure him. Lydia was well aware of how worried Farkas had been for his brother, with good reason. Bryn moved close to Vilkas and put her arms around him and kissed his cheek, and Vilkas smiled and kissed her on the lips in return, and Lydia heard a soft exhalation of relief from Farkas. Yes, the two of them would be fine from here on out. It was one less worry. Gods knew there would always be plenty from outside sources without having to agonize over Vilkas and Bryn’s relationship. She hadn’t imagined them getting engaged so soon, but she thought that was a good thing, and she knew it was Vilkas who had asked. Maybe the baby’s birth had even been the catalyst for it. Regardless, that relationship was one less reason for her to wake up in the middle of the night. Well if Farkas got his way any time soon they would have a new reason to wake up at night within the year. Maybe it would be a girl this time, though Vilkas and Bryn would have more than enough daughters for the family.

_Family._ Lydia liked the sound of that as much as Farkas did.

* * *

“Are you sure about this?” Lydia asked with extreme skepticism.

“Yes I am,” Bryn replied. “Now come at me.” Her friend sighed and shook her head then raised the wooden practice sword and shield at the same time that Bryn lifted her own swords. With Auriel’s Shield gone she needed to get used to double-wielding again. She had kept up practice until she had gotten too big for it, and it had been at least four months now since she had picked up a sword, seven months since she had faced an enemy. Fjonnar was two weeks old today and Bryn was no longer sore, though she was still tired. The baby would sleep for a good stretch of three or four hours every so often, but at this age little ones still nursed so frequently that she couldn’t say when she would get a full night’s sleep again. She had insisted on Vilkas getting an occasional good night’s sleep in another room, when Lydia, Siga or Elluhrine would come sleep with her instead to help with the baby, and he seemed the better for it. He was currently hunting for the day with his brother and Yrsarald and Ralof, just to get out of the Palace for a while. It was good that he got along so well with the housecarl and the Guard, because he was clearly in as much danger as Bryn was, if not more, if the attack on Farkas and Lydia was anything to go by.

_That_ had been infuriating to hear about in its entirety. Bryn’s bet was on the Dark Brotherhood, what remained of it, and she was no longer sure it was just Cicero and Elisif. There had been an empty bed the night she had raided the Sanctuary in Falkreath, but she had dismissed it then, thinking it a spare. She had given it not one ounce of thought until the day Farkas and Lydia arrived, but the notion consumed her now. The assassin had nearly killed two of the people dearest to her in this world. Bryn had been willing to leave the lunatics alone as long as she wasn’t getting reports of their ‘business’ starting up again, but this was a direct affront, and vain as it sounded it was an affront to her. Farkas and Lydia had no enemies; Bryn had always been very careful to leave her best friend out of any adventure that could have resulted in that. No, this was about her and she knew it.

She supposed that if she had been part of the Brotherhood and had returned to the Falkreath Sanctuary to see everyone slaughtered that she would hold a grudge as well, but who could hold one for so long, with such patience? Who could brew up a potion strong enough to throw a giant into a murderous frenzy? The creatures were unrelenting once riled, but on the whole they were gentle and minded their own business, whatever that business was. Tending mammoths, she supposed. She had always left them alone and had refused bounties that involved killing them unless it was obvious that they had gone a bit mad and started attacking people, though she had occasionally sneaked into their camps over the years to steal a bit of tasty mammoth cheese. She had to wonder though about the process, since she had never seen a giant actually milking a mammoth. Now _that_ was a thought--

“Ow!” Bryn cried out at a particularly vicious strike across her ribs that focused her attention quite well.

“You’re daydreaming,” Lydia said in disbelief. She would have thought it was about the baby, but Fjonnar was nearby in Siga’s arms, asleep, the young woman sitting at the dining table, Borgahk standing guard over the infant in shiny new ebony armor. Rikke and Galmar were close by as well, as was Elluhrine, who was playing with Jergen, who seemed to find her fascinating. Galmar tended to treat Elluhrine as an inconvenient figment of his imagination, something to be ignored at all costs, and the Altmer woman did her best to ignore him as well, well aware of how he felt about her race. Vilkas had gotten much better about it, having Bryn’s aunt around and seeing how utterly harmless she was, and actually helpful at times, but there was no hope for Galmar at this point. 

Bryn sighed and brought back up her swords. Lydia came at her again, not really trying, and Bryn blocked the blow. They took it slow, exercising more than sparring, and by time Bryn waved her off and called it quits she was sweating profusely, exhausted.

“Good lord, you poor thing,” Lydia said in sympathy. “It’s too soon. You just had a baby, for Mara’s sake!”

“I’m just out of shape,” Bryn replied tiredly, taking the cup of water that her aunt brought to her and draining it. She was losing the weight quickly enough, and while she was still bleeding it was slight. She was in perfect health, really, but the condition she was in was pathetic.

“For good reason!”

“Erandur said I was fine to start sparring again. Just don’t smack me in the boobs.” She had no armor that she could fit in yet and so was wearing leather armor from Oengul’s shop, however it had always been a challenge for her to find female armor her size, and now that she actually had something in the way of breasts it was even harder. She had no clue at all how she was supposed to go about the country after the wedding as she had planned to do wearing her dragonscale armor. There was simply no such thing as nursing armor. She was going to feel naked going about unarmored. Though…maybe she could wear an armored coat, as Ulfric had. Chainmaille was extremely time-consuming to craft, but something scaled perhaps…

Bryn said nothing more, looking thoughtful as she drank down a second cup of water, and Lydia left her to it, seeing she was thinking deeply about something instead of mentally wandering. When the Queen's eyes finally focused again and she held the swords out to a nearby guard Lydia asked, “What’s on your mind?”

“Armor,” Bryn murmured. “I need to go talk to Oengul.”

“Right now?”

“Why not?” She hadn’t really gone out into the city since Fjonnar’s birth other than to call Odahviing, Drunfaazkein and Maarluhkest early on and warn them about the Blades’ activities so they could spread the word, and so she could show them her son, something that had put Galmar into a tizzy and worried Vilkas as well. The three dragons had looked down from their perches at the tiny human with little interest, something she had found amusing. The people of Windhelm had gathered at the edges of the courtyard to watch, something she hadn’t discouraged; she hoped they had found it reassuring to see the three huge creatures sitting on the rooftops harmlessly conversing with her and offering her child no harm.

Rikke spoke up and said, “My Queen, you’re missing most of the people who are supposed to be guarding you. I wouldn’t advise it.”

Galmar added in his gravelly voice, “And someone would have to stay to watch the boy, dividing us further. No, my lady.”

“Oh fine,” she sighed, unable to help seeing the wisdom in that. “Could someone go ask Oengul to come here, when he has a moment? Hermir too.” The girl had talent, even if she was still cool to Bryn, and she would carry on here long after Oengul was retired or gone. If Bryn pitched in it might not take an excessive amount of time to craft a scale mail coat. It wouldn’t provide the protection she was used to, but she could wear a cuirass under it as well, one that could be put on and taken off with a minimum of fuss.

Rikke nodded and rose from her seat, Galmar doing the same, and as his wife headed for the front doors to send a guard to fetch the smith, the old housecarl went to the Queen. He put his hands on her shoulders and said in a gently scolding tone, “You’ll push yourself too hard. Give it some time.”

“Someone tried to kill my best friends and their child,” she stated. “A _child,_ Galmar. Whoever it was won’t hesitate to make an attempt on Fjonnar, or Vilkas, my aunt…anyone close to me. I honestly don’t think they would even come after me. It’s someone from the Brotherhood and they want to make me pay for wiping it out. They called each other brother and sister, you know. They considered themselves a family. I took the assassin’s family from them and they want to take mine from me.”

“I get that.” Yrsarald and Ralof kept him apprised of everything, and he was closer to the Queen than ever since Fjonnar had come along, so he knew full well what the issues were and the dangers there. The boy’s birth had been the one thing that had been able to pull him out of his funk after Ulfric’s death; his own granddaughter had helped lift his spirits, but Fjonnar’s arrival had made it stick. When he saw his heart’s brother again in Sovngarde he wanted to be able to proudly tell Ulfric that he had carried on, that he had helped mold Ulfric’s son into a fine Nord man, a true Son of the North, just as he had promised. One of the ways he had to go about doing that was keeping the boy’s strong-willed mother from doing foolish things like going willy-nilly about town without proper armor while her skills were woefully out of practice and half her guards were gone; the child wouldn’t be who and what he needed to be without another Dragonborn to train him. Galmar wanted the Greybeards to have as little with the boy's upbringing as possible.

“And so I need to get back in shape,” Bryn said firmly, “even if doing so kicks me in the backside.”

Lydia counseled, “Then let’s take it a bit more slowly. No matter how much exercise you get it’s going to take time for your stomach muscles to get back to normal. I didn’t start retraining until Jergen was a month old.”

“I don’t have that luxury.” Balgruuf had happily agreed to host the wedding, which of course she was fully paying for, in mid-Sun’s Height, so she would be heading out from Windhelm in a little over a month, when Fjonnar was about six weeks old. She had sent back to Balgruuf a list of the folk she and Vilkas wanted to have as guests: all the Jarls, their spouses and children, of course; the Companions; her two Thanes of Eastmarch, Brunwulf Free-Winter and Torbjorn Shatter-Shield, and their families; Viarmo, the Dean of the Bard’s College; Tolfdir, the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold; and various other folk she had grown close to over the years like Balimund and Dinya Balu in Riften, Onmund, and the Dibellan priestess Hamal who had been such a help to her and Ulfric. And of course the Emperor would receive an invitation, as would the happily retired Tullius, and her friend Legate Fasendil, though the odds of those three showing were slim to none.

With an unknown assassin lurking out there, Bryn did need to get back into condition as quickly as possible, get her reflexes back up to something she found acceptable. She had rarely had reason to watch after anyone but herself while she traveled, but the baby had changed everything. There was also Siga to worry about, since the girl was part of her entourage now. It was really a bit funny that she now had enough people going with her to consider them an entourage. Well, this was the rest of her life, and it would only get worse from here. Titus Mede II traveled with a staff of roughly thirty people. Bryn hoped to the Nine Divines she never reached that level. Her mind shied away from anything more than vague wonderings of how she was going to manage taking the Emperor’s place. She could only pray to Arkay that Mede lived a very long, healthy life so that she had the chance to at least get Fjonnar raised to an age where he could take Skyrim from her. For now Skyrim and its attendant problems were more than enough for her.

One of those problems, the poisoned dart, was firmly in her possession, in a strongbox in her quarters, and she would use it to find the mysterious assassin. Clairvoyance was a low-level spell that she had never bothered to learn, though in hindsight it would have made her life a thousand times easier in both Blackreach and the Soul Cairn, and she was determined to learn it at the first opportunity. Yrsarald had asked the Argonians at the docks about the dart, and they had confirmed it was definitely Argonian in style, though not in materials; their folk usually used a puff of thistle down or tundra cotton as the fletching, not fur, and they didn’t use any poison as that would taint the meat. The dart was also much smaller than they usually used. There had been an Argonian assassin amongst the Brotherhood in Falkreath and he had died with the rest of them, but it would have been easy enough for him to teach someone to make the darts in the time before that.

Another courier was on his way to Dawnstar, with a letter to Brina Merilis, a retired peer of Rikke’s, someone much more competent, intelligent and reliable than Skald the Elder, who Bryn worried was well on his way to senility, as did the man’s own housecarl, Jod. Skald had no heirs, and if Bryn had her way Brina would have been made Jarl years ago, in fact she had the sneaking suspicion that Skald’s staff went to Brina for direction much of the time. She would set Brina to the task of having the mysterious Black Door outside the city watched, a door that matched the one that led into the Sanctuary outside Falkreath. If Cicero and Elisif and the unknown third had gone anywhere it was there. Bryn had dispatched yet another messenger to Fort Dawnguard, where the last remnants of the Vigil of Stendarr remained under Isran’s leadership; if anyone in Skyrim knew of some way to get rid of the remains of the Night Mother it was them, though she and Sithis were not Daedric as such. There were schools of thought that the Night Mother was connected to Mephala in some way, but that was speculation and something Bryn wasn’t interested in researching. The Dawnguard needed something to do, and this was right up their alley. She was finally reaching a point in her life where it felt good to delegate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow...this marks exactly one year since I started posting this story. A year! I can't believe it's gone by so fast. At one point I was dying to wrap up this story, now I can hardly bear the thought of bringing it to an end. We're not quite there yet though.
> 
> Thank you so very, very much to everyone who has followed along with this and taken the time to comment and provide support. It's really been invaluable to me as a learning experience, not only in my writing but personally. In hindsight I don't think there's much I would change about this story other than breaking it up into 'books', as I look at the number of chapters it has now and find it just slightly appalling. I would definitely change how I've reacted to some things; I have the rather frustrating tendency to let certain things get to me leading to me obsessing on it which then leads to a mini-freakout, and then I always seem to break through to the other side of it and think to myself, "Well that was strange and embarrassing" and never go there again. I think that has been the most valuable lesson of all and one that I'm thankful for: learning to grow a thicker skin. That lesson took some time but I feel that maybe I've finally gotten it. Time will tell, I suppose.
> 
> Here's to another year of _Grohiiki, Kodaavi!_
> 
> I joke; this thing won't last another year. I hope. ;)


	78. Chapter 78

Bryn smiled at Maven, the older woman meeting her at the base of the steps leading up to Mistveil Keep, her sons and daughter with her, and the Dragonborn's smile was genuine. All four Black-Briars bowed as she approached, though only Ingun returned Bryn's smile fully. Still, Maven's brief smile was lacking in any venom; the Jarl had made peace with the Queen long ago. The sons were cool and standoffish, and Bryn frankly thought winning them over a waste of time, and so she wouldn't bother. Ingun though had all the brains and personality her brothers did not, and Maven surely knew it. The young woman stood to her mother's right, the position of heir, something Bryn heartily approved of. She couldn't help wondering if Maven was being besieged with offers for her daughter's hand, ridiculously beautiful as the girl was, or if everyone was too terrified of Maven to even try. Ingun truly was one of the loveliest women Bryn had ever met, though Maven herself had also been a great beauty in her day and was still an attractive woman.

"My Queen, welcome to Riften," Maven stated.

"Thank you, Jarl Black-Briar," she replied. "I'm delighted to be here." She turned and looked back at the city and sighed happily. As loyal as she was to Windhelm, Whiterun would always be the home town of her heart, and Riften came in a close second. Her eyes still on the city, she said to Maven in approval, "You've truly turned Riften into the jewel of Skyrim again." As she and her retinue had passed through the city Bryn had marveled at how much the place had changed since last she had spent any time here. Most of the houses had decorative paint around the windows and doors, whereas before there had been only a few making the effort; the people all seemed content and the city had a pleasant air, both literally and figuratively. The sounds of fish merchants came up from the canal below and the market above bustled. Children ran in the streets when before they had been mostly kept inside. She couldn't hear sounds of playing from the Orphanage next door, but it was close to lunchtime and the children who lived there were probably inside.

"I am flattered, Your Majesty." Bryn turned back to her and the older woman motioned to the infant in a sling on the Queen's chest. It seemed she should have a nanny carrying the offspring, but no doubt the Queen had some quaint notion about being hands-on with her son. "Congratulations again on your heir. He looks a healthy child." He seemed a bit young to be taken about in public at not quite two months old, but he was a hearty-looking boy, with fat pink cheeks. Hard to believe something so sweet and innocent had dragon's blood boiling in its veins.

"He has healthy lungs, certainly."

Maven laughed politely at that. Her eyes shifted to the tall, dark-haired man in ebony behind the Queen. "So, Harbinger." His eyes narrowed the slightest fraction, as if he was bracing himself for something. "Or should I start calling you Prince Vilkas?"

His eyes narrowed further, and he stated coldly, "Yes, that would be appreciated, Jarl Maven. Thank you." She laughed again, more fully this time. "Harbinger will do."

"Harbinger," she agreed with a nod. "I would be honored to host you in the Keep during your stay in Riften." As she had expected, and hoped, the couple shook their heads.

"No, thank you," Vilkas replied. The last thing he wanted was the sleep under the same roof as the witch.

Bryn stated, "We wouldn't want Fjonnar waking the entire household at night, but thank you for your offer. We'll be staying in Honeyside." Siga, Erandur and Elluhrine were already there, though the priest had mentioned wanting to spend the bulk of his time in the Temple of Mara while he was here. For all his travels, and his devotion to his goddess, this was the Dunmer's first time in Riften.

"Dinner then, tonight."

"Yes, we would like that." She saw a tiny, telltale reaction in the older woman at her acceptance, as if she hadn't expected it. Well Maven didn't have a choice. "After dinner, I would appreciate a few minutes of your time to discuss something, in private. I could use your advice on a personal matter. My future in-laws and best friends were…accosted on their way to Windhelm."

Maven and Bryn stared at each other for a moment, then the Jarl murmured, "Yes, I have heard. You will have whatever you need of me." The young woman smiled gratefully at her with shining eyes, but there was hardness there, a glitter that made Maven thankful once again that she had put herself on the Dragonborn's good side. It was difficult to look at the pretty girl with the baby and reconcile her with the creature that had put such terror into the Aldmeri Dominion, though it wasn't difficult at all to see the North Wind behind the Harbinger's cold gray eyes. Maven curtseyed slightly to the Queen and said, "Five o'clock then, Your Majesty."

"Yes, thank you, Jarl Black-Briar. I look forward to it."

Her party turned away and headed for the forge to visit Balimund, pausing when it looked like the smith and his apprentice weren't there. Vilkas suggested, "We can stop by the Orphanage first. Balimund may be at lunch." The children probably were as well, the yard quiet. The children at play in the streets were probably those with parents, a sight he still found odd in Riften, where for so many years they had been kept close to home, away from the unsavory influence and quick fingers of the Thieves Guild.

Bryn nodded her agreement. The two Guards stayed outside, flanking the door, as the Queen and Harbinger let themselves into Honorhall Orphanage. Vilkas hadn't been here since Aela and Mjoll's wedding, and he was fairly certain Bryn hadn't been either, though he knew she kept the place well-funded. The sound of the door opening brought Constance Michel hurrying from the dining room, a young toddler in her arms. She gasped in surprise then curtseyed, and Vilkas was glad to see no lingering fear there. That would not have gone over well with his beloved.

"Majesty, Harbinger," she said breathlessly. "I…I wasn't expecting you! The children are at lunch, I… What can I do for you?"

Bryn smiled gently at her, hard as it was, holding up her hand. "No worries," she soothed. "We're in Riften for the week before we head to Whiterun and were just stopping by to visit."

"Yes milady, congratulations on your engagement." She shifted the little girl onto her hip and tentatively moved closer as she added, "And the little prince. I would come closer, but some of the children have colds." Bryn pulled the sling back enough to show Fjonnar's face, the baby still asleep. "A fine child, milady. Um, Jarl Ulfric would have been…proud."

Bryn nodded and smiled very briefly, a flash of grief in her eyes, and Vilkas quietly said, "Yes, we're certain he would have been." He met the dark eyes of the toddler in Constance's arms, and the little girl stuck her finger in her mouth and shyly turned away. She looked Redguard, which was surprising, though fairer skinned than they usually were. He nodded with his chin towards the dining room beyond, hearing childish voices. "How are the children doing? Everything is going well?"

"Oh yes, yes," the headmistress said happily. "We have only a few little ones here. Nearly everyone else has been adopted, though…well, unfortunately most of the ones left are all like Soraia here. _Mixed."_ She mouthed the last word almost silently. "And…" She nibbled her bottom lip nervously. "I have a favor to ask, Harbinger, if I may. Seeing as how you're here."

"Of course."

"I was hoping you could talk to Aventus. Again."

Vilkas' eyebrows rose, and he could see that Bryn was just as surprised. "He is still here?" he asked in concern.

Constance nodded, frowning with worry. "No one has wanted to adopt him," she murmured. "That business with the, um, Black Sacrament, you see. The moment any prospective parent finds out his name they turn away. All his friends here have been adopted or apprenticed, like my Asbjorn."

The Queen smiled and stated, "Yes, Balimund's last letter told me you had gotten married. That's wonderful." The two had grown up together in the Orphanage and were close in age, and the forge was right next door. It was a tidy match, though it had to be lonely for Balimund to be alone in his house at night. It was good for the children here to have a man in the house at times, though Asbjorn spent the bulk of his day at the forge.

Vilkas asked, "Where is the lad?"

"Outside, sulking," Constance answered sadly. "He spends most of his time out there, stewing and angry. It worries me. He's not a little boy anymore. Not that he's dangerous or would harm the little ones, but teenage moods being what they are combined with anger and loneliness makes me worry for him. The oldest child I have here other than him is seven; Aventus is nearly fourteen."

He sighed and said, "Let me talk—"

"We will take him." The other two looked at Bryn in shock, and she repeated, "We will take him. I can't formally adopt him, but we can take guardianship of him. He spent the first eight years of his life in Windhelm and technically still owns property there that I hold in trust for him. We will take him in until he reaches his majority." She looked at Vilkas, and he gazed back for a moment before smiling broadly at her and nodding in agreement. She knew he had considered adopting the boy at one point. He was clearly very happy with the idea, and Mara and Dibella knew there wasn't much she wouldn't do to have that winsome smile turned on her by the most handsome man in Skyrim.

And perhaps…well, perhaps it was an answer to a matter that had been plaguing her off and on since Fjonnar's birth. As the idea took root in her mind she felt that touch of contentment that told her this was more than just the right thing to do, and she clamped down on it before she started feeling odd and scared Constance to death. Aventus was an extremely clever boy, energetic and light on his feet, though he hadn't been on the verge of puberty last time she had seen him. Almost fourteen…where had the time gone? She could see the understanding in Vilkas' eyes, his thoughts running along the same lines as hers. He was the best trainer she had ever seen, so having another student alongside Borgahk would be well within his capabilities. If Aventus was able, and willing, he could prove to be the future guard and companion for Fjonnar she was looking for. She would leave it up to the boy, when the time came, and the care and attention they would give him certainly were not contingent upon that. In the meantime Aventus would finally have a home and a family, back in the city of his birth, with children his age to socialize with.

Constance brightened and said, "Your Majesty, that would be…perfect. Oh, just perfect! He's been miserable here since the last of the older ones left. I have nothing to keep him busy here, and he's gone through all the books and materials I have here. The poor boy is bored to tears." She turned away and the other two followed her into the dining room, where half a dozen children were eating lunch.

Bryn smiled at the children, who stared back with either fear or curiosity, but they were all well-fed and clean. Balimund wrote to Bryn every six months or so and had told Bryn about his apprentice marrying Constance a little less than a year ago. Constance was happy here taking care of the children, and did so very well, but it made Bryn's heart ache that no one would take these little ones. There were an equal number of girls and boys, and one of the little boys who looked to be around four or five had large dark eyes and tiny pointed tips to his ears, as some Bretons did. Most half-Elven children showed only the most subtle of clues of their father's heritage, like Bryn herself, but this one's father must have been Bosmer. He was a beautiful child, and she tried to tell herself that surely some childless couple would prefer to take in one of these children than have no child at all, but Nords weren't quick to change their mindsets.

Constance tried to set down Soraia but the girl shrieked and clung to her, and the Breton woman sighed and scooped her back up, settling her on her hip again. "She's been here only a few weeks," the young woman explained in a tone of apology. "Left on the doorstep with not even a note."

"It's quite all right, really," Bryn assured her.

The headmistress led them both to the back door, staying there to keep an eye on the younger children, and she held it open for them so they could pass through, saying, "Let me know if you need anything, milady, sir."

"Aye, thank you," Vilkas murmured. He closed the door behind them and looked around the grassy play yard, littered with leather balls and other toys. In the farthest corner sat a dark-haired boy sullenly picking apart a long blade of grass. It had to be hard to be the oldest child here, and this was a prickly age regardless. Aventus glanced up at the sound of the door closing, then his dark eyes widened in shock and he stared for a moment before jumping to his feet.

"Harbinger! Dragonborn!" he cried. "I mean, Your Majesty!"

Vilkas whispered, "Notice he said me first?" Bryn rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth quirked. He raised his voice and walked over to the boy, Bryn following. "Young mister Aretino. It has been a long time."

"Yes sir! I…oh…" He brushed the dirt and shredded grass off his pants, but there was nothing to be done about the stains on his fingers. He felt his face grow warm as he remembered his manners and bowed, and when he straightened back up he saw approval on the adults' faces. The two of them were ungodly tall, towering over him, but he wasn't afraid. Aventus tried not to fidget as he folded his hands together, then he gave up and shoved his hands in his pockets then pulled them out again, unable to be still. "Miss Connie says you had a baby and you're getting married. Is that the baby?" He pointed at the hidden bundle on the Queen's chest.

Bryn knelt down as Vilkas motioned the boy forward, saying, "Aye, this is Prince Fjonnar Stormcloak."

"Wow," Aventus murmured. He came closer to look at the baby, who was frowning deeply in his sleep, his lips pursed. It was weird to think this really was Ulfric Stormcloak's son. A war child. Dragonborn. He whispered, "Is it true that he's Dragonborn?" He sure didn't look like it.

"We think he will be, but only time will tell," Bryn stated. That was close enough to the truth, a truth she was still trying to figure out, and might not until her son reached adulthood.

"Well he looks like a regular baby." He then caught himself and looked the Queen in the eye, then the Harbinger. "Uhh…"

"It's all right," Vilkas said with amusement, patting the boy on the shoulder, making him wince. Aventus was all arms and legs, coltish like most children his age, still years away from reaching his full growth. He would never be a big man, though some Imperials could get bulky if not tall. The Harbinger took Bryn's elbow to help her stand, though she didn't need it. She was in what he considered decent shape for having given birth only two months ago, though she constantly lamented the weight she still carried. He had given up trying to convince her that she was beautiful just the way she was. Having the willowy Elluhrine always around hadn't helped in that regard.

Aventus took him at his word and forged ahead, complaining, "It's great you came here and all. I mean, I really appreciate it, but…gods, it's so _boring_ here. Boooooring."

"Is that so. You need a bit of excitement in your life, is that it?"

"I'd take a bit. I'd take anything." He sighed heavily. "Miss Connie's good about getting me more books and stuff when she can, and she's been sending me to the market and letting me go as far as the stables, but…" He looked pained. "Sometimes I go out to help Hofgrir with the horses and I look at the road and just…want to run. I don't care where, just…anywhere but here. All my friends are gone. If at least one of them had gotten adopted here in Riften I might be okay, but they're all gone."

"Hm." He glanced at Bryn and she smiled slightly, and he chuckled then looked back at the boy. Aventus' gaze had suddenly sharpened as he looked between them, his dark eyes glittering. Yes, the boy would be a challenge, but one Vilkas could use. Borgahk was a good student but required only small pointers here and there. Siga's schooling was going well and Erandur had taken over some of her tutoring. Dealing with the jobs that came through for the Companions took little of his time, and Fjonnar was so tiny yet that he spent most of his time attached to Bryn. Taking Aventus under his wing would keep Vilkas quite busy, and it would be a pleasure to teach someone so young, something he had never done before.

Aventus kept his tongue with an admirable amount of restraint, and Bryn finally asked, "What do you want to do with your life, Aventus?"

"Do?" he replied, his voice cracking.

"When you think about running down that road, where do your flights of fancy take you?" She lifted an eyebrow and added, "Be honest."

"Um…" Aventus wrung his hands a bit as he shifted on his feet. "I…sometimes think I'd like to be a thief, or an assassin," he admitted in a near whisper. "But I hate the idea of stealing, or killing someone who doesn't deserve it. Stupid, right? And I don't really want to be either of those things, it's just daydreaming, and then I think I'd like to be a Companion, but that doesn't feel right either. I know there's an Imperial and a Dark Elf in the guild, so it isn't that, I just…I want… _more._ But I don't know what that more is. I want something…I want it to be _hard._ A challenge. I'm so…so bored! Like so bored that I feel like screaming sometimes and I don't think I can take it another day, but the next day comes and it's just like the one before!"

Bryn nodded slowly, seeing her mate doing the same. "Well, a bored Aventus Aretino is just trouble waiting to happen, isn't it," she stated.

"I've stayed out of trouble. Well, mostly," he said miserably. "That's why you're here, isn't it. Miss Connie's worried I'll start giving her trouble, and you're here to give me a talking-to."

"Not at all," Vilkas soothed. "We came here only to see how the children were doing, while we're in town."

"Before we head on to Whiterun," Bryn continued. "However we did talk to Constance Michel about you, since we were already here. Vilkas and I have an idea, and we would like to run it by you." The boy's eyes lit up with hope. She gently patted the baby in front of her on his rounded rump and went on, "We have a child here of our own, and will have more, and because of my station I can't formally adopt you. However, we could take legal guardianship of you. You would be our ward, until you reach the age of eighteen and can take ownership of your parents' house and choose your own path."

Aventus' mouth fell open, his eyes growing huge, and Vilkas said, "Your life would be your own to do with as you saw fit at that point, however until then we would see that you are trained and tutored, as we would a child of our own." The boy's mouth snapped shut as he stared at the Harbinger in disbelief.

Bryn stated, "It's my hope that if you study hard enough, and if you're willing, that when you reach eighteen you will remain part of my court."

The boy swallowed audibly, and Vilkas warned, "But you would have to study and train very hard. You would have to earn the privilege of joining the Queen's household at majority. We will care for you as our own until you reach adulthood no matter what, however once you reach adulthood your choices will be your own, and the choices you have made up to that point will come to bear. I think you are capable of doing something with your life that will bring honor to your parents' memory, and yourself, but you must want it for yourself."

When Aventus blinked rapidly, not answering, Bryn added, "The decision is yours, of course—"

"Yes!" he cried. He wrung his hands together and went on with a hint of panic, "I'll do anything, anything at all!" The thought that they might think he wasn't interested, or gods forbid might change their minds and leave him here, was unbearable. "I'll study hard, I'll train hard, I'll be good, I promise!"

"All right then," Vilkas said with a nod. "It will not be easy—"

"Good!"

"And you should learn to not interrupt," he chided. "Especially the Queen." The boy grimaced but stayed silent.

Bryn said, "We will have certain expectations, but you should come to us with anything. Any concerns. Anything you notice that looks or sounds…odd."

"Odd," he said in confusion.

"Joining my household isn't exactly the safest life path you could put yourself on. You will need to always have your wits about you." The boy looked equally apprehensive and excited by the notion.

"The Dark Brotherhood tried to kill my brother and his family," Vilkas explained with a hint of anger. "Be glad that your daydreams of becoming an assassin are only that: daydreams." A cohort of Eastmarch soldiers had escorted Farkas and Lydia home to Whiterun two weeks ago, but it still aggravated him that it even needed to be a concern.

"Vilkas," Bryn murmured with a shake of her head, seeing Aventus' apprehension; it was clearly over Vilkas' mood and not the danger. Her beloved could be extremely intimidating when he was angry, at least to others, and this was a child. No ordinary child, but still.

"But I thought they were gone," Aventus said with worry.

"It seems I missed a few. I will deal with them in due time." She smiled at him and put her hand on his shoulder. "But for now, I want you to gather your things, while Vilkas and I talk to Constance and sign the papers. You're coming to stay with us in Honeyside, then we're going to Whiterun for the wedding. Then we're traveling to Falkreath, Markarth, Morthal, Solitude, Dawnstar, Winterhold, then home. You'll get to see all the big cities of Skyrim. We'll find you a bed in the Palace, though you may need to share a room with someone. We'll get you some extra clothing and boots here before we leave."

"And a dagger," Vilkas added. "A boy your age should have his own by now. I'll start showing you a few things. Simple defensive moves. How to break your fall. Things of that nature. And you can show me where you're at in your studies." Athis might be a good weapons tutor for the lad as he got older. When Aventus said nothing, staring between the two of them with a blank expression, Vilkas said with sympathy, "This is a lot to take in all at once. If you'd like we could come back later. Give you time to think it over more."

"No sir," the boy whispered, his eyes damp. "I go where you go."

Bryn bit her lip, trying not to sigh or make some similarly girlish sound over the moving look that passed between Vilkas and Aventus. He was at an age where a man's attention and approval meant more than a woman's, though she didn't doubt his gratitude to her. That was fine. She had more than enough on her plate. This would be good for everyone involved, though the idea of putting another life at risk wasn't appealing. The boy was smart as a whip though, with quick eyes. Anyone who could do what he had done at a much younger age would be fine.

* * *

Borgahk cast another look of concern at her partner and wondered if she should say something. Nords were as stubborn about certain things as Orcs, their pride being one of those things, but Ralof was starting to worry her. The man looked a bit green, and not in a healthy Orcish way either. His forehead and upper lip glistened with fine beads of sweat. The main hall of Mistveil Keep was warm, but not that warm.

She hesitated, still too new to all this to feel good about speaking up. She glanced at the long tables and the Queen and Harbinger were eating dinner with the Black-Briars, Vulwulf and Nura Snow-Shod also in attendance. Everyone was talking companionably and the baby was nursing peacefully. The baby though…if Ralof was sick he shouldn't be anywhere near an infant. Borgahk didn't especially want to be anywhere near him either, but that was what potions and shrines were for.

The young Orc woman moved close to him and whispered, "What's wrong with you?"

"Just…just a bug," Ralof whispered. "I'm fine."

"You would be useless in a fight right now," she growled. He didn't insult her further by lying again about his health. She made a scoffing sound of frustration and worry and went to one of the Rift guards by the door. "Go to Honeyside and tell Iona she is needed immediately." The housecarl would do in a pinch, though Borgahk would have preferred Galmar, however he and Rikke were back in Windhelm seeing to the Queen's business in her absence; Yrsarald was there as well, the Queen's soft heart keeping her from taking him away from his family, something the Orc woman lamented in her lady. As the guard took off Borgahk returned to Ralof's side and muttered to him, "You will take yourself to the Temple after this, I assume."

"Aye, just leave me alone," he hissed. By Talos, the woman was unrelenting when she had her mind fixed on something.

"You should have gone there as soon as you felt something coming on," she scolded.

"It's only been ten or fifteen minutes. I'm never s-sick!" He shuddered as a wave of heat went through him and his vision swam, and he pulled off one of his gauntlets and wiped the sweat from his face. It felt like he was burning up from the inside out, and his guts were twisting into knots. He couldn't understand it, either. He rarely got anything more than the sniffles.

Iona arrived within minutes and took Ralof's place. The man dragged himself out of the Keep and the housecarl watched him go with a frown. Borgahk nodded to the redheaded woman, who nodded back and took up position with admirable poise. This situation was not acceptable in any way, shape or form. It wasn't her place to say anything about how the Queen went about her business, but it was her place to guard the life of the Queen and her family, and in her opinion two Guards were simply not adequate. The Dragonborn had half a dozen housecarls wasting their days guarding trinkets in far-flung houses, when there were much more precious things to guard here. Perhaps only two had been fine before the war, when Bryn hadn't been impaired by pregnancy or a child and Ulfric had also frequently been at her side. That was no longer the case. The Harbinger was a formidable warrior, but he was compromised by poor sleep and the distraction of the child as well. And now they had added another child to the group that Borgahk was tasked with protecting. No, this would not do, if all it took was an illness in one of them to leave the Queen without adequate protection.

Vilkas glanced over, and he frowned slightly as he noticed Ralof was gone. Borgahk lifted an eyebrow at him to let him know the situation was under control and he nodded slightly and turned back to his meal. That was it, then. She would have words with the couple when they returned to Honeyside. Erandur would have to step up as well, since he was supposedly an adequate battlemage. This issue would be moot if the Blades were doing their damn duty, but they seemed to have decided that guarding the Dragonborn was no longer in their job description. Borgahk would be more than pleased to accompany the Queen and Ralof when it came time to visit Sky Haven Temple while they were in The Reach and help knock sense into some Blade heads. Maybe doing so would make a few of them wake up and realize where they had gone wrong. If not, then maybe the group had outlived their usefulness. Thankfully Borgahk wouldn't be the one to decide that.

* * *

Maramal left the Keep to return to the Temple, and Bryn took a deep breath and slowly turned to look at Maven, who was nervously fingering the sleeve of her tunic. "Poisoned," Bryn stated in a quiet, dangerous tone. "Ralof was _poisoned._ Here. In broad daylight." The poor man had barely made it to the Temple courtyard before collapsing; the guard posted there had run for help to the priests, who had managed to heal him enough to get him inside, but the shrine hadn't cured whatever was ailing him. They had kept constantly healing him until one of them could get part of a potion into him to neutralize poison, but he had passed out after getting only part of it down. He still wasn't waking up, his body fighting against it, sweating and pale, his pulse thready. All three adherents of Mara were taking turns healing him to keep him alive, plus Erandur, and were only just managing it.

Vilkas asked tersely, "How in Oblivion did this happen? He was with us the entire time we've been in town. There have been no darts and no one has gone near him. Have they?" He turned the question on Borgahk, who shook her head.

"No sir," she stated in a firm tone. "The only time anyone neared us was a group of children that ran by as they were playing."

Maven made a strangled sound of dread, and Bryn narrowed her eyes and asked, "Do you have something you would like to tell us, Jarl Black-Briar?"

The older woman looked at her daughter, and Ingun stated, "This is one of those things, Mother." Bits and pieces of her mother's unsavory past that seemed to keep cropping up at the most inopportune times. While Maven hesitated, Ingun said to Bryn, "There are poisons that take their time attacking the body. There are no symptoms at first, but once the poison is introduced it gradually uses the body's own defenses against itself to build up more toxins. I don't know the recipe, personally, but I have heard of it."

"Will he live?" Bryn asked, deeply worried. The thought of losing Ralof was unbearable. Ralof had been with her longer than anyone else, meant as much to her in many ways as Lydia did. She couldn't imagine not seeing him always right there, not hearing his jokes and wry observations, not seeing that sunny smile. Losing him at this point would hurt as much or more than losing Hadvar had. She couldn't lose both Hadvar and Ulfric and then Ralof too. She didn't think she could take that at all.

"It's hard to say, my lady. If he had been treated right away, most likely yes. But he hesitated in getting treatment, so I can't make any promises. He's young and healthy though, so one can hope." She paused then offered, "I would be glad to go take a look and see if I can get a stronger antidote into him. The basic ones the Temple stocks are probably quite weak."

"I would appreciate that greatly, Ingun. Thank you." Once the girl was gone, two guards going with her, Bryn's expression hardened and she moved closer to Maven, who swallowed anxiously. "So…tell me who I missed," she murmured. "I killed a Dunmer woman, a male Argonian, a Redguard man, an elderly Imperial man, a Nord man named Arnbjorn, and of course Astrid. That Cicero madman was not there, so he is accounted for, and Elisif is most likely with him, and I don't get the sense either of them are involved, so who did I miss?"

"Babette," Maven whispered. "I…I had no idea that she was still alive. Well…" She chuckled weakly. "Relatively speaking. She's a vampire. A vampire child."

Borgahk said to Bryn, "She could have hidden herself amongst the children playing, my lady. Could have bumped into him, pricked him, and he would have written it off as nothing." Just as he had. But who would have been suspicious of _children?_ Well that was not a mistake she would make twice.

Maven continued, "She's a Master Alchemist. She's had three hundred years to perfect her craft. I've only met her a few times, but she's a terrifying little monster."

Bryn nodded slowly, trying to keep a lid on her temper, and her fear. She had never been afraid before. She still wasn't afraid for herself, and wasn't sure what it would take at this point, but she was terrified for the people around her, terrified that Babette was on her way to picking them off one by one. A child vampire…she couldn't imagine anything more horrid than that. Babette surely hadn't asked for the curse, but once she had reached a mental adulthood she had become responsible for what she did with it. If she had spent three centuries murdering people then Bryn didn't give a damn what body she currently wore; she would die, child or not.

Vilkas leaned close to her, seeing her growing angry, though he could see traces of fear in her. With Bryn she often turned fear into a greater anger. That could be useful in this case, if she didn't end up going overboard as she had with the Miraak cultists. He was not eager for a repeat of that. He hadn't witnessed most of it, and he didn't want to see anything like it now. He touched her shoulder and she flinched, her eyes intense. "Tomorrow we will go to Fort Dawnguard," he stated. They had planned to go there at some point during the week, to ask Isran's assistance with destroying the Night Mother. This only added more urgency to it. They could use the temporary assistance of someone experienced in fighting vampires, until this Babette was taken care of, and Vilkas had never had the opportunity to visit the fort. He was eager to see those armored trolls Ulfric had told him so much about.

"Yes, we will," she agreed quietly. She reined in her temper as best she could and lightly touched Maven's arm. "This is useful information, Maven. You couldn't have foreseen this." The older woman grimaced, and as she took her hand away Bryn added, "I would watch your own family, if I were you."

"I always do, my Queen," Maven replied. She couldn't help feeling wildly relieved that the Dragonborn didn't hold anything against her. She still wasn't sure how that was possible, but some things were better left as they were and not examined too closely.

They left the Keep and their small party headed directly to the Temple of Mara. Vilkas scanned their surroundings constantly, feeling paranoid, imagining seeing evil little girls with glowing eyes in dark corners. He had never seen a vampire out in the daytime, though he had heard it was possible. Surely a child like that would stand out amongst the others, but then it was easy to overlook children, underfoot as they usually were in many cities. There was something terrible about having to be paranoid about letting kids close to you. Was nothing sacred anymore?

Ralof was in one of the side rooms when they reached the Temple, and Bryn took off the sling and handed the baby to Vilkas then hurried to her Guard's side. Ingun was standing there, corking a potion bottle, her brow furrowed. Bryn sat on the side of the bed and put her hand on Ralof's forehead. It was cold and damp and his skin was nearly gray. She made a sound of grief and took his hand, holding it in both hers as tears pricked her eyes. "When will we know," she whispered. "If he'll make it."

"I'm sorry, my lady," Ingun replied softly. "I really can't say. It…" She trailed off as the Queen let go of Ralof's hand and gathered yellow light into both hers then pushed it towards Ralof. It wrapped around him and some of the color returned to his cheeks and his breathing eased, but they both knew it was only temporary. The two priests and the priestess had all gone to bed, exhausted, and Dinya and Maramal had a little daughter to look after as well; Erandur was also resting for the moment on one of the pews in the main chapel. "I was able to get a little more of the potion into him, but it's difficult with the unconscious to get them to swallow more than a tiny bit at a time without choking. If…well, by morning we may have a better feel for things." The Queen nodded, staring at Ralof's face with a heartbreaking expression.

"Well then," she whispered. She petted Ralof's sweat-dampened hair back then kissed his forehead. She cast one more healing spell on him then she stood. "I appreciate your help, Ingun."

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more. I'll sit with him for a while, see if I can get more into him."

"Thank you."

When they entered the chapel they found Erandur there kneeling before the shrine, praying, though he opened his eyes and smiled gently at their approach. "As I've meditated on the problem, I thought of something that might help, my lady," the priest offered. "You can place two enchantments on an item, correct?"

"Yes." It had been a while, but one didn't forget such things.

"I'm certain you have many spare rings and amulets in Honeyside. Something that would increase the rate at which he heals and help him resist poison could be quite helpful in this case."

"Yes," she sighed in relief. "Yes, I'll go do that right now." She smiled gratefully at him, glad to have something to do that might make a difference. Ralof's armor was enchanted to increase healing and the recovery of stamina, but it had been taken off to put him to bed and wasn't exactly comfortable. She could easily enchant a ring, something he could wear permanently once this was over. The effect would be constant and would give the healers a much-needed break. She would get the ring enchanted and have Iona take it back to him, and Bryn would stop by and see him in the morning before they left for Fort Dawnguard and see if he had improved any. It made her feel a bit less hopeless. With any luck the visit to Isran would do the same.

* * *

"Quite the settlement they have going here," Vilkas commented as they rode through what amounted to a little village below the massive fort that dominated Dayspring Canyon. There were folk of many different races at work and a number of small homes were in place. Their group got plenty of stares and whispers as they passed, and Vilkas couldn't help feeling rather aggravated by how few people paid Bryn her due respect. It was damn obvious who she was. Everyone knew who she was.

Bryn said with a nod, "Yes, it wasn't quite like this before, but most of the people here lost their homes or loved ones to vampires. It makes them feel safe." She wondered if it annoyed Isran to be responsible for all these folk or if it fed his ego. The Fort technically was part of The Rift and so answered to Maven's authority, but Bryn was well aware of Isran's opinion of any authority but his own. She hadn't missed the wary looks she had gotten as they passed and it made her wonder just what Isran was telling these people.

The man took his sweet time coming down to greet them, and it didn't help Bryn's mood. She paced slowly about the round entry hall, tapping her fingers on the hilts of her swords. Her child was off to the side, worn in the sling by Elluhrine, who would provide more protection to the baby than Siga. The girl had stayed behind to play nursemaid to Ralof, who had just barely started regaining consciousness that morning but was still weak as a newborn kitten. It seemed he would live though, and for now that was all Bryn could ask for. She would definitely be leaving a very large donation to Mara's temple before she left Riften.

"All of you, move into the center of the room."

The booming voice from above made Vilkas grit his teeth, and he looked up to see a Redguard man leaning on the railing. "What in Oblivion is the meaning of this?" the Harbinger barked. "Your Queen is here to speak to you!"

"Yes, and I will do so once I make certain none of you carry a vampire's taint," Isran replied coldly.

Vilkas fumed over that, and Bryn snapped, "For gods' sake, everyone just do it. He'll keep playing this paranoid game of his until we do."

"I have good reason for my paranoia, Dragonborn, as you well know. I can't be too careful even now, especially with someone who willfully allows three known bloodsuckers to freely walk Nirn without consequences."

"None of them are any danger to the public, Isran. You know Serana, and she vouches for her mother. She and Valerica both have sworn to me that they've been judicious in their feeding and only take bandits and animals. Sybille Stentor has been court mage in Solitude for over thirty years with no real issues. I don't like what they are, but for now they aren't causing any problems." She hadn't spoken to Serana since helping to free her mother from the Soul Cairn, but Bryn hadn't heard any rumors involving unsavory activity in Haafingar. That was fine. She had gotten the vampire woman to warm up and become fairly friendly, but they were just too dissimilar to ever be what Bryn considered actual friends. Serana hadn't come back for a visit, hadn't even sent a letter since they parted ways. If that was how she wanted it Bryn wasn't about to fight it.

When everyone was gathered in the center of the room it was flooded with magical sunlight, and once Isran was satisfied he threw the lever opening the gates to the interior of the castle. "All right, you can come in," he said grudgingly. "But whatever you want from me is going to have a price."

As the man walked away Vilkas seethed, "He dares to speak to you that way?"

She rolled her eyes. "He always has," she said tersely. "He runs this place like his own little kingdom." She shook her head as she led their group further in. "He isn't necessarily the one I want to talk to anyway. The others mostly give him lip service. I'm surprised he's managed to hold them all together as long as he has, with that attitude of his." She grumbled and added, "He's an abrasive ass, but he's honorable. Even if he refuses to help, the others won't, and he won't stop them from helping me."

"Aye," he muttered. If she could tolerate it, he supposed he would have to as well. Isran came through a side hall, and when he didn't bow Vilkas felt his anger bubbling up all over again, but Bryn put a hand on his arm, stopping him from saying anything. By the Nine it was hard not to say anything. He had been with Bryn long enough that it had become second nature to expect people to respond to her in a certain way, and Isran was most definitely not doing so. He would hold his temper, but only because he didn't want to set a bad example for Aventus, who was soaking up all of this with wide, avid eyes. He would undoubtedly pepper them with a million questions first opportunity he got.

"Dragonborn," Isran said with narrowed eyes. "I hope you have good reason for coming here." He sneered at the sword on her left. "And still carrying that Daedric artifact, I see."

"A good reason is the only thing that would put me back into any kind of proximity to you, Isran," she retorted in aggravation, letting the thu'um fill her voice. He folded his arms and lifted his chin, not in the least intimidated. "Your enduring gratitude for my help with the vampires truly warms my heart."

"I understand exactly what you contributed to the cause, though I fail to understand why I should be grateful when you were performing a duty to your own people."

"Ah, _my_ people. I suppose I should be glad to get even that much acknowledgment of my status from you."

"Kings and Queens come and go. Jarls can be unseated. Being Dragonborn is something no one can take from you. It is the greater honor." Bryn seemed mollified by that. Isran went on, "So, what brings you to my little corner of Nirn, Dragonborn? You have quite the…eclectic entourage with you these days." He motioned with his chin to the sling the Elf woman carried. "Your heir, I assume."

"Yes, my son Fjonnar. I'm surprised you didn't ask me to lay him out in the light to make sure he wasn't a vampire too, though considering he has no teeth yet I fail to see what harm he would do even if he was."

He let out a short laugh at that. "Even I have my limits. Besides, Sanguinare Vampiris kills infants outright. There is no way he could be infected."

Vilkas muttered to himself, "Of course." He couldn't imagine how Bryn had tolerated working with this man for months on end. He supposed they weren't working closely much of that time, but Isran was still annoying as hell. The Redguard's cold gray eyes met his own, and Vilkas was not going to be the one to back down first.

Bryn said to Isran, "This is my betrothed, Vilkas. Harbinger of the Companions." Isran nodded, looking Vilkas over then inclining his head with enough respect that her beloved seemed satisfied, some of the tension leaving him. Bryn gestured to her party. "The young one is our ward, Aventus. Borgahk the Steel-Heart, one of my Guards. Elluhrine is my aunt. Erandur is an old comrade of mine that has joined my household as a healer and advisor. Iona here is my housecarl from Riften."

"I heard you lost Hadvar in the war, along with your husband," Isran stated with sincere regret. "He was a good man, a solid fighter. So where's the blonde? Ralof."

"He's part of why we're here. He was poisoned yesterday, our first day in Riften. A child vampire must have mingled in with the other children and gotten close to him."

"Child vampire!" he exclaimed, his nose wrinkled. "Stendarr's mercy, where did it come from?"

"She's a member of the Dark Brotherhood. I had no idea she existed when I got rid of them. She wasn't there. Her name is Babette. She was once a Breton child and was turned when she was nine or ten. She's a three hundred year old Master Alchemist and assassin. She nearly killed two of my friends, and now she's nearly killed Ralof."

Isran grunted. "Huh. You know how to detect and kill vampires, Dragonborn. What do you want from me?"

"The last of the Vigil of Stendarr in Skyrim is here. I'm going after the remnants of the Dark Brotherhood. They are in possession of the remains of the Night Mother. I want to know how to get rid of her, for good."

Isran grunted again, his expression darkening. "It was assumed her remains were burned when the Sanctuary in Bravil was destroyed during the Great War." The Queen shook her head. Isran thought for a moment then stated, "She isn't a Daedra. Oh, there are those who say she is an incarnation of Mephala, but the Vigil never believed that."

Bryn asked, "How would you go about disposing of her and her influence then?"

"I'd imagine she would be nothing without her corpse to anchor her here. Dismember it and burn it completely. Most intense fire you could find. I'd dump the pieces in Red Mountain if it were closer." He snorted. "Though the mountain might just blow the pieces back onto Solstheim, and you might end up with entirely different problems."

Bryn thought for a moment, nodding slowly, pinching her bottom lip. There were no active volcanoes in Skyrim, none in all of Tamriel as far as she knew other than Red Mountain. She then lifted her head and murmured, "I know where to take her. Right here in The Rift."

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. "You don't say."

"There's a lift in the ruins of Bthalft that takes you so deep underground that there is a river of lava running through one of the chambers. The Aetherium Forge. Hadvar, Ralof, Serana and I went down there on a little side trip while we were working with the Dawnguard on the vampire problem." She had picked up shards of the Aetherium Crest here and there during her early adventures. Frankly the reward for all that had been fairly minimal and she had pushed it all to the back of her mind along with everything else as just another little jaunt she had gone on. The circlet she had made was pretty but fairly useless and sat in a chest in Honeyside along with dozens of other forgotten treasures. The Aetherium Forge though…it was the first place that came to mind with exposed lava that was easily accessible. Bryn murmured, mostly to herself, "It would do quite nicely for permanently disposing of the Night Mother's corpse."

"So glad I could help," Isran said dryly. "Now, about those vampires you're sheltering."

Bryn sighed in exasperation. "Is that why the folk outside were so suspicious-looking? You've been telling those people that I _shelter_ vampires?"

"Why not? It's the truth."

"I don't see any vampires hiding behind my back. I'm not protecting them, nor did I promise them any protection other than telling Serana she would come to no harm by my hand as long as she behaved herself. I tried to convince her to get cured. I talked myself hoarse trying to get her to do it and all that did was make her dig in further. Now the dragons, yes, I am sheltering those. Don't make the same mistake the Blades have made and decide to start going after my brothers."

"No interest in going there, Dragonborn," Isran stated in careful tones.

"I'm glad we understand each other. You want to try to take down Serana and her mother, two beings who provided assistance to the Dawnguard at risk to themselves, simply because of what they are, then by all means, go ahead, but it won't be with any assistance from me or mine, and I think you'd find less backing from your own people than you'd expect. Attacking Sybille Stentor will incur the wrath of Jarl Falk and probably sizable bounties and jail time. But your time is your own, Isran. Do with it what you will."

The man grumbled and put his hands on his hips. "I was afraid of that."

"Serana and her mother have done me no harm, nor any harm to my people that I know of. The moment either of them do I will see to their ends personally. You have my word."

"That's all I can ask." He knew that unfortunately she was probably right that his people weren't going to agree to mount another assault on Castle Volkihar without the Dragonborn's aid and approval. The court mage of Solitude was even more untouchable than the two Daughters of Coldharbour. Of course the Dawnguard could raise a stink about Sybille being a vampire and rouse the public's sentiment against her, but at risk of the enmity of the Jarl of Haafingar. The former King Torygg was still remembered with great fondness and most people would refuse to believe that the woman who had helped raise him was a bloodsucker. Isran had learned with great difficulty to choose his battles, and he supposed he had to accept that he most likely would never get the satisfaction of seeing every vampire in Skyrim destroyed within his lifetime.

"Now, is Florentius in?"

"Of course he's in. I can't get rid of the crazy bastard." He inclined his head to her. "I'm sure you remember your way around, Dragonborn."

"Yes, I think so." Isran walked away and disappeared the way he came without a backward glance. Vilkas had steam practically coming out of his ears, and Borgahk's expression was beyond sour; Iona's wasn't much less so. Elluhrine was gently bouncing the baby, looking anxious. Erandur seemed dryly amused. Aventus was quietly storing everything away in that overactive brain of his. Bryn clapped her hands together and said, "That went well!"

Vilkas sputtered in aggravation while Erandur laughed quietly then said, "It was an interesting conversation, my lady. Isran seems quite sure of himself."

"Yes, that's one way of putting it." She motioned for everyone to follow, and Vilkas fell into step beside her.

"I can't believe you allow the man to get away with that," her beloved fumed.

Bryn shrugged. "He is a jerk, but he's still less annoying than Neloth." Though conversely also less endearing. The Telvanni wizard had a snarky charm that had ended up growing on her, somehow.

"Hm, you have a point there." He looked around as they made their way deeper into the castle. "I suppose what he has done here is fairly impressive," he admitted. The place seemed self-sufficient and well-fortified.

"He seems to have great strength of will," Erandur added charitably.

"That he does," Bryn agreed. She wasn't about to give Isran any further kudos than that. She nodded to people as she passed; most bowed at least slightly, some acknowledged her grudgingly. She recognized only some of the Dawnguard members; she had never grown close to any of them, her interactions limited as she came and went. She didn't think she had ever even spent the night here. She wasn't about to start.

She found the man she was looking for in the back of the Fort, where the castle melded into natural stone. The trolls were grunting and ambling about their enclosure, and Vilkas made a sound of delight and headed that direction with an equally fascinated Aventus and Erandur on his heels. Bryn found the creatures repulsive and couldn't understand what males found so fascinating about them. It sent a twinge of sad nostalgia through her, remembering how enthralled Ulfric had been by them.

Florentius Baenius was bent over an alchemy table, putting the finishing touches on what looked and smelled like a potion for curing disease, part of the Dawnguard's stock in trade. He was as dark as Isran though he had a Colovian name, leading Bryn to believe that his mother had been a Redguard, but she wasn't about to be so rude as to ask. She noticed he had stopped wearing robes at some point and was dressed in gray Dawnguard armor.

"Ah, now this is a face we haven't seen in much too long," the priest said in greeting. "Give me a moment my lady and I'll be right with you."

Bryn waited patiently, knowing that one misstep in any part of the process could ruin a potion, or worse sicken the alchemist, worst yet cause an explosion. She couldn't quite remember the last time she had mixed any potions but thought it might have been during the war. Alchemy wasn't a recommended practice while pregnant or nursing a child, the perils of exposing the baby to the components too great of a risk. There had once been something soothing in the craft; now she doubted she would have the patience for it.

Once the potion was bottled and set aside Florentius rinsed off his hands then approached Bryn, smiling as he bowed then came to take her hand. "Queen Brynhilde, I hope you're doing well," he stated. "Arkay sends his regards."

"Finally made up his mind about me, did he?" she replied. So he was still loopy. Well, she supposed once you started you couldn't really stop. Still, he had always seemed harmless, and wasn't bad to have at your side in a fight against the undead. He had also given her valuable pointers on Restoration in the past.

"Yes he did. You're all right by him, which means you're all right by me." He let go of her hand. "Tell me what I can do for you, since Arkay tells me this isn't a social call. He…" The priest held up his hand. "Wait. What is that? The new spell? Are you sure? Well, if you say so…"

Unnerved, Borgahk moved closer to the Queen as the man looked into the air and spoke to someone who clearly wasn't there, but Bryn patted her on the arm, looking unconcerned. This Florentius person was undoubtedly insane. Such a person would never be tolerated in a stronghold. It was extremely unwise of the Queen to be standing so close to someone mentally unstable, and even less wise to have the little prince anywhere nearby.

Florentius sighed dramatically and said to Bryn, "Well my lady, today is your lucky day. It's quite auspicious, really. I've been working on a new spell for quite some time now and finished transcribing it not quite three weeks ago. It isn't really my forte, but Arkay told me that it was something that would come in handy before too long. Let me see here…" He went to a shelf and ran his fingers along the titles. "Stendarr's Aura, Sun Fire, Vampire's Bane…aha! Sun Rune." He pulled a spellbook off the shelf with a triumphant grin.

"Sun Rune!" Bryn exclaimed with interest, moving to his side. "I've never heard of it!" Her experience with runes was limited to trying to bypass or detonate them. She wasn't sure if she had ever cast a rune spell herself.

"Yes, my own special creation. I…" His eyes unfocused then he waved his free hand about. "Yes, yes, all right, you helped too, fine." He rolled his eyes and said to Bryn, "Arkay says the spell was his idea."

"Please relay my…um…" Good grief, even she could hardly play along this much.

Borgahk stated flatly, "My Queen, he is insane. Please step away from him." Florentius gasped in offense, his dark eyes wide.

"Insane!" he cried. "I'll have you know…oh, believe whatever you want. It's a waste of time to debate with unbelievers." He held up the spellbook. "I…all right, _we,_ developed this spell as a safeguard against the undead. The beauty of this particular rune is that it does no harm whatsoever to living creatures. Pure sun damage. Set and forget. It falls within the Restoration School. Adept level. Well within your capabilities, my lady."

"I'll take it," Bryn said eagerly. "How much?" This was perfect. Eerily so. She had hoped that the priest might have some new spells available for defending against vampires, perhaps tracking or exposing them, but this was fantastic. She could cast this rune anywhere and not worry about harming anyone but the undead. She could sleep at night knowing her household was well-guarded against that nasty little creature. It was spooky though…how did Florentius know that someone would need something like this and go to the trouble of creating the spell? For that matter how had he done so here, in the Fort? Spell creation was no easy matter and was done almost exclusively on the grounds of the College of Winterhold where the potential effects could be contained. For all his seeming hallucinations, the priest occasionally left her guessing.

"Three hundred septims. But the peace of mind for you and your family…priceless."

"Indeed. Iona, please pay Florentius." As the housecarl counted out the coin the priest handed over the book with a flourish. "This is wonderful," Bryn said gratefully. "Thank you Florentius." He cleared a throat. "And thank you, ah, Arkay," she added, earning her a smug smile and a nod. "I don't suppose I could get a demonstration, could I?" Now that she was thinking about it, she wasn't about to cast an untested spell around her loved ones, especially a spell created by someone who might or might not be slightly mad.

"Of course, of course. I've already tested it extensively here, I assure you." He held up a hand and cupped yellow light into it then threw it out into the middle of the cavern floor. It stuck there, forming a circle filled with a glyph, glowing a gentle, rippling yellow. He whistled and one of the dogs lying by the troll pen lifted its head. He patted his knees and called, "C'mere boy! C'mon Bran!" The dog jumped to its feet then came trotting over, running across the rune and setting it off in blinding flash of sunlight. The dog yelped and ran off but was unharmed. "See? Completely harmless to the living." Though several of the living were now glowering at him in rather severe annoyance.

"Perfect, thank you." She would study the spellbook when they returned to Riften then test the spell a bit further before fully trusting it. If it worked as promised then she would have another layer of protection against Babette until she could find some way to corner the little beast and put her down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is, of course, no such spell as Sun Rune, but it seemed a nifty idea and something that could be rather useful.
> 
> Is Florentius really mad? Isn't he? We will never know for sure. This however was the very last we will see of the Dawnguard, and I wanted to address what had eventually happened with Serana: not much.
> 
> Someone on FF.net asked me what my plans were for tying up the loose end that was Yancarro (Bryn's despicable cousin who started this whole mess). I've decided to leave it as is, a mystery that no one ever did figure out. I prefer to think that he really did trip into a puddle and get assaulted and devoured by mudcrabs, just as Bryn said to her uncle.


	79. Chapter 79

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arrrgh...I apologize to everyone who has so patiently waited these many long months. I ended up suffering massive (MASSIVE) Elder Scrolls/Skyrim burnout, and then I went and did the one thing I swore I wouldn't do and started playing Dragon Age: Origins/Awakening and then it was all over after that. I ended up so absorbed in that world that I completely lost interest in this one. The story and characters, so freaking compelling... I wrote a little romance with my male Amell Warden and Zevran, but that genre has so many stories in it that I very much doubt I have anything original to add, so that's just going to stay my own personal entertainment.
> 
> But I digress. This story is still getting Kudos even after all this time, and each time I get a notification on it I am ridiculously flattered. I apologize again from the bottom of my heart for leaving things hanging for (holy crap) five months. I'd like to start playing Skyrim again, still with Brynhilde, having found a new mod that lets me drag a copy of Ralof around with me everywhere. If it works it should be fun to get him geared up and get some screenshots.
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much to everyone for your patience. I had to force this chapter a bit, and god knows I've probably screwed up the continuity somewhere since I'll be damned if I go back and read all the prior chapters. It is what it is, and I hope you enjoy. Hopefully the formatting looks right, as I haven't posted using the Rich Text option before, or ever tried to put any artwork in. Let me know if anything is screwed up. Thanks!

"Nervous?"

Vilkas glanced at the reflection of his brother in the mirror as Farkas rejoined him. "Not at all," he stated. It was rather surprising, actually. Here he was on the cusp of doing something that he had spent most of his adult life avoiding for all he was worth, and he really didn't have any anxiety over it. He wasn't particularly thrilled about being the center of attention, but the last several years as Harbinger and then the last six months living with Bryn had made him mostly immune to it. And really, how would being married change anything between him and his beloved? The wedding was a means to an end; he wanted to _be_ married, and the process of actually _getting_ married was just something to get through.

"Think Bryn's doing okay?" Farkas couldn't help having mixed feelings about today, with as much as he had liked Ulfric. He and Lydia both had been there when the Jarl married the Dragonborn, and it had been plain to anyone with eyes that it was a real love match. Bryn had to be grieving a bit today, and from the almost resigned look on his twin's face, Vilkas was a little bit too. Vilkas had grown to love Ulfric like a brother, after nearly a year together in an intense, life-or-death situation, and from what Vilkas had said, Ulfric had loved him back as a bit more than that. It was too bad that things had to work out this way. It was almost enough to make a man a little annoyed with the Divines, if he were one to ever give them much thought.

"I don't know," Vilkas sighed, turning away from the mirror. "I'd like to think so." He still wasn't accustomed to wearing any kind of finery, and his fussing any further with it wasn't going to help. He sat down in the nearest chair, careful not to wrinkle anything. These were Balgruuf's private quarters, borrowed by the groom's party to prepare for the wedding; the rest of the men had just left to join the rest of the folk in the man hall…Athis, Torvar, Erik, Vignar, Balgruuf himself, young Aventus, Erandur, Ralof. The Guard was no doubt right outside the door again, taking his duties as seriously as he ever did, if not more so after nearly dying, if that were possible.

Ralof still wasn't up to his former condition, now nearly three weeks after the poisoning; he was fine most of the time, but every so often when he exerted himself he started feeling nauseous and broke into a sweat. Bryn tried not to fret over him, but Vilkas could see the deep worry in her eyes when he had one of his episodes. Ralof had been with her the longest of anyone, having joined her service right after she had become High Queen. Losing Ralof within a year of losing Ulfric and Hadvar would have devastated her. Ingun thought he would fully recuperate, eventually, but it was hard to say when that would be. Vilkas didn't like seeing the robust, light-hearted young man change, turn into someone quieter, more paranoid, frustrated by occasional bouts of weakness. Siga did her best not to hover as well; Vilkas still wasn't sure what was going on between the two, whether it was a simple matter of convenience or if there were actual feelings there, but it wasn't his business, and at the end of the day he found he honestly didn't care. They were both adults, and their fling or whatever it was hadn't affected their duties in any way.

Farkas asked, "But she was okay this morning, right?"

"Yes, fine. A little reserved perhaps," his brother answered.

The big warrior grinned at him and said, "So, do I get to start calling you—"

"No," Vilkas interrupted sharply. "No 'Prince Vilkas' or 'my lord' or 'your highness' or any of the bullshit I have already heard a thousand times leading up to this day." Farkas snorted then guffawed, and Vilkas rolled his eyes and smiled at his twin, understanding what Farkas was trying to do. As his brother took the seat across the little table from him his smile faded, and Vilkas said, "I have never asked you this. And I won't ask again after today, but… Tell me what their wedding was like. Bryn and Ulfric."

"You never have asked," Farkas agreed, a note of sadness in his voice. He leaned his elbow on the table. "It wasn't anything like this is going to be. It was small. You've seen that temple, it doesn't fit even a dozen people hardly. Everyone else was crowded into the courtyard outside, trying to hear. The vows were real nice, considering. I don't think they see too many weddings there."

"I'm sure they don't."

"People say Talos himself blessed the marriage, with the thunder and all. You heard about the thunder."

"Aye." Not until he had started living in Windhelm six months ago, but he had heard, here and there. Some said it had been a bad omen and not the blessing most wanted to believe it was. Some said it was bad luck to wed as they had, under the auspices of the God of War; it was hard to argue with that, seeing how Ulfric had died. Well, there would be no such issue with this marriage. Erandur had assured him that Mara's loving gaze would be firmly on this wedding, even if it wasn't taking place in her temple.

"It was a sunny day, so maybe he did, but…anyway, the wedding…" Farkas grimaced. "It doesn't feel right talking about this, Vilkas."

"All right," he relented. And maybe he really didn't want to know.

"This is going to be different," Farkas stated firmly. "The wedding and the party and everything. There's a priest of Mara here. He's touched by her, I can tell."

"Yes, he is. He's a good man. Mer. Whatever."

Farkas hesitated then said, "I know this isn't a totally happy day, but once the wedding is over the party will start and you guys will forget all about it. Just try to have a good time. I know you aren't one for parties, but at least try."

"Considering all this was my idea, I plan to."

"Uh huh."

Vilkas sighed and brushed away an invisible piece of lint on the bear fur collar of his surcoat. Of course it was bear fur. Only bear fur for the spouse of the Jarl of Eastmarch. He had to admit, it was a nice coat. He had never owned one before moving to Windhelm, having spent so much of his time before that in armor. The plains of Whiterun were temperate now that it was summer, the constant breeze keeping it from growing too warm, but he was already uncomfortable in the coat and would be shedding it as soon as decency allowed. Funny how quickly he had gotten used to Windhelm's chill. Even now you could find ice in dark corners of the city where not even the summer sun ever reached, ice that could have been sitting there for a thousand years, for all he knew. Even with all the changes Bryn had made to Ysgramor's city over the years, there was a certain timelessness about it, and Vilkas supposed the never-melting ice was part of that.

"So, Aventus," Farkas began uncertainly.

"Yes?"

"Why?"

The blunt question was surprising. "Why not?" Vilkas countered. He hadn't expected his brother of all people to have a problem with them taking in the boy.

"The kid gives me the creeps." The Harbinger frowned at him and his twin went on, "He did the Black Sacrament." Vilkas stared, waiting. Farkas made a sound of frustration and stated, "He's always watching everything with those…those eyes." Those dark, glittering eyes that were unsettling as hell.

"Yes, that is what eyes are for. _Watching_ things."

"I'm gonna cuff you, and I don't give a shit if it's your wedding day," Farkas warned. His brother rolled his eyes. "He snuck into the Hall of the Dead and stole someone's remains. He cut a heart out of a fresh body."

"That was years ago," Vilkas said with a shake of his head. "He was desperate. I don't think you can imagine what the lad went through in that orphanage. Grelod created her own plane of Oblivion in that place. I've talked to him plenty about it over the last week. She had a room, Farkas. A punishment room. I am going to leave it at that, but you and I could have very easily ended up in that place, and if we had gone through what those children were put through, I would not have run away and done the Black Sacrament. I would have slit the hag's throat myself and lived with the consequences."

Farkas didn't answer, feeling a slight shiver that he had to suppress, not about to allow his brother to see it. Vilkas still had these moments, every so often, these small, chilling moments. Fjonnar's birth had tempered it in some respects, worsened it in others. Farkas would do anything at all to protect his son, anything, but Vilkas' love for the child that he had waited years for had an edge to it that Farkas couldn't help finding unsettling in its intensity, and it seemed that intensity bled over into feeling protective of Aventus. Farkas supposed his brother had greater cares than he himself did, though after that giant attack he wondered if maybe he shouldn't reconsider that. He had actually been a bit paranoid on the way home, wondering if an assassin was behind every bush. To find out yesterday that the assassin had been a little vampire girl made it ten times as terrifying.

Unaware of his brother's thoughts, Vilkas went on, "Aventus is a good lad. He has given me no reason to doubt that since we took him in."

"Okay," Farkas relented. "I'll give him a chance."

"I would appreciate that." Vilkas' tone softened a bit as he went on, "Bryn hopes that one day he might agree to become a guard to Fjonnar. We've taken him in with no strings attached, but that is something that we both hope will happen. The boy has a great deal of potential. He absorbs everything I show him with this hunger that is gratifying to see. I was going to ask Athis to show him a few things with small blades while we are here, then stay with us for a while this fall to give him more training. I've shown the lad what I can, and continue to do so, but he is not suited to my fighting style, nor that of most Nords."

"I'd say Bryn could teach him, but I don't think that would work either."

The Harbinger shook his head. "She doesn't have the time, or the inclination. The way she learns things… I do not mean this the way it sounds, but it is unnatural. She learns the way she does because of what she is. She can't explain how she learned what she knows, because she doesn't entirely understand it herself, and so she can't replicate it in anyone else. Being a good learner does not make one a good teacher. She tried teaching Siga some healing and Restoration spells and it quickly became apparent that she simply could not do it. Erandur has been tutoring her instead."

"Yeah, Lydia told me about that. Maybe she'll do better with the kids. Her kids."

"Eh, who knows. She doesn't think they will be quite like her. I suppose no Dragonborn ever really has been, or ever will be. Perhaps they will only have the dragon blood, and not a dragon's soul. Perhaps Akatosh will determine if some of them do or not, but the prophecy said she is the Last Dragonborn, so I doubt that. Odahviing and the other dragons did not seem particularly impressed with Fjonnar when she called them to take a look at him. She didn't ask them any questions about the babe, but they seemed to not react much at all to him." _That_ was something that Vilkas had not at all been happy about allowing, nor Galmar, nor anyone really but Bryn, though he hadn't been able to help being curious about what they would think of the newborn. Not much, apparently. Vilkas was well used to having the dragons around, from the war last year, but he had seen enough of what they could do to last him a lifetime. He had to wonder if his children would have the same lack of fear around them that Bryn did, and hoped for their sakes that they didn't. Sometimes fear was a healthy thing.

Farkas said with apprehension, "I'd say that's a good thing. I'd rather have a dragon not interested in me at all if I had a choice." Vilkas grunted and nodded, getting up to pace, restless as always. Farkas was surprised his brother had sat still as long as he had. "Has Bryn decided what she's going to do to about the Blades?" He knew that they were continuing their tour of Skyrim after the wedding, staying a few days here afterward to spend time with the Companions and Balgruuf and others before heading to the Lakeview house in Falkreath for a week's honeymoon, then they would take the road past Lake Ilinalta to Markarth. Not far at all from the Blades' outpost. Farkas had the feeling that she wasn't going to ignore that kind of convenience.

Vilkas laughed shortly. "She is going to ride Odahviing to Sky Haven Temple and put the fear of her into them."

"Alone?" Vilkas shrugged, and Farkas said in disquiet, "Tell me she isn't going in alone."

"She intends to." He shrugged again. "She has to. She cannot make any but herself ethereal with that Shout, and she won't land her precious _Kulaansedov_ in the courtyard and risk the Blades killing him." He went back to the mirror, wondering what was taking so long. Surely they had everything ready now so the wedding could start. He idly tugged at the sleeves of his coat and went on, "What good would it do to take one of the Guards with her? She would expend effort and attention keeping them safe, at cost to herself. This isn't a bandit camp or a draugr ruin. The Blades have had years to trap and fortify the place, so she is not about to take anyone in through the front door."

Farkas grimaced. "But…I don't get it. Why would the Blades be dumb enough to start hunting dragons when they know it's gonna piss her off?"

"Perhaps they feel so strongly about their original purpose that they aren't about to let a little thing like an angry she-dragon keep them from doing it. Maybe Delphine and Esbern are mentally unstable from spending thirty years on the run. Bryn doesn't know and doesn't particularly care. They chose their ancient vow to kill every dragon over their more recent vow to serve the Dragonborn. They've broken the pact between their order and the Dragonborn. Bryn never made any vow to them. She owes them nothing. As of now she considers them outlaws for disobeying her edict to leave the dragons alone." He saw his twin's look of disquiet in the mirror and turned back to him, folding his arms then letting them fall again. He couldn't wait to get out of this damned coat. "I don't like the idea of her going in alone, but she's been training hard for nearly two months now. I've sparred with her a few times recently and I'm satisfied that she's back to where she was before the war, at least, and needless to say she has a great deal more magic at her disposal than she did before we went south. I'm not worried about her safety. I can't be and be honest with myself."

"I just…" The big warrior shook his head, still uneasy. "She's your _wife_ , Vilkas." His brother was just being too damn calm about all this. Farkas knew Lydia could easily kick his own ass and had been able to do so for years. He trusted Lydia to take care of herself, and him, and their son. But that didn't mean he wouldn't worry if she put herself into that kind of situation. And he sure as hell couldn't bring himself to spar with his wife. He just couldn't. The idea of swinging even a training blade at her was horrible, and he could've been sure before this that Vilkas felt the same way about Bryn.

"Yes, I know. Today doesn't change that. She's always been my wife. But I can't bring myself to worry all that much anymore that something will happen to her. I simply…can't." Seeing Farkas was still unsatisfied, he went to his twin and put his hands on his shoulders, careful not to muss his brother's clothing either. "Look," Vilkas said quietly. "I told you about last year. About the war. I told you, but it isn't the same as seeing it. Unless you see it with your own eyes you can't begin to comprehend what she's capable of. That first day, that first battle, before she really understood for herself what she could do…there were dozens of Elves lying dead in a circle around her, and that was just in the first ten minutes after she jumped in. The old tales say that Tiber Septim left entire battalions dead in his wake." Vilkas shook his head tiredly and snorted. "No, I have no fear for her sake. I would worry over Ralof or Borgahk if they went along, but not her. She will be the only person leaving Sky Haven Temple alive, if things go the way we fear they will."

"I guess," Farkas muttered. The whole thing still bothered him though, and being himself he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was exactly. He was glad Vilkas and Bryn were together, and getting along well, getting married today and all that, but…something about the two of them together, the way they were now… It worried Farkas a little. More than a little, really. The Bryn and Vilkas that came back from the war weren't the ones who left. It was like they were a team now. A really scary team. And now they had that creepy kid Aventus with them too. He was probably reading too much into all this. Surely he was. He and Lydia had spent a month with them after the baby was born, and everything had seemed totally fine.

Vilkas smiled slightly at him, trying to look reassuring. It wasn't something he was particularly good at, he knew. He could tell his twin was still deeply concerned, and he wasn't about to leave him like that, especially today of all days. "Brynhilde…I love her to death, Farkas. I love her now more than I ever thought I could, even after all these years, but…it isn't how it is with you and Lydia. Even back on Solstheim, I never worried about her safety other than when she went into Apocrypha. I'm not worried about her safety now. I did a little after the babe was born, when she was tired and weak, but otherwise? No. Ulfric never did all that much either. Our concerns are, were, keeping her on an even keel. She's been calm the last six months, and Fjonnar has been good for gentling her a bit. But dealing with the Blades…that will most certainly wake the dragon."

"All the more reason for someone to go with her," Farkas said with worry. He could just see Bryn losing it when faced with Delphine's attitude and the Blades' betrayal. Esbern had seemed all right, during the time Farkas had spent on the road with him after helping Bryn and Lydia get him out of Riften. The old guy had been scatterbrained, possibly a touch senile, but kindly and very eager to be of service to the Dragonborn. "I didn't see what Bryn could do during the war," he went on. "I get that. But I saw what she did to that cultist in Windhelm. I never told you because it was so horrible, but she tossed that girl around like a doll, out of sheer anger. She dragged her down the street trailing blood behind her and kept her healed just enough to keep her alive. She picked her up by the neck and threw her against a wall. If Ulfric hadn't been there I don't know what she would've done, and with everyone watching." He was relieved to see Vilkas finally show a bit of concern.

"You may have a point," his twin muttered.

"I know her. If she gets angry enough she'll just keep going. And going."

"Well, perhaps that's a good thing. We'll be in the Reach. Maybe it will finally solve the Forsworn problem." Farkas grumbled and scowled at him, and Vilkas sighed, "All right, all right. Maybe Ralof should go with her. He can stay up on the dragon out of danger until the coast is clear then go in after her." Borgahk was still too much in awe of her Queen and reluctant to cross her in any way. After years together Ralof was completely comfortable with her, and after the war he had seen enough to no longer be fazed by what she could do. He wouldn't hesitate to step in and try to calm her if the dragon wouldn't back down, and he spoke Dovahzul with some fluency now after months of lessons. He still wouldn't be completely reliable in a fight if he had one of his episodes, but that wouldn't be what he was there for.

"I think that's a good idea."

Ralof's own particular knock came on the door, and Vilkas patted his brother on the shoulder. "I'll bring it up with him while we're at Lakeview," he promised. Farkas let out a long breath of relief and smiled at him. He gave his twin's shoulder a squeeze then let go. "Everything will be fine."

"Yes, Prince Vilkas."

"Bastard," he grumbled, making Farkas chuckle. The big warrior opened the door for him, and the blonde stuck his head in.

"Everyone's ready," Ralof stated. He raised an eyebrow at Vilkas. "Question is, are you?"

"Enough already," Vilkas pleaded. The other two men relented with more quiet laughter. Marriage was serious business, and he hadn't particularly enjoyed the ribbing he had received today from the two, light as it had been. He knew part of it was his age; most men didn't marry for the first time in their forties. He'd also had a certain reputation when he was younger, just as his brother had, in fact Farkas' had been even worse, since his beast hadn't rendered him as unsettling to women as Vilkas' had. As they left the room he said to Ralof, "I will remember all this when it's your turn."

"Ha, good luck with that," the Guard retorted. "I'll get married when Oblivion freezes over."

"I told myself the same thing for many, many years."

"And I will keep telling myself." He paused then added, "That Rayya is pretty, when she takes off that… What is that thing on her head called?"

Vilkas said in warning, "It is a turban, and she will have your balls for earrings if you don't watch it." Bryn had told him that the housecarl at Lakeview Manor was actually quite lovely when she washed off her warpaint and let down her braided hair, but she was all business, well aware of the great honor of being chosen for the position, the only Redguard housecarl in Skyrim as far as Vilkas knew. He suspected she had been chosen for Bryn's household because it was well-known that the Dragonborn would have no issue with it, as many Nord thanes would have. That magic-using housecarl in Hjaalmarch was probably the result of the same knowledge.

That was something Vilkas was most definitely looking forward to: visiting the houses. Supposedly they were all quite grand, their construction seen to by Rikke and the stewards she had chosen to oversee the process, and each of them partially self-supporting at this point, as such steadings should be. The newer housecarls saw more action than the city-bound ones did, according to Rikke; each house was out in the countryside and a tempting target for bandits or necromancers, the livestock and crops drawing wild animals or giants as well. While poor Iona, Jordis, Calder and Argis languished in boredom in their respective houses inside city walls, Rayya, Valdimar and Gregor found themselves with plenty to do.

The sound of the murmurs of dozens of people rose up from the Main Hall below, and at that Vilkas finally started feeling a little nervous. It was one thing to arrive at such a gathering when you weren't one of the guests of honor, or to show up at a place and have such a gathering accumulate gradually around you, but everyone would be watching him come in. Bryn was already there, waiting for him with Erandur beneath the skull of Numinex. He could feel his cheeks warming already in anticipation of everyone's eyes fixing on him the moment he came down the stairs. This was going to be the rest of his life, having people watching him everywhere he went. He supposed that it had been like that for a while, but…this was different. He was going to be a prince. A consort. A Prince-Consort. In some matters he would outrank a Jarl. He would be the Lord of Eastmarch. By Ysmir he hadn't even thought about that last one.

As Vilkas' steps faltered, Ralof whispered, "She said if you got cold feet that Farkas and I are to kidnap you."

"Shut up!" the Harbinger whispered fiercely, forcing himself down the stairs, deliberately ignoring the people crowded into the gallery who jostled each other to get a look at him. Fine then, he just needed to stop overthinking everything and get his ass down there. It was ridiculous to be nervous about simply being looked at. Being looked at never hurt anyone. It wasn't as if he had anything to be embarrassed about. He was Vilkas, Harbinger of the Companions, Heir of Ysgramor. He was the North Wind, the Killing Frost. He was the greatest swordsman in Skyrim, a war hero. He was the mate of the Dragonborn. He would father an Empire. He…he felt like he was going to throw up.

He felt his twin's hand on his back, big and steady, reassuring, propelling him forward, and he tried to shut off his overactive brain the way he was never able to and made himself move forward. He let the faces blur together, faces that were mostly Nord fair but every so often were tan or gray or golden.

And there she was, waiting for him with a smile and eyes that held too many different emotions to sort out. He kept his eyes on her, blocking out everything else, though he had to fight the urge to anxiously look for their son; Elluhrine would have the boy and Borgahk would be right next to them. Vilkas could tell Bryn was happy, her eyes lighting up to see him dressed in such fine clothes, but the slight crinkle between her brows, the smallest tell-tale sign that only those who knew her well would see, told him she was thinking of another groom, another wedding. Vilkas had known from the moment he realized they would be together again that he would always be competing with a ghost, a memory. This wasn't the pure, perfectly joyous occasion that Farkas and Lydia's wedding had been, no matter how glad they both were to finally get to this point. Just as some part of Aela would always ache for Skjor, Bryn would never stop grieving the loss of Ulfric. And why should she?

Ah, but she looked lovely though, with a bridal wreath of lavender and wheat sitting atop her loosened hair, in an ivory linen chemise overlaid with a brocade sleeveless surcoat of Whiterun yellow, her homage to the hold and city she would always consider the home of her heart. He knew she loved Windhelm and Eastmarch, knew that she loved something about every part of Skyrim, but some part of her had never stopped regretting the choices she had made and the directions fate had pushed her that had kept her from permanently settling here and living the simple life she had initially wanted. Vilkas was quite aware that if she tried doing that now that it would last all of a day. She hadn't been meant for that any more than he had been.

Bryn took Vilkas' hands as he met her in front of Erandur, and the Dunmer smiled serenely at them, thrilled by the chance to perform a wedding, something he had done surprisingly little of as a priest of Mara. As the mer raised his hands for silence then began the ceremony, she felt Vilkas' hands trembling the tiniest bit, damp with sweat. She had seen how rattled he had been as he came into the room, still not comfortable with the public attention. She had also seen the acknowledgment in his eyes of how she felt about today, and had seen that he didn't feel too much differently than she did about it.

This day meant a great deal to both of them, no doubt about that, and of course they were both happy. She loved Vilkas dearly, felt joy every morning when she woke and saw his face and peace when she woke at night to nurse Fjonnar and felt Vilkas there beside them, where he belonged. But Ulfric would always be between them. It was something they both accepted, and the feeling would fade over the years, she knew that. What she had with Vilkas wasn't the all-consuming thing she'd had with her Jarl. There wasn't that _need_ there, that feeling of being a fix for each other. Completing each other, bandaging over each other's wounds and being a balm for them. She and Vilkas had always been too autonomous of each other, too separate, for too long, each living their own lives, growing independently of each other, and even during the war, even as they had spent a year fighting side by side, the two of them had orbited around each other like Masser and Secunda, the perfect fighting pair, always moving in harmony with each other while in some ways they couldn't have been any farther apart if they'd tried.

As Vilkas spoke his vows she felt his hands tighten on hers, and she smiled gently at him, rubbing her thumbs against his skin. They still were the perfect pair. Of that there was no doubt. There was harmony there. Understanding. No, there wasn't that all-consuming adoration that she and Ulfric had once had, but to be honest at this point in her life she didn't want it. Not with Vilkas. She and Ulfric had pulled back and forth, back and forth, always one hurting and the other soothing, switching roles constantly. The thought of living that way now exhausted her. No, Vilkas was her partner, her helpmate, moving in tandem with her, the two of them always at each other's backs, never doubting each other's strength. Mates and Shield-Siblings. Companions.

Vilkas slid the dragonbone ring on her finger then smiled gloriously at her, that perfect smile on that perfect face that still made women in every hold swoon, and Bryn felt a laugh slip out, a giggle really, and saw him laugh quietly in turn. No matter how they both had claimed that this was only a formality, this was a happy day. A joyful day. Thoughts of anything else but this magnificent man in front of her flew out the window like a little bird. As they knelt in front of Erandur and the priest laid his hands on their heads and spoke his final blessing, she sneaked a peek out of the corner of her eye at him and saw him doing the same. _Bless you Mara for giving me this man_ , she thought as they rose and kissed, the crowded hall erupting into cheers and shouts. And perhaps in some twisted way she had Hircine as well to thank for Vilkas being here, uncomfortable as the thought was. Gods knew she had done little enough on her own to hold him to her and merit the long, unending devotion that had brought them both to this point.

* * *

"Tolfdir says Onmund didn't come."

Ralof made a sound of sympathy at his Queen's sad statement. "I don't blame him," he sighed. The mage should have been getting married. Would have been married for some time now, if Hadvar had lived. "By time we make it to Winterhold maybe he'll consider coming with us." She made a sound that told him she wasn't altogether convinced of that. He glanced away as Bryn detached the baby from her breast to burp him then moved him to the other, and after the child was latched back on and began nursing again he said, "The boy is getting as plump as a horker pup."

"He's a healthy Nord child," she stated in mock defensiveness. She stroked Fjonnar's sparse wisps of hair as he stared up at her, his eyes still dark blue, though it seemed they had lightened somewhat recently. She caught sight of the dragonbone wedding ring on her hand, crafted by Eorlund, and wondered if Vilkas' felt odd to him, unused to wearing jewelry as he was. Hers had been left as it was due to the other magical rings she wore, but she had made certain to enchant his with the same protections as the one Ralof wore, to increase the rate at which he healed and resist poison. She had enchanted it right here last night, in Farengar's quarters. She wondered where the court mage had escaped to in order to avoid the festivities, though at least it meant she hadn't needed to ask to borrow his office to nurse her child. She and no qualms about doing so out in the hall, as any other woman would do, but all the noise and movement were a constant distraction to him, and having him yank his head away to look at something with her nipple in his mouth wasn't exactly pleasant, even with no teeth yet.

Ralof kept his eyes on the doorway to the main hall, watching the crowd, listening to the music that was barely audible over the sound of conversation. Every so often Nord voices would lift up in an impromptu song, few of them in any way related to a wedding, but this wasn't just a wedding. This was the first real gathering of any importance since the war had ended, and every Jarl was present along with the Archmage of the College of Winterhold and the Dean of the Bard's College. A large number of the able-bodied folk here had fought in the war, and this was a chance for all of them to tell their tales, to reconnect with comrades and those they had formed battle bonds with. Enough time had passed for everyone's sorrows to be lessened at least somewhat, time to start believing that things would be all right from here on out.

With her greedy child fed, Bryn set him on her shoulder with a cloth underneath, hoping to spare her wedding dress from any possible accidents. She stood and patted his back, bobbing him slightly, and saw her…yes, her _husband's_ head not far away in the crowd. Husband. Vilkas was her husband now. That would take some getting used to, though gods knew she had plenty of time to do so, knowing that at least this one wouldn't be taken from her much too soon. She wondered how he was handling his very new status, and the currying of favor that came with it. Ulfric had understood politics, though he hadn't had the patience to play politics. Vilkas was incredibly intelligent, just cynical enough to understand that people would try to use him, but didn't yet have the experience to use such situations to his advantage in turn, and perhaps like Ulfric he would never have the temperament to do so, though she had to admit he could be much more charming than Ulfric had ever managed to be.

Wondering if she needed to go save her new husband from someone, maybe even gods forbid Skald the Elder, Bryn left Farengar's office with Ralof at her back. As always. She scanned the room to see where she should wade back into it when she caught sight of two mer in the corner near where the bards had set up. Her eyes widened as she saw Viarmo take Elluhrine's hand and kiss it and her aunt simper coyly in turn. She was _simpering_ , for Dibella's sake. Her aunt was batting her eyelashes and biting her lip, blushing a deep gold, looking for all the world like a young maiden with her first suitor. And maybe in a way that was exactly what the situation was.

"Holy shit, will you look at that," Ralof muttered in disbelief.

"Yes," was all Bryn managed to get out.

"I mean, uh, good, yeah? This is…good?" His Queen shrugged and shook her head, looking baffled, then she quickly turned and walked away. Ralof couldn't help finding it a little odd too, but it had to be stranger for Bryn to see the woman who had raised her flirting with someone. It was someone of her own race at least, though from what Ralof could tell the Altmer bard was quite a bit older than Elluhrine. He supposed it was nice, as far as he cared about such things; the woman had suffered through a loveless arranged marriage, so the attention was probably something she was unused to, and welcome. It sure looked welcome.

He put the matter out of mind as none of his damn business and followed Bryn and the little Prince around the room. There were plenty of Whiterun guards present, and of course all the Companions, but Ralof couldn't help feeling uneasy about the number of people in the hall and the unavoidable fact that there was only him and Borgahk acting as bodyguards to Bryn and Vilkas. He knew the Orc woman deeply disliked the situation, and considering the events in Riften he didn't blame her. As housecarl, Yrsarald really should be at the Queen's side every time she left the Palace, but with the way things were set up he acted more as the Captain of the hold guards than anything else, though he did of course stand guard for her when she was at home.

_Damned Blades_ , he thought in aggravation. It was their job to serve and guard the Dragonborn, and there were at least a dozen of them holed up in some decrepit temple in the hills of The Reach, being treasonous and utterly useless when they should have been helping him and Borghak. At least he trusted his partner, if he didn't exactly like her. But it was just the two of them. That wasn't as much of an issue back home, but it certainly was while they were traveling the country. Erandur was decent in a fight, and of course Vilkas would destroy anyone who even dreamed of harm, but Vilkas was one of the potential targets.

As the wedding party seated themselves for dinner, Ralof squatted down at Vilkas' side, murmuring, "I want to run something by you." The Harbinger nodded, settling the baby in his lap, the overly warm coat shed right after the ceremony. "What do you think of bringing a Companion or two along on our trip?"

Vilkas took a deep breath then let it out again, nodding slowly as he gazed at the firepit and the servants began bringing out platters of food. "I've been putting some thought into…things," he said just as quietly. "The two of you do your best, but there are only two of you."

"Aye. Borgahk wants to do something more permanent, and I agree, but for now the two of us need backup."

"I was going to ask Athis to come stay with us in Windhelm for a few weeks, here and there. Train Aventus. And I know he's seeing someone in the Snow Quarter." The mer was being cagey about it, almost seeming to find it amusing to keep it a mystery to his comrades, though surely Torvar knew. Vilkas took a drink of water then said decisively, "Athis and Erik, then. I will hire the two of them to come along with us. I've been meaning to spend more time with the lad, see how Mjoll's been training him up." He hadn't at all meant to let his prospective successor go for this long, but a little thing like war had gotten in the way. He would take the two and pay them well for their time; the Companions were a business after all and would need to be compensated for two of their members being gone for an extended period.

The banging of knives on goblets and mugs ended the conversation, and Ralof laughed at the look of discomfiture on Vilkas' face, though the Harbinger quickly covered it and leaned towards his wife to give her the required kiss. The folk cheered then the ritual began of the newly married couple feeding each other, made all the more touching by the infant with them. Ralof settled against the nearest column, Borgahk on the other side of it.

"Did you bring it up?" she asked.

"Aye. Two of the Companions will come with us. Athis and Erik."

"Good enough, for now."

"For now," he agreed. As for after that it was anyone's guess.

* * *

 _Now this is more like it_ , Vilkas thought in contentment as he watched his wife settle on the floor of Jorrvaskr with Jergen and Skjorta to show them the baby, their mothers with them. He sat back with a mug of mead and stretched his legs out under the table as his brother settled next to him.

"This is great," Farkas said cheerfully. Lydia took the baby from Bryn and cuddled Fjonnar to her, feeling child-hungry now that they had been trying for a couple months. He was hoping for another boy so Jergen would have a brother, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and a daughter would be cute to have.

"Aye." The wedding feast had stretched on into the wee hours of the night, then the wedding party and their retinue had retired to Jorrvaskr. Vilkas had awakened in his old bed with Bryn and the baby there and they had spent most of the day here, receiving the occasional well-wisher but for the most part simply enjoying being here with all their shield-siblings. It felt warm and comfortable and well-nigh as perfect as he could ask for. He had to enjoy it while he could, knowing it wouldn't last. Couldn't last. They were leaving for Riverwood tomorrow, stopping there to drop off Ralof so he could visit family for a day or two while the rest of them headed on to Lakeview Manor to spend a week there. Vilkas was looking forward to the coming tour, but there was no doubt in his mind that parts of it would be incredibly stressful.

The front door of the hall opened and Borgahk motioned a man inside, following closely after. He was dressed warmly even though it was summer, though one look at his deeply tanned skin made it obvious why. The man was young, Colovian by the looks of it, with eyes that were a startling light blue in his dark face. He didn't look familiar to Vilkas at all, though the man's eyes lit with familiarity when they landed on the Harbinger. The young man was handsome, with a short beard and close-cropped black hair, wearing chainmail over leather and bearing an Imperial-issue short sword, a pack over one shoulder.

"Gaius? Gaius Maro?"

Vilkas sighed. Of course Bryn knew who the man was. He recognized the Maro name and suddenly realized who the young man was, though they had never met: the son of Commander Maro, head of the Penitus Oculatus, and an agent of the same. It was odd though that he was alone and not wearing the order's usual armor. But then again, there were still parts of Skyrim where a lone man wearing Imperial armor might find himself 'accidentally' feeding the local wildlife.

Bryn left the baby with Lydia and rose to her feet, dusting herself off. Gaius looked at her with a bemused expression, probably a bit taken aback by the notion of finding her sitting on the floor of a mead hall in plain trousers and a rustic tunic, her hair in two braids. She probably looked like a milkmaid.

Borgahk stayed close to the man, her hand hovering near her sword as she said, "This one claims to be an Imperial officer, my Queen. He had the proper papers." Which could easily be forged.

"It's all right Borgahk, I know him," Bryn stated. She neared the young man and he knelt on one knee before her as he bowed his head, his right fist to his heart in an Imperial salute.

"Dragonborn," he said respectfully.

"Please." She motioned him up and he stood, every move one of crisp efficiency. No doubt it was because he was young, not even twenty-five if she remembered correctly, eager to prove himself. He was the Commander's only child, Maro's pride and joy. It made her feel a little guilty that she didn't know much about the young man other than that. "Is everything all right? The Emperor is well, I take it?" He had better be, by all that was holy. It sent a zing of fear through her that Mede was gravely ill or dead, which could only be very, very bad for her.

"Oh, yes. Our Emperor is quite well and sends his regards, Dragonborn."

Vilkas dryly stated, "That is going to get old quickly."

Gaius glanced at him then quickly recovered, drawing himself up. "My father sent me, at the Emperor's behest, ah…Dragonborn?"

Bryn heard her husband snort and Farkas chuckle, and she ignored them both as she said, "Please, just my lady, if you must," she suggested. She folded her arms and went on, "This is a surprise. Not an unpleasant one, just unexpected."

"Yes, I imagine so, my lady. I…" He looked around the mead hall, seeing every eye trained on him. Not every Companion was present at this very moment, but the ones who were watched him with the sort of mixed intensity and unconcern that told him he would be dead within ten seconds if he made a wrong move. Not that he would, nor would he survive past the Queen if he meant harm. "I have been sent here to place myself at your disposal, Majesty," he stated. "As an officer of the Penitus Oculatus, it is my duty to guard not only the Emperor but his heirs, namely you and Prince Fjonnar. The Emperor felt this would be an auspicious time to travel to Skyrim and join your service."

Bryn gazed at the man for a moment, her expression measuring as she studied him, and Farkas said, "I think he's trying to say he's a wedding gift, sister."

She laughed at that, saying, "I think you're right, brother." Fjonnar stood no chance of becoming Emperor, but everyone thought he did, making him a tempting target.

Gaius looked nonplussed for a moment then he stated, "I suppose it could be interpreted that way, my lady." He glanced at Vilkas and Farkas, who stared back in an unnerving fashion with the same pale gray eyes. He cleared his throat and continued, "My service record is impeccable, my lady. I am not my father, of course, however he felt that I would be the logical choice to join your service due to my familiarity with Skyrim and all its holds, as well as my youth. It is his hope that as I mature in your service that I will one day inherit his position when you inherit yours from our Emperor, may Talos guard and bless him."

"That is a very logical plan, certainly." She looked over at her husband and saw that he had mixed feelings about this as well. She turned back to Gaius. "It's funny that you've come here now. We've discussed a great deal lately how understaffed we are. My two Guards are being stretched thin and we're looking for more to join my household, however I strongly feel that any who do should have the potential to become something like family. I refuse to travel with an impersonal retinue like the Emperor, or insulate myself from my people. That doesn't work up here and Nords won't stand for it. They expect access to their Jarls and their Kings and Queens."

"Yes my lady, I have seen that, however the Emperor and my father feel…" He trailed off then finished, "They have opinions that perhaps are best expressed in private."

"They feel I leave myself too open, I'm sure. So who will you be working for while you're up here?"

His eyebrows rose. "Excuse me, Majesty?"

"You're technically in the Emperor's employ, yes?"

"Yes my lady, but technically aren't we all?"

She laughed shortly at that. "In a way, yes, we certainly are. I understand that you're here at his orders, and your father's. However I will not tolerate having a spy in my household."

Gaius' mouth fell open slightly before he said in a lowered voice, "I…my lady, I assure you I am not here to spy on anyone."

"You will be sending reports back to your father, I assume." His brow furrowed slightly, giving her her answer. "I see. I'm about to do something, Gaius, and I hope it won't distress you unduly. I did the same thing to Borgahk when she joined my service, just as a precaution." It had been an afterthought then, but it was definitely required now.

"Uh…yes, my lady?"

Vilkas smirked and said to the women nearby, "Cover the children's ears." They quickly did so, not questioning it.

" _GOL HAH!"_

Farkas chuckled as he pulled the cork from another bottle of mead and poured for himself and his brother while Bryn began mercilessly grilling the young man. He asked his twin, "Think he'll run back to Cyrodiil after this?"

"Oh, I don't think so," Vilkas replied with little concern. "I'm certain his father prepared him quite carefully before he was sent up here. Back up here, I should say. Maro is a good man, however his loyalties lie completely with the Emperor. As they should, but Bryn won't tolerate having her every move reported on. Neither will I. After what Bryn and Skyrim have done for Mede and the Empire, one would think there would be no question of our allegiances."

"Is that a royal our?" His brother sighed quietly, no longer rising to the bait. That was disappointing. Farkas had expected a bit more mileage out of the whole consort thing than this.

As the Shout wore off Gaius made a gurgling, whining sound and fell to his knees, his hands clutched in front of him as he cried, "I'm not a spy Dragonborn, I swear!"

Bryn said with little sympathy, "I'm sure that was uncomfortable, but I'm also sure you understand why I had to do it. Go ahead and send letters back home, but if you join my household you will belong to me and no other. I accept that it will take time for that feeling to grow, but I at least want intent there. I have no Blades. I'm supposed to have _Blades_ , Gaius."

"Yes, my lady!"

"But seeing as how I don't have Blades, and the Blades are being self-righteous assholes who are killing my dragons, you and my Guards will have to do. You are going to teach Ralof and Borgahk what you know about security measures and assessing risk and whatever other little Penitus Oculatus tricks you think will be useful. Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced as well, once we return to Windhelm."

The young man nodded eagerly. "Yes Dragonborn!"

"Good grief, get up." He did so, shivering slightly. Well, Borgahk hadn't liked it either, but she had taken it like an Orc and hadn't fussed about it. Bryn supposed Gaius wasn't exactly fussing but he was clearly shaken. "I am going to assault Sky Haven Temple in a couple weeks. I hope to salvage at least Esbern, but if I can't I will need you to come in after I'm done and help me go through their records, if they don't manage to destroy them first. I hope they don't get the chance, but we'll see. If the old Blades want to play Akaviri Dragonguard and forget their duty to the Dragonborn, then maybe we should create a new Blades organization from scratch, who are loyal _only_ to the Dragonborn, with no hidden ancient objectives or any of that crap."

Gaius blinked, his mouth working wordlessly for a moment before he said, "Yes…um, that is a…thought, my lady, however it is already the job of the Penitus Oculatus to guard you and your heirs. We're already in place."

"It's their job to guard whoever sits the Ruby Throne, and that person's heirs, not specifically my family, my descendants."

"I apologize, Dragonborn, but I fail to see the difference."

Bryn stared at him for several seconds, weighing whether to say more, then she let the matter go. "All right then," she said quietly, letting the matter go for now. "You are an officer of the Penitus Oculatus, guarding Titus Mede's heirs, and I'm glad to have you." Anything else could wait, or might not happen at all. Some warning of this would have been appreciated, but Gaius would be useful, if nothing else as another warm, competent body to help guard her family. He was sincere that he wasn't a spy and intended to guard them with his life, and that was as much as she could ask for at this point.

She honestly hadn't intended to rebuild the Blades, had intended to completely wipe them out and let their order die for good, but this young fellow's arrival had her wondering if there was another way. He could take what was good about his own order and the Blades and create something new from both. She felt the gentle press of the _Vennesetiid_ against her, only a faint brush of the currents of Time, and let the sensation take her for a moment, wondering if such an action would have unforeseen consequences. Well, anything could, really, disturbing the stream and causing eddies, little leaves falling in the water that at first would seem inconsequential but later bunch together into ugly snarls, untidy knots in the skeins that the minute menders continually ran through their fingers.

So what if she did convince young Gaius to do this thing for her? For her children? And not only the human ones. She saw the danger of what she was considering. She saw the not completely unthinkable possibility that she could set herself up to be a tyrant. A benevolent one to be sure, but a tyrant all the same. She could see herself falling to the temptation of believing that only she had the answers, that only she knew what was right. A dragon had a certain nature after all, even female dragons. She would have to be careful that in potentially crafting this new order of Blades that she didn't create what might eventually become a new order of dragon priests. That would not do. Dragons themselves should not rule over anything but other dragons; the Dragonborn had human bodies that tethered them to human cares. Even Tiber Septim in his ambition had loved, had felt empathy, felt guilt.

Vilkas slowly rose from his seat as Gaius took several steps back from the Queen, his eyes huge as he watched her eyes unfocus and the golden shadow of a dragon flicker around her. He moved around the table, ignoring the bewildered Companions in the room, the children still playing in blissful ignorance. Vilkas hadn't seen this happen before, though Ralof and Yrsarald both had told him about it. He left her alone as they had all been instructed to do, but it made the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand up. He felt nothing coming from her, no sensation of what she was doing, but the sight was eerie enough. It wasn't as frightening though as when she had returned from Apocrypha after fighting Miraak. _That_ had been downright terrifying.

" _Hi lost grozein wah kos atruk lot_ , Gaius," she murmured.

The Colovian swallowed nervously and looked to Vilkas, who said, "It is the dragon tongue. _Dovahzul_. She said you have the chance to be something great. I don't know what it means. She will explain it later if she feels like it. And explain…" He waved his hand at her. "All that as well."

Gaius nodded and whispered, "Yes, my lord."

Vilkas was glad not to hear any sounds of amusement from his twin. It wasn't the time. _Time_. Funny, that. She had told him everything she knew about what she was, about what she saw and felt, words failing her, and he similarly failed to completely grasp it, but whatever it was, it wasn't a thing to fear. It was unsettling, yes. Most definitely unsettling. Probably necessary. Something about the Blades had brought it on. Bryn had never mentioned wanting to do anything more about them than get rid of Delphine and anyone who had helped her hunt dragons, but having someone here who was part of a group who had taken the Blades' place had probably gotten her thinking. If something could be salvaged of their lore that could only be for the good, though Vilkas very much doubted any of the Blades themselves would be saved.

* * *


	80. Chapter 80

"My lady, are you _sure_ you don't need me?"

Bryn bit her lip at the almost plaintive question from Argis. The poor man. He was languishing here in Markarth, going out of his mind with boredom. She didn't know what to do with him. She needed him here in Vlindrel Hall, though to be fair this house had the least treasure in it of the city houses. Theoretically she could move what she had stored here to Lakeview Manor with a minimum of fuss and close up the house, but Argis surely had friends and family here. It pained her to realize she didn't know. He had been her housecarl in The Reach for years and he was a complete stranger to her.

Vilkas couldn't help the smirk of amusement that crossed his face as his wife fidgeted, unable to handle figuring out what to do with her handsome, burly housecarl. Ralof was a good-looking man, as was Yrsarald and many other men that Bryn was around on a frequent basis, but Argis…the fellow was so handsome Bryn almost couldn't look at him, and he must have been even more so when he'd had two working eyes. The left was fogged over with a scar running up to it, something that Vilkas would have thought might be an insurmountable handicap if he hadn't had Skjor's example to go by. The man was keeping himself up well, but he looked about ready to weep if he didn't see some kind of real action.

Argis looked at him with an expression that cried _Help me out here!_ and Vilkas nodded slightly and cleared his throat to get Bryn's attention. "What if he went with Gaius and Athis, love?" the Harbinger suggested. The two men were going to travel to the old Karthspire Forsworn camp, which the Blades had been keeping clear of the Reachmen this entire time according to Thongvor Silver-Blood's people. There they would hide in the hills across the river until they heard Bryn Shout to fall into the Temple courtyard, then they would move to guard the single exit and entrance to the Temple other than by air, to make certain no Blades escaped. Getting any closer to the Blades' lair before Bryn arrived to distract them was risky, especially with those dwarven crossbows Borgahk had told them about. Bryn had made a point of talking to Sorine Jurard while they were at Fort Dawnguard, and the Breton weapons specialist had been adamant that the schematics for the dwemer weapons hadn't been stolen or sold, and neither had the weapons themselves, all of them accounted for. They'd had members come and go over the years, but no one of any importance had left, certainly no one who would have had access to her work.

"Actually that is a very good idea," Gaius stated. "You're familiar with the area, its topography and wildlife—"

"Topography," Ralof said in a tone of wonder, drawing out the word, and the younger man took in a deep breath then turned his head and looked up at him, his expression unreadable.

"It is a very large word, isn't it."

"I like mead," the blonde said in a tone of deliberate slowness, and he heard Argis and Athis laugh quietly then smother it. Ralof just didn't like the Imperial and that was that, and it had nothing to do with his race and everything to do with his attitude. Sure, the guy was smart, and yes, he was a very competent warrior, and fine, maybe he had brought up a number of issues with the security around the Queen that had needed addressing, but he treated everyone around him like they were slightly brain damaged, except for Bryn and Vilkas. For all the time the kid had spent in Skyrim he could still learn a thing or two about how to treat Nords. And Orcs. Ralof wasn't Borgahk's best friend or anything, but even he found the way Gaius talked to her offensive, as if she was little better than an animal. It didn't seem to be a conscious thing the Colovian did, but he was going to find himself the recipient of a good ass kicking if he kept it up.

Bryn looked between the men then asked, "Is this really happening right in front of me?" The two drew themselves up, looking past her with expressions of faint embarrassment. This wasn't the time or the place to sort it out, either. She shouldn't have to. "Argis will go with Gaius and Athis," she said in agreement. She turned her gaze on her housecarl. "Could you come with me a moment?"

"Yes, my lady," Argis said with a nod, slightly nervous. He followed the Queen towards the front door, uncertain as to what she suddenly wanted to talk to him about when she had practically ignored his existence for the last several years. Even the last day and a half since arriving here she had hardly looked at him. He didn't think he had ever done anything to offend her, and Divines knew he had wracked his brain enough over the years trying to figure out if he had. She had never taken him out adventuring or dragon hunting, had never made any effort to get to know him.

They went out onto the front porch of the house and Bryn motioned for him to close the door. Erik and Borgahk were guarding the base of the stairway up but were out of earshot. She sighed and folded her arms, enjoying the residual warmth radiating off the stone around her. Vlindrel Hall faced east-southeast and caught the morning sun, and the porch here was welcoming, as welcoming as anything could be in this city.

When the Dragonborn didn't say anything at first, her back to him, Argis ventured, "Have I caused offense, my Queen?"

Bryn started, turning to look at him in shock. "What? No, of course not!" He looked at her with an expression that was so confused and helpless it broke her heart. "Look, Argis…um…" She trailed off, feeling her face warming, something that happened so rarely these days that it made her squirm. "I apologize," she began awkwardly. "For how things have been. It hasn't been fair to you. I haven't been fair." The man grimaced but before he could respond she went on, "You've been stuck here on the edge of Skyrim with nothing to do for years on end, and if you've been worrying this entire time that I've left you here on your own because of something you did that makes it so much worse. I wouldn't blame you if you were angry about it."

Dismayed, Argis shook his head and stated, "No, my lady. I'm not angry. Not at all."

"But?"

He grimaced again, and when she gestured for him to go on he muttered, "I trained my entire life to be a housecarl, my lady." She nodded, looking guilty. "I…used to be Jarl Igmund's housecarl."

Bryn's eyebrows shot up. "I had no idea." She sighed heavily. "Like many other things, I'm sure. What happened?"

"I saved his life. Forsworn attack. Cook had worked in the Keep for years with no sign of trouble, then one day she was setting out dinner and came after him with a kitchen knife. She was fast. Got my face and eye, but I killed her before she could get to him. I got set aside and Faleen took my place. Jarl said I was impaired with one eye. But he said he owed me, and if I was able to prove I could still fight he would make me a thane's housecarl instead. So I did, trained every day, trying to compensate for my eye. I'm not as good as I used to be, but I'm still good. A few months later he made me your housecarl, my lady." The Queen nodded slowly, and he went on with a hint of desperation, "I train with the city guards. I know my left side is compromised, because of my eye, but they still can't best me."

Bryn nodded again then asked, "Do you have family here?"

Argis shook his head. "I grew up not far from Old Hroldan. My parents moved to Falkreath five, six years ago. My sister still lives on the farm, but…we don't talk." When the Queen didn't ask why he winced as if in preparation for a blow then finished, "She married a Reachman."

"Ah. I see."

The Dragonborn's suddenly frosty tone sent a twinge of panic through him as he quickly said, "I know it isn't right to have problems with it, my lady. I know how you feel about…things like that. And you're…"

"Mixed?" Argis made a sound of dread and looked down, unable to meet her eyes. Bryn couldn't help feeling disappointed. She knew she couldn't expect every Nord to suddenly be enlightened as if by magic since she began her rule, but when she ran into racism it still frustrated her. Argis was good enough to be embarrassed by it, and he seemed a good man. He couldn't help having certain ingrained cultural beliefs, and he hadn't let it affect his duties from what she could tell. He had treated her aunt, Borgahk and Erandur with respect and hadn't shown any signs of annoyance with Gaius until the young man had spoken to him as if he was dimwitted.

"I meant nothing by it, my lady," he mumbled.

She hesitated then patted him on the shoulder as she stated, "Well, I am. Mixed, that is. It's the simple truth." She nibbled at her lip then explained, "When you became my housecarl...I had hoped for a woman. I was more at ease with female housecarls at that point. I couldn't tolerate the thought of spending that much time alone with a man who wasn't Vilkas, or a Shield-Brother. I was uncomfortable, through no fault of yours. You were nothing but professional. But then I married Ulfric and moved to Windhelm. And then the war came. And frankly, I just don't like Markarth. I like this house, but this city? No. I never have and never will." Some of the worry left Argis' handsome face. Bryn wasn't about to enlighten him any further as to how his looks had played a role in her discomfort. It made her feel childish that it had ever been an issue. It wasn't really an issue now, more an issue of Vilkas knowing that it had once been and Bryn being embarrassed by it. She supposed that at this point in her life it was a relief to know it was even still possible.

"That…helps, my lady."

"I know you're bored out of your mind here," she said with sympathy as she took her hand away. "I would be as well. So tell me what we should do about that."

Argis looked deeply uneasy as he quietly said, "It isn't my place to tell you, my Queen. I'll do what I'm told and go where I'm told."

"Do you like it here?"

Baffled, Argis stammered, "Uh, well enough, I…guess. My lady."

"Has anyone tried breaking into the house?"

"No my lady. Everyone knows better, and I've…sort of spread around that the house is kind of…empty." Which wasn't far from the truth, comparatively. There was a full suit of Dwemer armor with a shield, maybe a dozen mid-grade weapons that were lightly enchanted, and a chest with coins, gems, ingots and jewelry worth maybe five thousand septims, tops. There was another chest in the enchanting room with dragon scales and bones. It was a great deal of wealth for the average Nord, but compared to what he had heard she held in her other houses it wasn't much. There was also the fact that the Dwemer lock on the house was Master-grade, and the Dragonborn had disposed of the only people in Skyrim who had once had the skill to pick it.

"How long were you Igmund's housecarl?"

"Six years, my lady. I'm thirty-five."

"When we return from dealing with the Blades, I would like you to spar with Vilkas." To Argis' credit, he looked slightly apprehensive of that but nodded in agreement. "He's the best one to assess your skills, where your strengths and weaknesses lay. If he thinks you're up to the task, we'll look into you joining my Guard." The man's eyes widened then he huffed in disbelief. She patted his shoulder again. By Dibella, the man had big shoulders. "Do you know of Skjor, of the Companions?" Argis nodded. "He was one of the most skilled warriors I have ever met." And if things worked out and Argis was agreeable, there was always the possibility of taking him to Riften to look into fixing his eye. He had lovely eyes too, a light honey color that was rarely seen in Nords. Bryn had heard rumors off and on before leaving for war that some kind of…well, not quite a healer, had taken up residence in the Ragged Flagon, someone who was able to change one's appearance or fix old wounds. Supposedly she was outrageously expensive but it would be worth it if Argis could regain his sight in that eye. Bryn frankly didn't see how such a thing was possible, but there were all kinds of magic in this world and she didn't fool herself that she knew even a fraction of it. Maybe she would send a letter to Iona and have her look into the possibility. Bryn had completely forgotten the issue the last time she was in Riften, with her obvious concerns over the vampire girl and Ralof's health.

"My lady…" He took a deep breath and drew himself up. "I'll do whatever I have to, to prove myself." Having this hope dangled in front of him was almost painful. He did have friends here, but that didn't make up for the mind-numbing boredom and being unable to do the job he had trained most of his life to do. He _had_ to get out of this house, or he was going to end up some kind of mad hermit, mumbling to himself and endlessly polishing that damn set of Dwemer armor he was sick of looking at. Or maybe he'd start talking _to_ the armor. Gods help him.

"I know you will. And once again I'm sorry to leave you languishing here." She looked out over the mountains again. "Are the Forsworn still causing problems?" She had eaten dinner with Thongvor and his household the night before and he had gone on at length about the issue, but she wanted a different perspective. A more objective one.

"Aye, but they always have, and always will. Seems fewer Reachmen are joining them these days." He lowered his voice and added, "I don't trust the Silver-Bloods as far as I can throw them, my lady, but they seem to be making good on the word they gave you. As far as not pressuring Reachmen to sell their lands or harassing them, that is."

"I would hope so. Like it or not, the Reach folk have always been here, and I won't tolerate the innocent being oppressed because of the actions of the others. Conversely, I won't tolerate the Forsworn ambushing travelers and sabotaging mining operations. The Nords aren't going anywhere either. We all know the Forsworn won't ever give in, so all we can do is stop driving the Reachmen into their ranks and hope they eventually go away by attrition."

"That's a big word, my lady."

Bryn laughed gaily at that then rolled her eyes. "Those two. Ralof and Gaius can't stand each other, and Divines know what I can do about it. I shouldn't _have_ to do anything about it."

"Sometimes people just don't like each other, and there isn't anything you can do." She nodded and sighed. "But…about the Reachmen," he said in a wary tone. "And the Forsworn."

"Yes?"

"You never spent much time in the city, my lady—"

"Please, you don't have to call me that, Argis. Not in private."

"Uh…right. The uh…Forsworn. And people joining their ranks." He nervously scratched at his chin, hesitating. The Queen didn't need to get involved, and the city had been pretty quiet lately. But this might be the best chance of fixing things. "You see…er."

Bryn folded her arms and turned to look at him, giving him her full attention. Argis looked anxious. Apprehensive rather. She quietly asked, "Is there more to it than the Jarl has been telling me?" It wasn't as if she didn't know that. Thongvor's brother Thonar had ruled in his stead while he was away but otherwise focused on the clan's business holdings, and Bryn knew he was dirty. Thongvor was too, to some extent, but not like his brother was, and Bryn had come to unwillingly respect the Jarl during the time they were in Cyrodiil. He was cut from the same cloth as Ulfric, willing to look the other way to accomplish what he believed in. Thonar however was all about the money. He and Maven were all too much alike, except Maven had finally seen the light, and Bryn feared she didn't know the half of what Thonar had been up to over the years.

"Well, I only know what I've heard. How much do you know about Cidhna Mine?"

"Either too much or not enough," she muttered. She did _not_ want to get caught up in the problems in this city. She had always known they were there. She had known from the first day she had set foot in it and had watched a woman get murdered in broad daylight by a member of the Forsworn. A Reachman had tried approaching Bryn with the old 'I think you dropped this' line and had handed her a note, asking her to meet him in the Temple of Talos that night. She never had. She had done some work for Calcelmo and the former Jarl Igmund but hadn't dug into the problems in the city. She still didn't want to, but if the underlying issues were still here she couldn't _be_ here and just ignore them. She couldn't have it said that the Dragonborn and High Queen of Skyrim was colluding with either side, even if just by willful ignorance.

"The Mine is filled with Forsworn," Argis said in as soft a voice as possible. "The Mine is the number one source of them. Nords are hardly ever sent there, unless it's someone the Silver-Bloods want to have a convenient accident in there."

Bryn closed her eyes and sighed, "Let me guess: Reachmen get sent there for their crimes, real or otherwise, and end up having to join the Forsworn to survive."

"Yeah, and once they've done their time and they're released where else do they have to go? They head for the hills, figuring if they're already guilty by association they might as well be Forsworn for real. The former ruler of the Reachmen, from back during the Great War? Madanach. He's in the mine, but people say he's running the whole show from inside. Thonar knows it, too. The Forsworn problems are fed by the mine, and the mine is worked by Forsworn."

"And having a self-perpetuating Forsworn problem gives the Silver-Bloods reason to crack down on the Reachmen. And send them to Cidhna." She grimaced then grumbled in annoyance. _This_ was why she never came to Markarth. She didn't want to think of what might have happened to her if she had stumbled into this mess early on.

"And Thonar, the Jarl's brother…rumor has it he had some poor Reachman bastard killed because he was looking into the connection, plus he wanted the man's wife. Set him up to look like a criminal and had the guards put him down, in the Temple of Talos at that. Right around the time you first showed up in Markarth."

"Oh no," Bryn whispered. "What was his name?"

"Eltrys, I think."

It sounded familiar, but it was so long ago she couldn't remember clearly. She probably had the note squirreled away somewhere inside the house. Could Eltrys have been the tattooed fellow who had approached her that first day, when that girl had been murdered in front of the jeweler's stall? Oh, but she didn't want to get involved in this. Not one bit.

Argis went on, "The guy's wife, Rhiada, worked for the Silver-Bloods, but she left them after that, had Eltrys' child about seven months later. Works for the alchemist now. Bothela. The old woman has a grandson in Cidhna Mine." Bryn groaned and rubbed her forehead, and he said with regret, "I'm sorry, my lady. I don't blame you for not wanting to get involved. The Silver-Bloods, Thonar especially, have their fingers into everything."

"I feared as much," she murmured. She sighed heavily and pinched her nose, figuring she might as well deal with matters while she was here, because she wasn't coming back unless she had to. By the Nine, she hated Markarth. She shifted inside the scale mail coat, feeling its weight pressing uncomfortably on her breasts, which were much too full. She put her hand on Argis' shoulder and said, "I'm going to nurse the little one, then you and I are going to pay a visit to the…Hag's Cure, is it?"

"Aye." They headed back inside, and Argis had to school his expression to keep from grinning like a fool. Maybe the Queen was annoyed by having to get involved, but right now all he cared about was finally being able to _do_ something. Anything. That hadn't been his objective when telling the Dragonborn about the Forsworn issues in the city, but he wasn't sorry for the result.

The infant prince was fussing in his father's arms and Bryn took the little one from him, saying, "After Fjonnar is fed, I'm taking Argis to look into some problems in the city."

Vilkas grunted and prompted, "And who else?" He wasn't keen on his wife roaming Markarth with a single bodyguard, especially a city like this one. Too many stairways and alleys. Too many shadows, too many high points that could hide an archer. This house was a fortress, practically unassailable, possibly the most secure and safest of any of Bryn's homes, but the city was a nightmare from a personal defense standpoint.

"Gaius, I think." She glanced at the Colovian and he nodded and saluted her with his fist to his chest. Gods, that was getting old. Siga came forward to remove her coat, and as she settled in a chair she continued, "And Athis as well. I want to speak to the Reach folk here, and I'd rather not have a wall of Nord facing them." The Dunmer inclined his head and moved off to a guest room to don his armor. Vilkas took a seat next to Bryn and leaned close to her to watch the baby nurse, and she said to him in quiet annoyance, "Thongvor's brother is up to no good, and Divines know how long it's been this way. I knew there were problems when I first came here years ago, but with my luck I would have gotten thrown in the mine myself if I'd poked around."

Vilkas said, "Yes, but with your love of cracking rocks it might have been like a vacation."

Bryn laughed merrily at her husband, startling the baby. As the boy settled back to eating her smile faded and she went on, "Anyway, I get the feeling from Argis that there's something going on between Thonar and this Madanach fellow who's been in there for…how many years?"

Argis thought for a moment then answered, "Since the Markarth Incident, my lady."

She sputtered in ridicule. "Good grief. Well I'm getting to the bottom of this business, and the Silver-Bloods are getting no warning about it. I know damn well they made it a prison to have an endless source of slave labor."

Gaius spoke up, saying, "If I may, my Queen, it was this way long before the Silver-Blood family rose to power. The mine serves a useful purpose: it houses criminals and produces wealth for the Hold."

"I don't care," she said in a careful tone. "I don't believe for one minute that all the people in there have actually committed any crimes, and as an Imperial citizen I would hope you understand due process."

"Well, yes, of course I do my lady," he said in a tone of slight offense.

"That mine is producing wealth for the Silver-Bloods, and no one else," Argis stated. "The guards out front aren't even Hold guards. They're mercenaries." The Queen's gold eyes narrowed as her lips pursed, and he couldn't help feeling a little thrill of guilty delight over it. He had waited too many years with nothing to do, and now he was going to get as much as he could ask for, if he proved himself to Vilkas, and he vowed he would. He could handle moving to Windhelm if it meant always having something to do. And if he joined the Queen's Guard he would get to travel with her to Cyrodiil, even. Maybe Morrowind or High Rock. Maybe even _Hammerfell_. By the Nine, it was almost too much to hope for.

* * *

Gaius protested in a lowered voice, "My lady, I must voice my disapproval of this plan."

"Plan? What plan?" she snapped as she strode towards Cidhna Mine, her blood just about boiling from the things the three Reachwomen had told her. "I'm going into that mine, Gaius. I'm talking to Madanach and the other prisoners and straightening out this mess once and for all."

Athis said in a mild tone to the Imperial, "I fail to see what the danger is in it. Do you really fear that the door will swing shut behind us and we'll be trapped down there mining silver ore until the end of our days?"

The young Colovian stated, "It is a small enclosed space with choke points between the chambers, if it's anything like any other mine."

Bryn rolled her eyes and replied, "And how do you think I spent my entire first year in Skyrim? And a good part of the second? I spent it in mines, caves and tombs." She shook her head as she came to a stop and made a cutting motion with her hand. "No, this is non-negotiable, Gaius. You will let me handle this, and you will _not_ get in between me and someone coming at me head on, is that understood?"

"My lady—"

"My back, yes. The sides, yes, if you think I can't see them coming, but you will under no circumstances get in my way in a fight."

Gaius said with quiet intensity, "My Queen, you are impairing my ability to perform my duty."

"Your duty is to protect me from dangers I am unaware of, or can't handle, as in when I have my child in my arms, which right now I do not. I'm not the Emperor. You can't guard me as if I am. And right now you're standing here arguing with me in public," she stated, her voice going down an octave. " _And_ doing it while I'm in a mood. Does that seem wise to you, Gaius?" The young man quickly shook his head, his eyes wide as his lips pressed into a thin line. Bryn turned and continued to the mine, her righteous anger turning to irritation. He was barely more than a kid, going about things all the wrong way, desperate to prove himself to not only her but all the Nords around him and most of all his father. She would ask Vilkas to have a word with him, which might turn into more than a few words if Gaius wasn't careful about how he spoke to the Harbinger. Her beloved had a sharp tongue when he was aggravated, and Gaius seemed quite proficient at aggravating people, though it was usually without intent. Still, Bryn could excuse a lack of intent for only so long.

The mercenaries standing guard at the mouth of the mine were at a loss as to how to handle the Dragonborn's arrival, but in the end there was nothing they could but let her and her men inside. She heard them whispering fiercely behind her as she walked down the tunnel and was certain one was being sent to fetch Thonar. That was perfectly fine.

The mine practically reeked of despair, along with all the other things it reeked of, and the bedraggled group that had gathered by the single fire warming the place made her jaw clench in anger. "Where is Madanach?" she asked curtly, letting the thu'um fill her voice and sending it vibrating off the rock walls. The miners shivered and as a group pointed to her left, and she swiveled that way to see one of the biggest Orcs she had ever laid eyes on guarding a cell door.

"Uh uh," the orc grunted, folding his arms as Bryn walked towards him. "I don't care who you are, I'm not—"

She lunged forward and punched him in the jaw, sending him to the ground, then she rifled through his pockets for the key. She counted on the men to keep the obviously overworked and malnourished miners back, not that any of them were any kind of threat. She pointed at the Orc and said over her shoulder, "If he makes a move, take him out." She didn't wait for an answer as she unlocked the cell and went inside, heading down the turns of the short tunnel until she reached a chamber. There she found a man who was in his sixties but still hale for his age, handsome and cold-eyed, and clearly living at a much higher standard than the poor miners. She made a hissing sound of contempt at the stores of food and the warm furs and blankets heaped on the bed. The Reachman stood his ground fearlessly, armed with only the shiv on his belt, but his hands were ready at his sides, and she had no doubt that he was as magically gifted as any Breton.

"Well, well," he said in a near whisper. "Thonar send you in here to do his dirty work for him, girl?"

"Thonar is just now being informed that the Dragonborn is cleaning out his mine," she replied. She motioned to the chair at his table, and he smirked at her and inclined his head then retook his seat, his eyes never leaving her. She leaned against the stone wall next to the table, looking over the papers there, the ink still fresh. "I have my suspicions about what has been going on between you and Thonar. Why don't you spare me the legwork and give me your side of the story?"

He made a sound of derision, his upper lip curled under his thick mustache. "And I'm supposed to believe it will make any difference in the end, Daughter of Skyrim?"

"You look at me and see a Nord, but I would hope that you are informed enough to know exactly who and what I am. I would also hope that you aren't as blinded by hate and prejudice as the people you revile."

"Blinded, you say?" He laughed softly, dangerously. "I think not. No, my eyes see clearly. They have always seen clearly." His eyes glittered as he added, "They watched with perfectly clarity as your beast of a husband shouted in the city gates. They watched as the Bear cut down man, woman and child alike. You sit in judgment of the things I have done to further my people's freedom when you shared a bed with a monster? Begat a child with a fiend?"

"I know exactly what Ulfric was, and what he did," she murmured. She found Madanach's comparison weak at best and it didn't help her overall opinion of him one bit, though there wasn't really anywhere to go but up considering. "If you think to rattle me by railing against things that happened while I was still in diapers, you're wasting your time."

"Time. And just how much of that do I have before you end my life, Dragonborn?"

Bryn shrugged one shoulder. "As long as you keep talking, I would imagine." She heard a loud grunt down the tunnel and a gurgle as either Gaius or Athis disposed of the Orc, who should have had the good sense to stay put. She fixed her gaze on the older man and continued, "So. Start talking."

"Why? What's in it for me?"

"Satisfaction? I've noticed men like you do love to pontificate. You have a captive audience, so to speak." Madanach snorted a bitter laugh. She shifted to get a protrusion of rock out of her back then said, "I'm already quite certain that you aren't leaving this mine alive, but some of your people might. I promised Bothela that I would get her grandson Odvan out, once I make certain of his innocence. I'm trying to save as many lives as possible, while it seems you've been doing your damnedest to throw them away." She motioned with her hand for him to start talking, and the man leaned back in his chair to glare at her with cold hatred. All he saw was a Nord, an oppressor. She made a sound of frustration. "I am trying to help your people. The Forsworn might be terrorists and murderers—"

"And the Nords are robbers and thugs," he retorted.

"Yes, they have been. And yet both sides are going nowhere, Madanach. I will not allow the Silver-Bloods to continue stealing property from the Reachfolk or abusing them, but I'm not about to allow the Forsworn to continue terrorizing the countryside and making travel impossible either." She paused and saw not one bit of softening in the man's expression, no hint that he could be reasoned with. Maybe it had been naïve of her to think he could be. Maybe the decades he had spent down here had hardened him past all hope. There was no way that she could ever understand what Madanach's imprisonment had done to him. But then she didn't need to understand it. She nodded to herself then stood up straight and said to him, "All right then. I didn't want it to be said that I didn't give you the chance to tell your side of things. But you will anyway."

He sneered, "There is no force on Nirn that can make me talk, snowback."

"Wrong. _GOL HAH!_ " Madanach gasped, and she motioned down the hall. "Start walking." Argis came running down the tunnel and she ordered, "Bind and disarm him. We're moving him out there so his people can hear what he has to say."

"Aye, my lady," he said quickly, shaken by the Shout. He'd rarely gone out with her in the past, when she had first become thane of the Reach, and so had rarely been exposed to the thu'um, other than what now colored her voice. He supposed he would get used to it quickly enough. He really had no choice. He moved to take the shiv, patting the older man down for hidden weapons then tying his wrists securely, not sure how long the Shout would last. He glanced at the Queen and she was frowning the slightest bit, a tiny crease between her blond brows. Her gaze shifted to him then away again, and he could swear she looked…guilty. He had no idea why she would, or what could make someone like her feel guilt. She did what she had to, and he understood that. It seemed she should too.

"Take him out in front of the others," she murmured. "The effect will wear off any moment." Argis pulled the man along and Bryn picked up Madanach's chair and followed him out, seating the man in it. The Shout wore off and the Reachman gaped at her in horror. Yes, it was horrifying, bending the will of another, and yet how could she not? The ethics of it were something to ponder another time. She kept her eyes on the King in Rags as she flicked her fingers at Gaius and said, "Get all the food out of that cell and divide it amongst the miners." The young man quickly went to do so. She softly said to Argis, "Keep Madanach in that chair. I do not want him killed for any reason." Because what she was about to do to the man would most likely make him attempt to drive them to it.

The Reachman spit at her, missing her by only inches, then snarled, "Keep your foul dragon magic to yourself, witch!"

The irony of his statement might have been amusing, once upon a time. She supposed what was sacred to one race could easily be profane to another. She had rarely seen anything as profane as a hagraven, or the bloody shrines the Forsworn favored. "You are going to enlighten your fellows here as to what the arrangement is between you and Thonar Silver-Blood."

"I would never stoop to colluding with the worst perpetrator of—"

" _GOL HAH!"_ The miners collectively stumbled back. She leaned close to Madanach and asked, "Are you working with Thonar Silver-Blood?"

"Yes," he mumbled, gazing at her wide-eyed.

"For how long?"

"Since the Bear retook Markarth."

The miners were too cowed to do more than stare in disbelief at the admission. Bryn continued interrogating the man, just as she had the Thalmor officer that she had captured in Valenwood before the war, what seemed like a lifetime ago. The depth of the treachery was appalling. There were Forsworn operatives in place all through Markarth, some of them in Thonar's own home. It would be tempting to flush them out, spook them into taking out the slimy bastard and making her job easier, but Thonar had children, and his wife Betrid was pregnant with a third. The woman was as despicable in her own way as her husband, but the unborn child didn't need to lose its life for the parents' mistakes.

Once she had wrung every bit of information out of him she could, she sighed silently to herself and pulled the stalhrim dagger. Madanach squeezed his eyes shut, tears running down his face, not from fear of death but from what he had been put through, and he had fought it every inch of the way. It was unfortunate that he had ever been put in this position, and she couldn't help but see the parallels between him and Ulfric. It nearly stayed her hand, and she nearly bent his will one last time to ask if he would continue his crusade if freed, but she knew the answer, and this man was no Ulfric. She moved behind him as she softly asked, "Do your folk have anything in the way of last rites?"

"Just do it," he whispered harshly. "But know that what I have done was for love of my people."

"No, it was for love of your race, and that gives you no right to sacrifice the lives of your people individually. There is no amount of collateral damage that is acceptable." She leaned closer and murmured, "Should Thonar live, he will pay for what he's done. He will lose his influence. Possibly even his lovely wife. Take that small comfort with you." She didn't wait for his answer, standing and taking hold of his hair as she drew the dagger across his throat. Argis moved forward to catch the body and lay it down, and she blessed his understanding of the situation. Bryn held the back of the chair, the dagger in her hand dripping onto the seat as she took in the miners, half of whom were staring at their dead leader and the other half staring at her in terror, while Athis watched all of them with sharp eyes, his hand on the pommel of his sword.

She raised her voice and stated, "I am not about to presume any of you guilty. I know that too many of you had to join with Madanach simply to survive in here." She took a deep breath. " _However_ , I have to make certain of who actually belongs in here or not. You will submit yourselves one by one to the same method I used on Madanach, and those of you who are innocent, or in my mind innocent enough, will be let to go return to your families, with no repercussions. Those of you with nowhere to go will head to the Warrens. I will be attending to the situation there before I leave Markarth as well." She looked among the men, all of them clearly frightened, then one of them slowly came forward on shaking legs. He was a tall, skinny young man, barely more than a boy, with a shock of light brown hair running down the center of his head.

"I-I am Odvan, milady," he whispered, wringing his hands before him.

"Bothela's grandson, yes," she said with a nod.

"I'm not supposed to be here," he choked. "I didn't kill anyone. I don't even know who it was that got killed."

Bryn nodded again, gentling her expression. "Are you ready?" He winced and nodded, and as she bent his will and questioned him she found to her relief that he was indeed innocent. He had been forced to kill people in here to protect himself, but she was hardly about to judge that. The poor man had been sent here while still in his teens and had lost five years of his youth to this place.

She sorted out the ones she considered salvageable and sent them off to the side near the ramp up to the gate, where Gaius began handing out portions of food. In the end, out of the near dozen prisoners she let go all but three: one was an unrepentant, lifetime Forsworn; another had willingly committed murders after being forced to join them, but still it had been willing; the third was the only Nord in the mine, a career thief who under the influence of the Shout had admitted he would go right back to it the moment he got out. Those Bryn left in the mine with food and would force Thongvor to deal with. The entire situation not only in Cidhna but in Markarth and the Reach in general disgusted her. It was even more revolting than the mess she had encountered in Windhelm, though it had its similarities. Bryn didn't particularly like Thongvor, but she respected him. She wasn't sure why it still disappointed her to encounter prejudice, and no race was immune to it, and it was even understandable to a point, an ingrained preference for your own kind, but it never excused mistreatment. Her childhood in the Imperial City had given her an advantage in that, being constantly exposed to all the races. Her children would be given the same advantage, as much as she and Vilkas could manage to provide in a place like Skyrim.

The men herded the understandably anxious miners up the ramp, Bryn at the head of the group, and she eyed the Orsimer woman standing guard at the locked door, her arms crossed and a scowl on her face as if she was actually considering leaving them all down there. Bryn stared evenly at her, waiting, then the woman bared her teeth and grumbled, moving to open the gate. "There are still three down there," Bryn stated. "They will stay down there until you hear otherwise."

"You don't pay me," the Orc growled.

Gaius rounded on her, his hand on his sword. "You will respect the Queen," he demanded.

"Sure, sure," the Orc muttered with a roll of her eyes, then performed an elaborate mocking bow. "As you say, your Majesty."

Gaius bristled, and Bryn laid her hand on his arm and said, "Don't. It doesn't matter down here." The young man nodded, still looking deeply offended.

They led the miners up the tunnel and into daylight, something the poor souls were very unused to. Some of them hadn't seen the sky in a decade or more, and the tears in their eyes were from their emotions as much as the piercing light. A crowd had gathered in clumps on the stairs and balconies around the mouth of the mine, some of them guards that were no doubt as dirty as Thonar and Madanach. The younger Silver-Blood was conspicuously absent.

She looked back at the miners and said, "I'm taking you to the Warrens for now, until we get all this sorted out. You're free to leave if you want, of course, but I advise against it." None of them moved. Bryn nodded and motioned them to follow. She was glad for the audience around them; word would spread quickly and make it difficult for Thonar to outmaneuver her.

A swarthy, redheaded Reachman was leaning against the wall at the entrance, and his mouth fell open at the sight of the group that approached. "My uh, lady," he said in shock. "You don't want to bring those folk in here. We've got sickness in the Warrens."

"They have no where else to go," she stated. She gestured for her guards to take care of the group, and as they were led inside she said to the man, "Your name?"

He cleared his throat nervously. "G-Garvey, milady."

"I will be sending down a healer momentarily. A Dunmer priest. I'll also send food and bedding with him. Will you give him a hand when he arrives? I would appreciate your help." He blinked in bewilderment then nodded. She smiled at him and gently patted his upper arm. "We'll get things straightened out here, I promise you that. There will be work in the mines soon. Real work. Paying work. Spread the word if you'd like." She didn't wait for his answer, heading into the Warrens. It reeked in here worse than the mines. At least in there the bodies had been cleared out on a weekly basis. It stank of death and illness in here and she could hear coughing deeper in.

Gaius came up beside her and murmured, "You shouldn't go any further, my Queen. There's a lung disease making the rounds."

"That is what potions are for. Mara's mercy, they don't even cost that much," she said in muted outrage. "I want you to go back into the mine and gather every scrap of paper in Madanach's room, if the guards haven't burned it all yet. And find out where that escape route he mentioned goes." He hesitated then drew himself up and put his fist to his chest and hurried off. Good. He was learning.

She and Argis and Athis got the former prisoners settled and reassured the Warrens' original tenants, and the poor beaten-down folk took her word with obvious apathy. This was so much worse than the Grey Quarter had been; the Dunmer there had the skills and magic to take care of their own, had kept their culture and were a tight-knit community. The Reachfolk here had been systematically oppressed for so long that they probably felt that there was no hope of things ever changing. It made Bryn ache with remorse that she had left herself willfully ignorant of the problems here for so long, but Markarth was so remote it was easy to put out of mind.

As she left she went to the nearest city guard and directed him to fetch Bothela and every cure disease potion she had. The old woman would know she was good for it and would want to see her grandson. The 'hag' as she laughingly called herself might be a good candidate for bringing together the people here, now that Madanach was out of the way. There were some aspects of their Old Ways that simply would not be tolerated again, but there was no reason to deny them the rest of it, their language and holidays and the rest of it. Today's events would no doubt prompt some very uncomfortable discussions with Thongvor, especially when she told him that she was henceforth forbidding the Silver-Bloods from using Cidhna mine as a prison. Well-fed, willing workers would bring up much more ore than the poor sods who had been toiling away in there. Garvey was already gone, hopefully spreading word that the mine was opening up just as she had hoped for. Once that piece of news got around people would be clamoring for work and the Silver-Bloods would be backed into a corner with no way out that wouldn't provoke rioting.

As she made her way to the Treasury House she saw Erandur coming with a sack that clanked with the telltale sound of potion bottles, and she smiled gratefully at him as he passed. Someone must have sent word to Vlindrel Hall of what had happened and he had instantly known what to do.

Her breasts were aching again with the need to feed the baby, who was still nursing every couple hours, but Thonar had to be dealt with, and something was keeping him from making a public appearance. She doubted it was simple cowardice; that wasn't the Silver-Blood way, even as crooked as Thonar was.

When she reached the Treasury House she saw a handful of city guards in front of the manor's impressive façade. "What's going on here?" she asked the closest one.

"Forsworn, Majesty," he answered gruffly. "Some of them were working in Silver-Blood's home, man had no idea." He shook his head in sympathy. "They managed to wound him and kill his wife before they were taken down."

 _Oh no_ , she thought in grief. Betrid had been thoroughly unlikable, the very definition of a gold-digger, but Thonar had always known it and hadn't cared, and the unborn child was innocent. Oh, but this wasn't at all what she had meant when she'd told Madanach that Thonar might lose his wife. The coincidence was horrible. "Has the Jarl been notified?"

"Aye, Dragonborn."

"And the two little ones, they're fine?"

"They were abed, napping, but, well, not sure they're fine…"

She sighed, "Right." The poor children, losing their mother, and Betrid had been a decent enough mother from what Bryn could tell.

The small crowd parted for the Queen as she, Athis and Argis went inside. Her jaw clenched at the bloody scene inside, with the bodies of Reachmen and –women strewn across the floor, along with a couple Nord guards. Thonar was sitting in a chair off to the side, nursing a gash across his left bicep, his eyes red with grief. She heard children screaming and crying in the back of the house and the shushing sounds of a nanny attempting to comfort them. She could deal with nearly anything, but that nearly pushed her to tears. Maybe it would have if she weren't so angry about the entire situation.

"You!" Thonar snarled as he rose to his feet. "This was your doing, Stormcrown! My wife and the child she carried are nothing but a pile of ash and my sons have no mother thanks to your meddling!"

She eyed him narrowly as she stated, "I'll ignore your tone in sympathy for your loss, however this is your doing, not mine. How many Reachmen have lost everything because of your machinations with Madanach? You had to have known it would come back to haunt you someday." She pointed at the bodies and added, "You had Forsworn working around your family, Thonar. Am I to blame for that? You helped build the Forsworn into what they are today. Don't be surprised that they turned on you."

"They never would have done so if you had stayed out of this!" he cried.

"Don't be a fool." She motioned to his arm. "Let me heal that." He glared at her, fresh tears in his eyes, and for a moment she worried he would refuse her aid, then he nodded curtly. She pulled off her gauntlets as she moved close to him, Athis and Argis moving with her, then Thonar's furious gaze moved to Argis.

The housecarl met the man's gaze fearlessly as he said, "The Queen had the right to know. It could've been worse than this and you know it." The Dragonborn inspected the wound, pulling the edges of the cloth out of it, and Argis added, "Madanach said they had an escape route ready to go."

Thonar's eyes widened in shock as he whispered, "That's impossible. No one escapes Cidhna Mine. No one."

"No one had yet, but they were getting ready to."

Bryn began healing the deep cut, one that had gone all the way to the bone, and murmured to him, "You will need to drink a potion to cure disease after this. The bone was nicked."

"Aye," he ground out.

She stayed close to him as she held his gaze and said with quiet intensity, "I have freed eight of the prisoners. They had no business in there. I will _not_ tolerate the use of slave labor in my country. You will hire miners, and you will pay them." He made a scoffing sound, and she added, "Or I could go with my original plan and simply take the mine from you altogether."

"You can't do that!"

"Can't I? I could do much worse. I could execute you for aiding and abetting terrorists, Thonar. I _should_ execute you, really, but it would leave your children orphans, and I need your brother's support." She pulled out a kerchief and wiped her hands of his blood as she continued firmly, "You will begin operating that mine as a proper business. You _will_ offer jobs first to the poor men you had slaving away in there, if any of them can bear to go back in the mine. I've moved them to the Warrens. You will find workers to clean the place up and make it livable, and the money for that will come out of your own pocket. I was going to pay for it, but no, it will be you, and you _will_ do a good job of it or I will start asking myself exactly why I let you live."

"Fine," he whispered harshly.

"I respect your brother and share a battle bond with him, so I have no intention dragging your entire clan's name through the mud, but I am putting an end to your family's dirty dealings. I'm going to maintain contact with some of the Reachfolk here in the city, and after I leave they're going to send me regular updates on how things are going here." Bothela or Muiri, perhaps. Bryn pulled on her gauntlets and said, "I'm off to talk to Nepos the Nose, Thonar. Will I find a similar mess in his house, I wonder?"

"He's Forsworn himself," Thonar muttered tiredly. "His entire household is."

Bryn nodded and left, resisting the urge to rub it in. Even as corrupt as he was, Thonar was grieving, though whether it was because he had actually loved his wife or was only upset for his children's sake it was hard to say. Betrid had been beautiful, and Thonar had gotten as much out of the match as she had, but it was hard to say if there had been any real affection there.

They went up the next stairway, the one that led to Vlindrel Hall, and Athis said in an aside to Argis, "One never suspects the neighbors, do they."

The housecarl snorted and said, "In Markarth everyone suspects the neighbors." The prior Jarl Igmund's uncle and steward, Raerek, had tried to warn the Jarl that there were Forsworn here, inside the walls, and the young Jarl had scoffed at the idea that his own city wasn't fully under his control. Looked like the Silver-Bloods had finally learned that where Igmund had never had the chance to. Igmund had wanted to believe you could tell who the Forsworn were on sight, as if they all went around half-naked in fur and bone. Even Nords didn't go around wearing that little, though some said that the Forsworn had Nord blood in them. As if anyone would believe that.

At Nepos' house no one answered when they knocked, and they found the door unlocked. Athis drew his sword and went in first, stepping silently across the floor even in his steel armor. Argis had to admire the Dunmer's grace, the direct opposite of his own heavy walk. He stayed by the door to guard it as the Dragonborn glided by as silently as the elf. Argis had spent almost no time around elves and would have thought it was her mer blood that made the Queen move so smoothly, but Vilkas moved in the same way. The Harbinger's every motion seemed effortless and precise. Maybe it was Companion training; Ralof had trained extensively with Vilkas and was surprisingly agile for such a tall man, but the Harbinger had the grace of a sabre cat. Argis didn't fool himself that he was going to make it through a sparring session with the North Wind without ending up flat on his ass.

The other two searched the rooms, and a brief time later they came out, Bryn with a leather journal in her hand. "It seems Nepos took his own life," she stated. She lightly smacked the journal against her palm. "He was dead in his bed, with an empty bottle of poison in his hand." If she wasn't nursing she could have taken a tiny touch of the poison on her tongue to try to determine the ingredients, though from the fishy smell it contained either river betty or slaughterfish eggs. Bothela sold some extremely potent poisons, and the old woman didn't stick her nose into how they were used. At the end of the day it was irrelevant; Nepos was dead and judging by the guilt oozing from his journal it was a death he had more than earned. It was a relief, sparing her the ugly duty of judging a man who had been eighty if he was a day.

Athis said, "And his servants have fled with their belongings. Probably into the hills with their brethren."

"Most likely," she agreed. By the Nine, what a mess. Not quite the mess it could have been if she had gotten involved years ago. She very much doubted that being a thane of the Reach would have spared her being thrown into Cidhna Mine. At least now she had the authority to make what she hoped would be lasting changes.

She pocketed the journal but resisted the urge to loot the place, something she still had trouble ignoring. They turned to the stairs up to the house, at the base of which Ralof was now standing guard. "There have been complications," Bryn told him.

"Why wouldn't there be?" the blonde replied in a drawl. It was sort of a given at this point. He had seen some kind of commotion in the city below and had known it couldn't be anything but the Queen. The silversmith Endon's son Cade had come up from the market and Ralof had plied him for news of what was going on, which the Guard had passed on to Vilkas; the Harbinger had sent Erandur down into the city to assist Bryn if needed, which had been quick thinking, but then Vilkas was always a quick thinker.

"The Jarl or his people might come by at some point. Let them up."

"Aye."

Bryn mounted the stairs, eager to get back home to her child and…husband. Even now, over two weeks past their wedding, it was hard to think of Vilkas as anything but Vilkas. Maybe it would always be that way, or maybe it would just take a little time.

When they went inside she found him by the main fire, dangling a toy over the cradle with a broad smile on his face. Sweet coos and gurgles sounded from within, something that was becoming more and more frequent. He glanced up at her and she had to sigh in appreciation as the fire lit the angles of that handsome face. She never could have imagined even a year ago that Vilkas would make such a devoted father. Her aunt came over to help her take off the heavy armored coat, and when Bryn pulled off her gauntlets the Altmer woman gasped at the sight of dried blood under her fingernails.

"Oh Brynni," she said with worry. Argis mumbled something about wash water and moved off, and the Elven woman asked, "Was there trouble? Ralof said there was trouble in the mine."

"Yes, a great deal of trouble, but it seems to be resolved," Bryn answered as she undid the buckles holding on the dragon scale cuirass. "The king of the Forsworn is out of the way and I've told Thonar I'm closing the prison. He's going to operate Cidhna as a legitimate business or I will be confiscating it in the name of the Crown. Thonar has spent the last twenty years adding to the Forsworn problems, and now he's lost his wife because of it."

Vilkas frowned and asked in concern, "They got to her?"

"Their servants were all Forsworn. I'm not sure if he knew and was too arrogant to think there was any danger or not. His little boys are alive but…traumatized."

"And let me guess: he blames you." She snorted and nodded, her eyes drifting to their child. He gathered up the baby and brought him over, and she sighed and leaned down to kiss Fjonnar's forehead. Vilkas quietly asked, "So…how was it, love? No problem?"

"No, none at all," she replied just as softly, understanding exactly what he was getting at. She hadn't taken a life since returning to Skyrim. She hadn't hesitated and it hadn't bothered her. She regretted the necessity of it, but it had definitely been a necessity. Argis brought her a bowl of water with soap and a towel, and as she washed her hands she went on, "Gaius is gathering Madanach's notes, and I have Nepos' journal."

"The old man around the way? He was in on it?"

"Neck deep." Bryn made a tired, scoffing sound. "Dealing with the Blades will be preferable to this mess. That was all I intended to do while we were here."

Argis stated, "This was a good thing, my lady."

"I know, and I'm glad you told me about the situation. It goes back so many centuries that I don't fool myself that it's resolved, but maybe now things will be a little less tense on both sides." It wasn't as if everything was peachy in Windhelm either, but things could always be made better, and here in Markarth they couldn't help but be better than what was there before. As she dried off her hands she said to Argis, "Tomorrow morning, I'd like you to go into the city with Siga and find a wet nurse for the baby. Just in case. The matter with the Blades will take more than the couple hours this did. And it makes no difference what the woman's race is."

"Understood, my lady." His face warmed a bit at the implication but he could take it. It wasn't like he didn't see the Reachmen's side of things, and he had his sympathy for the poor bastards stuck in that mine. He would try to find a Reachwoman with a babe in arms, to prove his good intentions to the Queen. The Queen would probably Shout at the woman to ascertain her loyalties. Handy trick, that. And letting word get out that the Queen had allowed a Reachwoman to nurse her child would go a long way towards good relations. Maybe Bothela would know someone. The old alchemist respected the Dragonborn and would find a woman who was trustworthy and not a Forsworn sleeper agent.

"Come here, little one," Bryn murmured, taking the baby from Vilkas. She smiled at Fjonnar and after a moment he gave her a toothless coo that warmed her. Some part of her wasn't comfortable at the thought of taking her child into her arms after dealing with death and treachery. Having such innocence staring back at her couldn't help but remind her of the stains upon her own soul. Well, even the most depraved of criminals started out like this, tiny and pure, and how naïve had she been only four short years ago when she had first come to Skyrim, falling for her cousin's deception like a ninny and wondering afterwards why he had hated her so much? It aggravated her that she would most likely never figure out where he had gone, would never get to face him as she was now. But then that was for the best, with Elluhrine here. Bryn didn't think she could bear to take Yancarro's life in front of his own mother. Holding Fjonnar reminded her that even her despicable cousin had once been a sweet, helpless infant in Elluhrine's arms.

Gaius returned less than half an hour later with Madanach's notes and papers, saying, "I wasn't able to follow the escape route, my lady. I heard... _things_ moving around in there. More things than I felt capable of handling at that time."

Bryn nodded then looked at Argis and said with a smile, "How would you like to go with me and Vilkas after dinner to clear out some _things_ , Argis?" It would be nice to do something quick and easy with her husband, as they hadn't done since Solstheim, and his grey eyes instantly lit up at the suggestion. And so did Argis.

The housecarl grinned back at her and answered, "I'd like nothing better, my Queen."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much like Bryn, I had no intention of touching the whole Forsworn/Cidhna Mine thing with a ten foot pole in this story, but there it is. You can find an interesting synopsis of the matter at http://skyrimandmorality.blogspot.com/2012/08/the-forsworn-conspiracy.html. There really is no way to get through the quest without feeling at least a little dirty. :/


	81. Chapter 81

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yes, it's been half a year since I've updated. You may have noticed that this coincided with the release of Dragon Age: Inquisition. I'm so sorry for the delay. This should have been the last real chapter of this story, and would have been a good place to leave it, if I hadn't unthinkingly introduced the wrinkle of Babette and the Dark Brotherhood. That's what writing on the fly 75% of the time gets me.
> 
> Most chapters are pretty dialogue heavy, but this one is especially so in parts. Lots of Dovahzul as well...I wish there was an easier way to deal with the translations, but inserting them into the story would just feel too awkward, so as always they're at the end. I'm sorry for the inconvenience. If you're reading on a PC you could copy all the Dovahzul into a Word doc or some such and have the two windows side by side, but if you read stories on a phone (as I almost always do) then I think it's a bit hopeless. :( Maybe open the same page in another tab on your phone's browser and scroll to the bottom, and flip between the two when you need the translation?
> 
> PS - I realized while writing this chapter that I've been spelling Borgakh's name wrong this entire time. Doh! I've also been referring to Ralof as 'the blonde' which is the feminine form. Dingaling!

Borgakh's eyes narrowed as she observed her partner. It was better than observing the massive red monster that was spiraling down to land in the open area before the Markarth city gates. Ralof was geared up to ride with the Queen to Sky Haven Temple on the back of Odahviing, and the anticipation, or rather dread, was clearly taking its toll on the man's still sometimes delicate health. She could see beads of sweat forming on his forehead and across the bridge of his nose as his skin grew even paler than his usual Nord pastiness. She could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest that he was trying to hide. He was standing quite still, not quite looking at anything, trying not to draw attention to his weakness.

No, this would not do. Ralof would either fall off the dragon's neck or be useless in mopping up whatever Blades the Dragonborn didn't dispatch. The Orc woman didn't blame him at all for his condition and admired his determination to fight through it, but there came a time when one had to admit that they were a liability.

She moved close to the Harbinger, who was wearing his full vintage ebony plate and had Hoarfrost strapped to his back. Siga, Erandur and Elluhrine were behind him and Aventus next to him, the Altmer woman holding the baby, who was watching the dragon with as much interest as he would a large, brightly colored bird. Borgakh often was responsible for guarding the little Prince and the Aretino boy, a task she understood the honor of and did not at all begrudge. The Queen could protect herself; a child could not, and so she had the greater responsibility, a rather frightening one at times. Aventus was staring at the dragon with enormous dark eyes and a terrified expression, his pulse hammering in the hollow of his throat. It was a relief to see, considering how foolishly fearless the boy usually was.

"My Prince," she murmured. Vilkas didn't respond, watching the dragon. Borgakh wasn't sure at times if that lack of response to the title was deliberate or if he still didn't equate it to himself. She tried "Harbinger," and that instantly got this attention. He nodded to her, keeping his eyes on the dragon. She quietly said, "Ralof is compromised." Gray eyes shifted over to the blond, and Vilkas studied him a moment then sighed.

"Right," he muttered. "I was afraid of this." Hence his full gear. Bryn hadn't argued his decision to wear it, for whatever reason, as he readied himself this morning after helping her into the full dragonscale armor she hadn't worn since early pregnancy. Perhaps she approved due to keeping up appearances, knowing the walls would be lined with onlookers as they now were. As terrified as everyone rightfully was of dragons, it was probably a comfort to them to see the Dragonborn mastering them and the Harbinger nearby watching without fear, wearing the armor of a hero. Or appearing to be fearless, anyway; his guts were the consistency of netch jelly right now, knowing he was going to have to ride on the dragon in Ralof's stead. He had feared it might come to that, while hoping that he could go to his grave one day saying he had never done so. Of course he couldn't be that lucky.

He stayed back as Odahviing hovered awkwardly then landed with an equal lack of grace, the dragon's weight making the ground tremble. Vilkas heard a mewling sound of fear from the elven woman who had moved to use him as a human shield for herself and the baby. Erandur spoke soft words of reassurance to her but the Harbinger doubted they really sank in. Vilkas wasn't all that afraid of the dragons for his own sake, confident that he could take one down on his own, but he still didn't like having them around his son, and he probably never would. Riding one however… Ysmir's beard, he was _not_ going to enjoy this.

Distantly hearing the excited, frightened commotion on the walls, Vilkas ordered Aventus to stay with Borgakh then he went to Ralof, while Bryn drew the dragon away from the stables, which Odahviing's tail was dangerous close to swiping, which would further terrify the already frantic horses that were shut up inside. He put his hand on the Guard's shoulder, hearing the rapid, shallow breaths the blond was taking. "You will stay here, and I will go in your stead," the Harbinger murmured. When Ralof simply nodded it was obvious this was a bad episode, brought on by the stress of an impending dragon ride hundreds of feet in the air with nothing to hold you there but your own legs and your hands on Bryn's waist. Which Vilkas really wished he hadn't started thinking about. He could see by the flush of Ralof's cheeks and the tightness of his expression that he was upset about this, probably beating himself up. There wasn't anything Vilkas could say to make it better and he wasn't going to try.

With a final pat on Ralof's shoulder he walked away towards his wife, trying to focus on the adventure and not the anxiety that was trying to claw its way up his throat. If that Fasendil fellow down south had been able to spend a week riding the borders on dragon-back with Bryn then by the Nine he could do it for one day. Not even a day. He could do this. He _would_ do this.

Bryn was stroking the dragon's eye ridges and letting the thu'um roll over the creature as she spoke lovingly to it. Vilkas simply couldn't relate. It didn't bother him the way it had Ulfric, who had been bizarrely jealous of his wife's _Kulaansedov_. It didn't bother him at all, really. How anyone could be jealous of a giant lizard was beyond him. Maybe Ulfric had been jealous that there was a large part of his wife that he couldn't share in, a problem Vilkas didn't have. He knew which parts of Bryn were his and they were more than enough. There had been a neediness in Bryn and Ulfric's relationship that his own didn't have, and he didn't feel the lack of it one bit. He and Bryn were much too individual to relate in that way, and there wasn't that deep protectiveness that she and the Jarl had felt for each other either.

"I am going with you, dear," he said quietly.

"Yes," she murmured. She hadn't missed the signs of an impending attack in Ralof. He hadn't had one since right before the wedding, and if anything was going to bring it on it was the fear of riding a dragon. No normal person would happily do such a thing, and while she didn't consider Vilkas to be entirely normal she could tell he wasn't happy about this either. No one else would pick up the traces of dread in his expression, but they were there.

" _Hi fen ni mah, grohiik kulaan_ ," Odahviing grumbled.

" _Geh, Zu'u ov hi_." The dragon laughed, sending chills down Vilkas' spine.

" _Ov ek_."

 _Point taken_ , Vilkas thought with equal parts annoyance and anxiety. The dragon's care for him extended no further than faint consideration for the she-dragon's mortal mate, and trusting it completely would be a fool's mistake. "So eh, how are we doing to do this?" he asked his wife, impressed with how steady his voice was.

Bryn's hands fell away from Odahviing's snout, and she did a final check of her weapons and armor as she said, "Let me mount first, then get on behind me and grab hold of my hips." She smiled slyly at him and added, "Make sure you're settled just right between the neck ridges, or Fjonnar may end up an only child."

"Wonderful," he sighed. "That is just what I wanted to hear." She laughed and tightened her belt, from which hung Chillrend and Dawnbreaker. She seemed comfortable in the dragonscale and Dwemer metal armor, seemed comfortable in general considering what they were about to do. She hadn't worn any armor but her scale mail coat and a simple cuirass for a good half a year, but she moved in full armor as easily as she ever had. Vilkas chuckled and felt a twinge of poignant remembrance as he murmured, "This is just like old times, love." He paused. "Except for the dragon riding." He had helped her and Argis clean out the spiders and Dwemer automatons behind Cidhna Mine the other day, but he had left most of the fighting to the housecarl, partly as charity and partly to assess the man's skills. Argis was very skilled, no doubt about it, and must have been unstoppable before losing half his vision. Experienced as he was, Argis could give Vilkas a run for his money, and would do a more than acceptable job as a Guard. Better that than have those skills go to waste guarding trinkets.

"It is," Bryn agreed. It was hard not to feel wistful herself, thinking back on the time they had spent together on Solstheim. The two of them had never been closer than they were then. They were now, of course, they were _married_ for Mara's sake, but… It had been different, then. She had been more human. The inability to be physically intimate had forced them to become emotionally intimate, more than had been healthy for either of them, but if they hadn't spent that time together, hadn't reconnected then, hadn't grown as close as friends could get and remain friends, she honestly didn't know where they would be today. She was certain that the damage the war had done between them would have been much more difficult to overcome.

As the Queen mounted Vilkas put on his helmet, glad that it hid most of his face, because he was fairly certain he was as white as snow right now. "Nine preserve me," he whispered as he got up behind his wife, hoping he didn't look as uneasy as he felt. The neck ridges weren't comfortable, but not as bad as he had imagined either. He could see the truth of Bryn's warning that he could get a very bruised set of balls if he wasn't careful. The neck ridges overlapped, which formed areas that could pinch a man hard enough to make him cry if he sat wrong.

He barely had time to shift Hoarfrost to the side before Bryn warned him to hang on tight. Vilkas kept his eyes on the crown of ash blond braids in front of him, afraid that if he didn't he would lose his breakfast, and when the dragon lurched he nearly did. His gut dropped out from underneath him as the beast lifted off as awkwardly as it had landed, the flapping motion of the great wings making the entire dragon bob up and down, up and down, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and grip Bryn tightly to keep hold of his nausea. He fought back a grumble as he heard her laugh in pure happiness as they became completely airborne, and when he cracked his eyes open he nearly shrieked to see her hands thrown in the air. The daft woman wasn't even holding on!

" _Lok los un, zeymah!_ " she cried in delight, getting a rumble of pleasure in response. Oh, but it had been too, too long. When was the last time she had taken flight? Ah, with Lydia, up to Skuldafn, many months ago. Well she would make sure that she flew as often as she could, until the day came when she had wings of her own, and after that she would never touch the ground again unless she had to.

As they spiraled up she could distantly hear a commotion from the city below, but she put it out of mind once she glanced down and saw nothing amiss. She patted Odahviing's neck as she leaned forward and said, " _Lok Gaard Raald, kulaani. Mu nir Dovahdaan!_ "

" _Geh, Judi_ ," the dragon agreed, turning east.

Once they evened out Vilkas let out a shuddering breath and forced himself to look around. This was utterly terrifying, enough to make his gut churn, but how many could say that they had done this? Had seen this? Skyrim was laid out before them like a tapestry, and as they gained altitude he could feel tears rise in his eyes that weren't only due to the wind. It wasn't a sunny day, but it was lovely all the same, light glinting off every snowy peak and the golden roofs of Dwemer structures. Even Markarth behind them looked beautiful, nestled into the mountainside like a child in its mother's lap, and he could see the amber plains of Whiterun hold in the distance in front of them and the deep green forests of Falkreath to the south.

"Everything all right?" Bryn asked over her shoulder.

"Aye." More than all right, now that his fear was fading. He was able to pick out landmarks now, familiar ruins and peaks. In the far distance he saw another dragon flying, but it was anyone's guess as to whether it saw them. It was too far off to tell what color it was. He would know Maarluhkest and Drunfaazkein anywhere, and Odahviing of course, but any other dragon, never.

Sky Haven Temple neared with a quickness that was both shocking and disappointing. Surely the flight wasn't over so soon? Barely fifteen minutes since leaving Markarth and the structure was rapidly approaching, but then a dragon could cover Skyrim in a day by air, when it took several days by fast horse and nearly a week by wagon. Vilkas didn't want the flight to end, now that his fear had ebbed, though he was sure it would come back quickly enough once the dragon tried to land. Odahviing wouldn't do so until Bryn entered the Temple, which she would not do until she had the courtyard clear. There was no way the Blades wouldn't see her coming, or see the dragon coming rather. They would have to suffer some sort of collective madness to think the Dragonborn wasn't going to be coming for them eventually anyway.

But what if…what if that was exactly what they wanted?

They did a high pass over Sky Haven Temple and the place looked eerily deserted. The grounds were still clear, maintained, but not a single soul was in evidence. Vilkas leaned close to his wife's ear and said with deep worry, "Either they've gotten spooked or they've set a trap." It wasn't inconceivable that somehow Delphine had gotten word that Bryn was coming for her. It wasn't as if it had been kept a state secret, though it hadn't exactly been bandied about either. The Blades had to know that Bryn was in the area, and they also were probably quite well aware that a dragon could never pass up a challenge. It was also highly likely that they had seen the dragon coming just now and had scurried inside.

"Yes, I would imagine so," Bryn replied. She could very well imagine Delphine deciding that the Dragonborn had outlived her usefulness, with Alduin gone and the Aldmeri Dominion wiped out. After all, Bryn was a dragon, wasn't she, and as such needed to be destroyed. The de facto leader of the Blades, no, the Dragonguard, probably found her own reasoning quite sound.

Vilkas had resisted saying this so far, but he urged, "Gods' sake, be careful, love. Anyone who managed to outsmart and outrun the Thalmor for thirty years isn't anyone to trifle with." She nodded, and he pressed a kiss next to her ear. "I love you."

" _Lokaal hi ahk, grohiiki_." She patted the dragon's neck and Odahviing began circling down. She counseled her husband, "Grip his neck tight with your thighs. Hold onto his horns."

The dragon rumbled in offense, "I will not allow you to fall, _joor_."

Vilkas could hear the sneer in the last word and didn't bother to answer. Once they were about a hundred feet directly over the Temple Bryn reached back to squeeze his thigh, and at that signal he let go of her waist. He was unable to avoid a gurgling cry of horror escaping from his tightly clamped lips as she leaned sideways and simply…fell. This, _this_ he had not bargained for at all, the total dreadfulness of watching his beloved fall through the empty air beneath him, though she quickly turned herself so that her feet pointed down a split second before Shouting and becoming ethereal. He had watched her do it during the war but once, that first day of battle, but from this perspective it was absolutely terrifying.

The dragon climbed again to turn lazy circles above the Temple, allowing Vilkas to watch as Bryn became solid again. She was too far away for him to see exactly what she was doing, but she was turning slowly as if scanning the area, perhaps using the Shout that detected life. And then she was pulling her swords and walking towards the building with that certain hunch-shouldered stride that told him she had found a target and nothing was going to deter her from it.

Not thirty seconds later he heard a resounding _FUS RO DAH_ and the sharp crack of stone being sundered. The Harbinger's toes wiggled inside his boots as he fidgeted, desperate to get onto the ground and see what was going on. He saw three tiny figures moving low to the ground up the hillside from the river, brunette, blond and redhead…Gaius, Argis and Athis.

"Land me in the courtyard," Vilkas demanded.

" _Nid_ ," the dragon replied shortly. "It is not time."

" _MUL QAH DIIV!_ "

"Now it is time," Odahviing stated.

Vilkas' jaw clenched in aggravation as the dragon turned, and he shrieked in a very unmanly fashion as Odahviing spiraled down in tight circles, making his stomach tie itself into knots. Within a minute the dragon slammed into the ground, with what Vilkas considered deliberately excessive force, and he slid off the creature's back onto his knees, feeling the world spin around him and his crotch ache. "Asshole dragon!" he muttered furiously, not caring if the beast heard him, and it clearly did when it laughed unrepentantly then took off again, buffeting him and making him squeeze his eyes shut and hold his breath to keep dust and grit out of his eyes and lungs.

Once the dragon was airborne and the Harbinger had oriented himself, he unsteadily rose to his feet then headed for the Temple, taking no time to wonder at the alien architecture of the place. He quickened his steps when he heard fighting within then the sizzling crackle of lightning magic being cast. Bryn couldn't Shout for several minutes after this one, and she didn't usually use magic unless she was exhausted or overwhelmed. There was no guarantee that she was the one using it, but it made him hurry all the same.

He ran through the broken door then heard a furious roar that made the stone around him tremble. He came down the wide stone steps leading into the main chamber and saw only a few of the Blades still standing but Bryn's left arm hanging useless, soaked with blood.

Vilkas let out a battle cry and picked up speed, his blood boiling, and it drew the attention of a male Khajiit who yelled in alarm then raised his hand and began gathering magic in it. The Harbinger barreled into him with a snarl then cut him nearly in half before turning the stalhrim blade on a Nord with a Dwemer crossbow.

Bryn dispatched the last two, breathing heavily, then she Shouted in a whisper and looked around, the dragon aura still hissing around her in a multicolored glow, her eyes wild. "You're hurt," Vilkas said in dismay, and a split second later the dragon aspect fizzled out and he made a sound of horrified anger to see at least three Dwemer bolts sticking out of her…one in her left shoulder, another in her right calf, another in her right side, in the gap between the scales where her armor buckled. Bryn looked furious, her nostrils flared, wide-eyed.

"There must be more," she ground out. "How can this be all of them?" She Shouted again in a whisper, _LAAS YAH NIR_ , then growled in frustration at the lack of life other than the one right next to her.

"Do you detect any others?" he asked, keeping his distance for now.

" _Zu'u praag zuk!_ "

" _Nust los pah dilon_ ," Vilkas stated carefully. If there had been more she would have hunted them down without hesitation, wounded or not. She had used the whisper-Shout to find wounded on the battlefield many a time, so he knew the words of power that comprised it. He saw her shake her head and hiss in frustrated anger then begin prowling about, and he kept one eye on her as he knelt down and cleaned Hoarfrost. She wasn't as enraged as he had expected, in fact she barely seemed to notice her wounds, though how that was possible when she couldn't use her left arm was beyond his comprehension.

He sheathed the greatsword and went to her, and she shrugged him off with a sound of anger when he touched her good arm. " _Dreh ni haalvut zey!_ " she yelled, throwing down Dawnbreaker then reaching down to pull the bolt from her leg.

"Brynhilde, love—"

"This is not enough," she said through gritted teeth, throwing the bolt at his feet then looking through the dozen or so bodies in the room, flipping some of them over with her foot.

"I know," Vilkas murmured. He flinched as she reached down and grabbed the corpse of a blond woman in her fifties by the scruff of the neck. She held it up and shook it like a doll, and he kept his expression neutral. He understood her frustration all too well, from a decade and a half of carrying the beast blood in his veins. This was undoubtedly nowhere near enough carnage for her. It certainly wasn't after last year's endless feast of battle. While he still had nightmares, she slept untroubled by anything but their child waking to nurse. She carried not one bit of trauma from any of it. And he was glad of that, truly glad. But he had to wonder just how much war it would take to make her tire of it. There were days last year when she had been physically tired, after becoming pregnant, but she had never _tired_ of fighting.

"This one… _sahvotnu!_ " Bryn stated with another shake. "Do you know what she said when I came here? 'Kill it!' That was it. After what I've done. For her. For Nirn, for Mundus, for the Empire. As if I'm some thing, some tool, that no longer has a purpose. She either didn't know or care that the Empire lives only as long as I do. _Koraavnu, hinzaal mey!_ "

She tossed the body aside, and he could only assume that it was Delphine. Bryn began prowling again and Vilkas winced as she kicked one of the bodies, making it skid across the floor. He braced himself and went after her again, grabbing her arm, prepared for the attempt to shake him off, but he gritted his teeth and held on, making her glare at him with blazing eyes. "Get the rest of the bolts out and heal yourself," he demanded. She was still breathing heavily, still so angry she probably couldn't see straight, but she didn't attempt to push him away again. "I will pull them out," he offered, and she stared at him a moment longer then nodded, going over to the great stone table nearby. He spared a cursory glance at the massive carved wall behind it then put it out of mind. He would have all the time to inspect the place he could want, once Bryn was calmed down.

She braced herself and Vilkas firmly grasped the bolt in her left shoulder, and when she nodded he quickly yanked it out, causing fresh blood to cascade down her arm as she yelped in pain. He hated seeing her like this, more wounded than she had ever been last year, in fact this might be the worst she had ever been wounded other than that long-ago arrow in the back, when they were first together. Her constitution now was so ridiculously stout that he had little worry for her health. She would have found a way to finish off her last three attackers well enough, patch herself up, and get out again. But she shouldn't have to.

He quickly moved around to get the bolt out of her ribs, relieved to see that the bolt was mostly caught up in the thick leather and the two edges of the dragon scales that came together there. Once it was free she healed herself then moved to start pacing again. He sighed and caught her arm, moving in front of her, and a corner of her lip twitched as she grabbed the edges of his cuirass to shove him away. He held firm and growled, " _Hi fen helt daar, kiim_."

" _Kiim_ ," she laughed darkly. Vilkas yelped as she moved forward, shoving him against the stone table. " _Ahmul_ ," she murmured. " _Ahmuli_."

" _Geh_ , _hin ahmul_ ," he whispered, a surprising shiver of lust going through him when he saw her eyes dilating. She shoved his legs apart with a knee and he couldn't help a short laugh escaping as she pressed against him, their armor grating, then she yanked off his helmet and set it aside to wind her fingers into his hair. So that was how it was. It brought up a swell of nostalgia that for a moment took his breath away. This was how it used to be between them, when she was only Dragonborn, when things were simple, when they had fallen into bed at the slightest provocation and their coupling had been eager and untroubled. They had both held back since they had come together again, partly due to grief, partly the pregnancy, and they had only made love a few times since the child was born, both of them too tired and distracted most of the time, and she had only been completely healed for a few weeks at most. This would not be lovemaking. It didn't need to be. Neither of them wanted it to be.

Vilkas smirked at her and saw her eyes light up in challenge a moment before her mouth latched onto his. He pulled his gauntlets off and tossed them aside then worked on the laces of her trousers. He got them down enough to work a hand inside and her grip on his hair tightened as she gasped into his mouth. The bodies around them forgotten, he made her ready enough to avoid hurting her then pulled away and moved behind her to push her down over the table.

" _Geh!_ " she cried in delight. Too long. It had been too long since she had been able to live in the moment like this, to take her pleasure when she wanted it, to be taken as she saw fit. Her mate cared as little for propriety right now as she did, unfazed by the death around them, and when he entered her then grabbed her hips she let her Voice go. He was as perfect for her as he had always been, tall and strong and fierce, unhindered in his passion, so beautifully masculine. He leaned over to kiss the back of her neck, hard enough to leave marks, at least for a little while, and she pushed back against him, demanding more, and he gave it, just as he always used to. As he always would.

Vilkas leaned his forehead against the back of her head, catching his breath. "Merciful Dibella, woman," he panted. He heard her laugh and felt her contract around him, and it made him laugh in turn and lean sideways to kiss her cheek then he rested his head against hers again. She sighed in contentment then shifted slightly, and he slowly pulled away then looked around for something to clean up with. Not an easy task, with all the blood covering everything. He snorted in morbid amusement and glanced at Bryn to see her smiling at him with her chin in her palm, her pale cheeks rosy, her equally pale rump in the air. He let out a barking laugh and leaned down to kiss her. He didn't think it could be much closer to their first time together if they had tried, though there were many more bodies around. "You certainly know how to make a man forget where he is," he murmured.

"You know how to make a woman forget her own name, beloved." Her husband laughed in that smug male way of his that she had always found so charming, and that she hadn't heard in far too many years. She pulled off her gauntlets and set them on the table as he came up with a torn piece of cloak, and he quickly wiped off then handed it to her. She stood to let his seed drain from her as he straightened himself out, and as she watched him her heart suddenly clenched in her chest, her throat constricting. Oh, this man. At the moment she loved him more than she had thought she could ever love again.

The Harbinger frowned slightly as Bryn gazed at him with eyes that were big and round and shiny, her lips clamped shut, then she lowered her gaze and tossed the cloth aside and fastened up her pants. He let her do so, and once she was done he moved close to her and tilted her chin up. "What is it?" he murmured. "You look sad."

"No," she whispered shortly, with a terse shake of her head. "Not really." She took a deep breath and blew it out then reached up to take his face in her hands. She stroked those high, lovely cheekbones with her thumbs and watched the torchlight spark off pale gray eyes. His expression softened and she stated, "No other man on Nirn could be the match for me that you are. _Dii tozeinvu ahrk fariik liin. Tozeinvu fah zey_."

"Ah, Brynhilde," he breathed. This was it, then. This was what he had waited for since the day he had realized they would be together again. This was when she would finally, fully turn to him and set aside Ulfric's ghost. This was it, and he hadn't even realized that it had been missing until it was here, right here. She loved him, he knew she loved him, and he knew that at this point in time she might even love him as much as she had loved Ulfric. Of course he knew that. But there had been little passion to it, and pregnancy and a newborn only accounted for so much.

"Only you would have given me what I needed just now," she said in a rough voice. "Only you. _Nunon gein fah zey, qulek ahrk gaat_." Ulfric would have come here with her, without a doubt. He would have pulled the crossbow bolts for her. He would have spoken careful _Dovahzul_ to her and attempted to calm her. He would have done everything he could for her, and it wasn't his fault that he couldn't have taken that last step, the way Vilkas could. It wasn't a failing, wasn't a hangup. It was just…different. Her poor _wuth kodaav_ , who had done everything he could for her, while he was there, and she had made things so hard on him at times.

"Yes, that is so," Vilkas whispered past the choking lump in his throat.

"He told me, Lydia told me…you even told me."

He nodded, his brow crumpled. "That things had to go this way, yes." It didn't need to be explained any further than that, as in tune as they were with each other. The Companions had made her a warrior; Lydia had made her Dragonborn; Ulfric had made her a Queen. And now, now she and Vilkas were simply partners to each other, true partners, husband and wife. Kodlak had told him early on to be worthy of her, and it had taken the blood and death of last year to make him feel like he finally was, a hero in his own right.

"I will never let anything or anyone come between us, _grohiiki_. From this day forward, I swear it, by all that's sacred to me."

"Yes," he whispered, blinking back the rising tears in his eyes. He barked out a laugh and grabbed the back of her head and kissed her deeply, feeling that in some bizarre way they had just wed a second time. Perhaps in a way they had. Their wedding two weeks ago had been a pleasant formality, with ritualized words, but Bryn's just now had been a true vow, and if nothing else a dragon's word was its bond. He had to be glad that Ralof had suffered one of his episodes, forcing Vilkas to come here. As crude as it was to think it, sometimes it took a fight and a fuck to really work things out.

After they broke apart enough to breathe, Bryn kept her hands on his cheeks and murmured, "Do you think anyone would notice if we flew away to Solstheim? We could take the baby and be there in two days."

Vilkas laughed in delight and chucked her under the chin. "Oh, eventually Rikke would get tired of answering your letters, and Galmar would get tired of her complaining, and they would send the Guards to hunt us down." He sighed and kissed her again. "We should take Fjonnar there. Next summer. He'll be walking by then. We could make it a yearly trip."

"Yes. Yes, that would be perfect." It was exciting, thinking about it. Thinking about the future, about their family that would continue to grow and grow, not only with children but with the people who came to join her service, because there would surely be more. "Who knows, maybe Frea has her own little one by know."

"Oh, I'm certain she has found some man willing to bring fresh blood into the tribe. Such a sacrifice." Bryn snorted a guffaw that was extremely unladylike, and much too cute. Vilkas kissed her once more then she sighed and let her hands fall. Back to business. He nudged the nearest body with his boot. "So, Delphine. Recognize any of these others?"

"Unfortunately, yes," the Queen muttered. "The Khajiit is J'zargo. Arrogant bastard that was a student at the College of Winterhold. What do you want to bet that when we visit we'll hear that an old man was up there, nosing around town?" She bent down and began turning over those bodies that were face down. She didn't bother with the middle-aged Orc, seeing her husband nod, his keen memory reminding him of Borgakh's story when she had first come to Windhelm; he was Gorbash the Iron Hand. Nearly all of the Blades looked at least slightly familiar to her, folk she had come across in her travels, though she couldn't come up with any further names, but one… Bryn slapped her hand on the Akaviri armor then stood. "This one was with the Dawnguard. I don't remember his name, but I know he was with them at one point. I remember seeing him at the fort a few times, met him on the road later on and he had been demoted to courier and was complaining about it."

"That explains where they got the crossbow schematics," Vilkas muttered. Even if nothing had been missing, it wasn't unthinkable that the man could have been copying them, a little at a time. There was a certain arrogance to most of the Dawnguard that probably didn't let them think all that hard about the possibility of betrayal from within, too focused instead on being infiltrated by vampires; Sorine Jurard had been appalled to find out the Blades were using Dwemer crossbows and had difficulty believing it was possible for them to get their hands on any. It wasn't unthinkable that the Blades had found their own schematics in a Dwemer ruin, either, but a Dawnguard member here was quite the coincidence. Vilkas could only be glad that they didn't seem to have gotten their hands on the plans for exploding bolts, or his wife would have been killed, Dragonborn or not. The thought made his blood run cold.

"I suppose I should be glad that's all they got." A look at Vilkas' face told her he was thinking the exact same thing, his eyes wandering over the holes in her bloodied armor, a strained expression on his face. In hindsight she had come in here a little too recklessly. More than a little. After all, if she had taken only minor injuries in a war, what could a dozen Blades do? She'd needed to blast open the door, all of them barred from inside, but she could have gone about this more wisely. Kept her head and her temper. Foolish mistake, and one she hoped she didn't make again. She had a child to consider now, and she wasn't so vain as to believe that just because she had seen the far future that it couldn't change in a heartbeat. She bent down and picked up an Akaviri katana, holding it out at arm's length, her nose wrinkled.

Vilkas snorted a laugh. "Does it smell bad?"

"It's Dragonbane. Delphine was wielding it. Against me. I think it's going to take a walk in the Aetherium Forge along with the Night Mother's remains."

Vilkas took the sword from her then the scabbard from the Grandmaster's corpse, sheathing the blade then tossing on the table, unable to help finding his beloved's offense a bit amusing. So very much the dragon at times, that woman. He watched her start looking through the bodies to pocket gold and jewelry, and he chuckled to himself and left her to it while he wandered over to look at Alduin's Wall. By Ysmir, it was impressive! There was little he had seen in his life that was more impressive than this, and to think it had been carved so long ago, all the way back in the First Era. Magnificent.

He walked to the far left of the panel to start at the beginning, feeling a touch of regret that the Blades were now wiped out, and their lore gone with them. Gaius would find records, perhaps, if the fanatics hadn't destroyed them. There had been no old man among the slain, but the Archivist Esbern could have died before today, elderly as he was. It was a shame, but better to have the entire lot wiped out than have them pose an ongoing threat. That the entire group had blindly followed Delphine like this was still hard to believe, but if she had convinced them it was their holy duty or some such rubbish… Well, they had gotten what they deserved for planning to murder the High Queen of Skyrim. Vilkas was at a loss as to what they thought would happen after that, though…though he supposed without the Dragonborn keeping the dragons on their best behavior they might revert back to their old ways, and who would be there to save the day but the old Dragonguard, who had proven they could take down dragons? With Bryn out of the way they could finish hunting them all down, and have the people's blessing to do so. It made a sick sort of sense, though it was a stretch. Vilkas knew that many people did question the Queen's decision to leave the remaining dragons alive, and in many cases outright disapproved. The mutters were much fewer after the war, or maybe they were just more discreet.

He heard Bryn's soft footsteps come up behind him then the weight of her hand on his shoulder. "Tell me about the carvings," he requested eagerly. She grumbled, and when he glanced at her she was wincing slightly. "You didn't pay attention, did you," he sighed.

"I was angry that day," Bryn replied, with only a touch of apology. "I had gotten shot by Forsworn and had just fought a dragon, at the same time. Delphine kept staring at me, lecturing me, Esbern wouldn't stop mumbling… I had to slice my hand just to open the front door. Once closed the blood seal can't be broken from the outside by any but a Dragonborn." The giant stone head of Reman Cyrodiil was probably closed right now. In fact Gaius, Athis and Argis most likely couldn't get in. She patted her husband's shoulder and said, "Let's fetch the men then we can take our time looking around. Honestly, I haven't seen much of this place either."

As expected, the three men were waiting in the open-air cavern where the spiral seal sat, along with four more dead Blades. All three turned looks of concern on the damage to her armor and what was obviously her own blood staining it. Athis knew her well enough to let it be, while Argis glanced at Vilkas first to see if he should be concerned, and saw that he shouldn't. Gaius however was Gaius, and the three older men watched as the younger one hurried to his Queen and began checking her over, berating her for not being more careful. This lasted all of ten seconds before Bryn's expression hardened and she turned on her heel and strode back inside the Temple.

"My lord!" the young Imperial said to Vilkas in a plaintive tone as he turned to him. The Harbinger stared at him unhelpfully. "Sir, honestly! This is unacceptable!"

"Unacceptable, is it?" he drawled. He saw Athis and Argis glance at each other. "Which part of it are you having trouble accepting?"

"The part where the High Queen put herself in this kind of danger. The part where Her Majesty is covered in blood and her armor is clearly damaged."

Vilkas' nostrils flared as the Imperial's eyes flicked over his own ebony plate, untouched by anything but a few flecks of blood. The young man took a step back as Vilkas' lips pursed and his eyes narrowed, his expression going hard and cold. "What are you implying, whelp?" he asked slowly.

"I…well, I'm…certain there's a good reason," he stammered.

Athis said in contempt, "Boy seems a bit dense, doesn't he." Argis grunted in wary agreement. The Dunmer went on to Gaius, "What do you think the Harbinger did, fool, stand around watching while his own wife fought off the Blades on her own?" The young man swallowed, not taking his eyes off Vilkas, who stared back at him with a look that was utterly chilling. After nearly half a minute of silent tension the Harbinger's upper lip twitched in a sneer then he turned away and went inside. Once Vilkas was gone the Elf asked, "How in Oblivion did you survive here before, with a mouth like yours?"

Argis stated, "Had his Pa holding his hand, most likely."

Gaius drew himself up and said in embarrassed offense, "I assure you he did not." He was rather impressed that he had kept the quaver out of his voice, for the most part. He was an Imperial officer, a full member of the Penitus Oculatus, and an accomplished warrior in his own right, and he was most certainly not a whelp, boy or fool. Well, a bit of a fool, maybe, if he kept managing to anger everyone. He thought he understood Nords. He thought he understood people, in general. And yet from the moment he put himself into the Dragonborn's service he'd felt like a wet-behind-the-ears pup, and not because of her but the people around her. She had been more patient with him than he had expected, but obviously that patience was at an end. Maybe he didn't understand the folk up here the way he believed he did.

The housecarl shook his head and said, "You could tell the Queen was fine, but you got in her face and got after her. Dumb move, kid." He shook his head again then headed inside.

"You scolded the Dragonborn for doing what she has always done," Athis went on to the young man. "You implied she was incapable of protecting herself, or fixing herself up afterward. Do you think your father scolded the Emperor during the war for fighting?" He didn't want to be the one to have to snap the boy into line, but perhaps there was no one else in the Queen's inner circle who could, and the Companions were in that group, all of them. Bryn trusted every Companion the way only shield-siblings could trust each other. They were family, heart-kin. If he could get the whelp straightened out then he would.

Gaius said in a miserable voice, "I was sent up here to protect her."

"She _told_ you. On the way to the mine, remember? Protect her from the things she doesn't see, the things she has no experience with. A head-on fight, swords and arrows…she sees those, she can deal with those. She's been dealing with those for years now. You're here to see what lurks in the shadows and protect her from that." He folded his arms. "What you did implied that her judgment was faulty and her abilities inadequate, then you had the gall to imply that the Harbinger let her get injured through negligence." The Imperial winced hard at that. It was good to see things were finally getting through.

"That was not my intent."

"Pay less attention to your intent and more to how your words and actions will be taken. You managed within the space of thirty seconds to offend and anger the two most powerful people in this province. You've been with them a little over two weeks and you've managed to irritate not only them but everyone around them." He paused. "Maybe not Erandur. He's an odd one."

"But…" The young man deflated. "I don't know what she wants me to do."

Athis shrugged. "Ask her, instead of assuming. Your father sees to the Emperor's protection, and the Emperor is used to it. He was raised to expect it. But this isn't Cyrodiil. Skyrim isn't anything like the other provinces. Sure, you were stationed here with your father. You think you know Nords. Let me tell you, boy…you do not know Nords." From the look on Gaius' face it was truly starting to sink in. The Dunmer continued in his gruff way, "That the Dragonborn deals with important matters personally means much to the people here. She doesn't spare herself and they know it. Any Nord, any citizen of Skyrim, can appeal directly to her for aid or judgment, if their Jarl won't suffice. But you already knew that."

"Yes," the young man muttered, his face warm. Well, he had brought this on himself.

"Nords are not stupid. I shouldn't have to tell you that, either. They're quiet about their smarts, don't rub others' noses in it. You see big louts in war paint and furs and think they're savages. So did I, at first. But when things get hairy there's no one I'd rather have at my back, and if a Nord gives you their word then they mean exactly what they say. They never let down a friend or a neighbor if they can help it, but they never forget a slight, either. They're not warm folk at first, if you're an outlander, any more than my people are, but once you're in their good graces they'll treat you like kin." Athis motioned towards him with his chin. "You…you are not in _anyone's_ good graces. You are still an outlander, and if you keep going the way you are you will find your bags packed for you and a horse waiting to take you back to the Imperial City, mark my words."

Gaius rubbed the back of his neck, anxious. He wasn't fool enough to protest any of what the mer had said. He had been ordered up here by not only his father but the Emperor himself, and if he was sent back for offending the High Queen and the Harbinger the blame wouldn't fall on anyone but him. His father would be deeply disappointed in him and he'd be lucky to be allowed to dig latrines for the Legion after that. He finally asked, "How do you m—" He caught himself.

Athis snorted in derision. "How does a Dark Elf like me manage to fit in, is that it?" Gaius grimaced. "It's a valid question. I'm not even human, am I? Ah, but that's the thing: _you_ are. You're held to a higher standard. No one expects you to be a Nord, but they expect you to honor their ways and understand where they're coming from. One of the greatest men I ever knew told me that I had the heart of a Nord, and perhaps I do, but I still have the soul of a Dunmer. I pay homage to my ancestors as best I can and hold to the wisdom of Azura. In battle I call for Lord Nerevar to guide my hand, even if he never lived up to all the promises he made the Tribes. I haven't given up what I am to live among Nords. No one is asking you to, either."

"What would you suggest I do?"

"You could start by keeping your trap shut at least ten seconds past when your brain is telling you to open it. No, make it fifteen."

Gaius' expression soured but he nodded. "All right."

"Ask the Dragonborn what she wants you to do, then do it. Unless she's missing a limb, don't fuss over her. Sure, her armor was bloody and full of holes, and the Harbinger's wasn't. That's only because she killed most of them herself before he even touched the ground. Vilkas stayed at her side all of last year and you _know_ that. They were a two-person war machine. Mer saw them coming and ran for their lives. You insulted them both gravely today."

"Ye gods," the young man breathed, closing his eyes.

Athis said in a wry tone, "I'd strongly advise against groveling after this. I can see that you want to. You'll piss them off. Apologize and promise to do better. And then _do_ it. Stop reacting and start thinking."

The young Imperial nodded, and the Dunmer left at that, thank the Divines, and went into the Temple. He had never heard so many words come out of any Dark Elf's mouth, and the mer was not Skyrim-born and –raised. Gaius could tell by his accent and speech patterns that he wasn't. He wasn't all that young either, at least fifty if he was a day, from the facial hair he sported. In the end it didn't matter really; the mer was right. He had known the Queen for four years and the Harbinger for well over a decade and both considered him not only a trusted associate but a friend.

He braced himself and went inside, and when he saw the Dragonborn and her husband by Alduin's Wall he veered that direction. He didn't fear dismissal, and honestly even if he did ever push the royal couple that far they wouldn't be harsh about it, but he wanted to avoid that at all costs.

Well, Vilkas might be a little harsh about it. The Harbinger's steely gaze landed on Gaius when he was halfway across the room and his insides nearly liquified. The man was full of contradictions that made people who didn't know him well feel off-balance. He was well-read, well-spoken, but had been what amounted to a mercenary most of his adult life, raised in a hall of mercenaries, taught to wield a sword before he could write his own name. He handled his infant son tenderly and was warmly affectionate with his wife, but in the next moment could become so coldly angry that you feared for your life. Still, Gaius would rather face an enraged Harbinger than an enraged Dragonborn. Vilkas' anger was frosty and controlled; the Queen's furious roaring a short while ago had made the foundations of the Temple quake. Her mad retribution after her husband's death had soaked half a mile of coastline in blood.

 _Talos sustain me_ , he thought fearfully as she slowly turned her head to look over her shoulder at him, and he approached the two with his chin up and back straight. The Queen sighed and shook her head slightly as she turned back to the wall, as if taking pity on him, but there was no such forgiveness in the Prince.

As the young man neared Vilkas sneered, "This had better be good, whelp."

Gaius winced and had to resist the urge to go to one knee, knowing it would only irritate the older man further. He cleared his throat then said with only a hint of a quaver, "I ask your forgiveness, my lord, my Queen."

"Is that so," Vilkas snapped.

Bryn sighed, "Beloved, I don't think that's necessary."

"You are too soft on him," he told her, his eyes never leaving the Colovian. "He has caused problems the entire time he has been in your service. What should stop me from believing he will continue to do so?" He narrowed his eyes at the young man and said to him in a biting tone, "You have constantly insulted Ralof and Erik's intelligence, you have spoken down to Borgakh and Elluhrine, you have been dismissive of my ward and the Queen's handmaiden, you have practically ignored Erandur and Athis, and today, _today_ , you have the audacity to not only scold the High Queen of Skyrim and cast doubt on her capabilities but to question my devotion to my wife's well-being. Be glad I am not a man of casual violence, boy, or we would be sending home what is left of you in your helmet."

Gaius instantly went down to one knee, his fist over his chest. He could nearly feel his heart hammering through the armor. "I beg forgiveness, my lord," he whispered.

"No. Not that easy. Get off your damn knees and stop acting like a milk drinker." Vilkas heard a sound of exasperation from his wife, and he shook his head at her, saying, "No. He is not a child. If he cannot handle a simple dressing-down then he is of no use to us. Farkas and I were already members of the Circle at his age. Ralof was a lieutenant in Ulfric's army at his age. No, I have no more patience for his bullshit. He will toe the line from now on or I do not want him in our household."

Bryn nodded slowly. "That is fair," she conceded. Vilkas was within his rights to be angry, and he was very angry. Maybe she had allowed the situation to go on for longer than she should have. Gaius was still on the ground, trembling with nerves, and she quietly, firmly told him, "Get up, Gaius." He shakily rose to his feet and tore his eyes away from Vilkas to look at her. "While I am glad you've seen the error of your ways, I consider you on probation. I can't afford a source of discord in my inner circle."

"Yes Dragonborn," Gaius murmured. "I will no longer be that source, I swear it."

"Good, because I like your father, and it would make me unhappy to see him disappointed in you." The young man flinched. The elder Maro was always a sure way to get to the young man. She added in a harder tone, "This inner circle of mine, Gaius…it's my family. It's the extended family that I have gathered around me, and when you offend them you offend me. I would like you to become part of that family, but so far I haven't had much hope of that happening."

He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. "Yes Dragonborn," he whispered.

"We will talk of this further tonight. Go help Athis and Argis search the rest of the Temple."

"Yes Dragonborn."

The young bowed then fled, and Vilkas made a sputtering sound as he sneered at his back. "I mean it, Brynhilde," the Harbinger vowed. "Today was the final straw."

"I agree, dearest." He blew out a long breath, a scowl on his handsome face. She went on, "If it's any consolation—"

"Not likely."

"I think he'll do better from now on." Vilkas grunted in reply. She fought not to let a small smile creep onto her face. He was angry with good reason, but there had always been something adorable about her husband being grumpy, though he couldn't hold a candle to Ulfric in that regard. Feeling a pang of grief, Bryn moved closer to her spouse and put her hand on his cheek, and as she hoped he would he softened, taking her hand in his and holding it to his chest. He gave her a hint of a smile and she sighed in relief and kissed him tenderly. She felt that same aching swell of love that she had earlier after their coupling. Such a glorious man.

Vilkas chuckled at the look on her face, the rest of his anger ebbing. He stroked a finger under her chin and asked, "Does someone need to get bent over another table?" She burst into laughter, the sound ringing off the stone walls. It was good to hear her laugh. The look of sadness on her face had been brief, but it was always a given what, or who, was the cause. It was hard to believe that it hadn't been a full year yet since Ulfric had been lost. The anniversary would be hard, for a lot of people, but still Bryn was able to laugh, able to push past the loss most of the time, and able to love Vilkas fully now.

"You are a silly, silly man."

He kissed by her ear then murmured into it, "You didn't think I was silly when I was making you scream loud enough to bring the Temple down." She giggled with a shiver, a girlish reaction that was incongruous with the bloody armor she wore, but it was one he relished all the same. He had hoped for so long that things could be this way again between them, all the while certain they would never be.

The sound of heavy boots hurrying into the main chamber pulled their attention away from each other, and Argis cleared his throat before saying in a tone of dread, "My Queen, milord, you'd better come see this."

Bryn nodded and the two of them headed over to the obviously worried housecarl. She asked, "What is it? Traps?"

"No. We found someone. Alive."

Her stride faltered for a second as she heard a sound of disbelief from her husband. "That's impossible. I checked with a Shout." The Shout to detect life extended far enough to encompass the entire structure and saw through walls. There had been no one left alive after she and Vilkas were done other than Argis, Gaius and Athis.

"I don't doubt that, my lady." He fell into step on her other side then continued, "It's an old man. Crippled, bedridden. He seems weak, so…"

"Maybe." It pleased her that Argis had reasoned that out, unfamiliar with magic as he had to be, and much as Nords liked to ignore the fact, the thu'um was magic. Still, even weak, Aura Whisper should have detected the old man, and it wasn't hard to guess who he was.

The housecarl led them back into one of the barracks rooms, where Gaius was propping the elder up in bed for a drink of water while Athis looked on. Esbern had been thin the last time she had seen him, but healthy; now he looked skeletal and didn't have the strength to even hold the cup. His eyes were watery and seemed to have trouble focusing, though his gaze tracked her as she neared. There was no fear in his expression as she knelt by the bed, but seeing his apparent health Bryn had to wonder if he would be grateful for a quick end. She could smell that he was unclean, could smell hints of sickness. No elder should have been left like this!

"Dragonborn," Esbern rasped, then let out a coughing laugh. "Excuse me if I'm unable to pay the proper respects."

"Are you wounded?" she asked in a tight voice. "Did they harm you?"

"Wounded…" He coughed into his fist. "Other than a few bedsores, no. Everything else healed long ago."

"I can heal those," she offered, trying to keep a rein on her temper. This was appallingly inhumane. She felt a touch on her shoulder then Athis was pressing a potion into her hand, one for curing disease. She passed it to Gaius then asked, "What happened here? Did Delphine lose her damn mind?"

"Oh, she lost that long ago," he said with a laugh that was more a wheeze than anything. He drank down the potion with the young man's help, then the tingling warmth of a healing spell wrapped around him. He breathed in relief then said, "She nearly did it, didn't she. Murdered the Dragonborn, and for what?"

Vilkas stated, "That is what we all would like to know."

"To be rid of dragons once and for all," Esbern replied, in a tone that made it seem that it should have been self-evident. "The Dragonborn's purpose is to hunt dragons, and instead she is protecting them. Delphine couldn't let that stand."

"But the Empire," Bryn began.

Esbern sputtered and rolled his eyes as Gaius lowered him back to the bed. "The Empire betrayed the Blades. Delphine cares, _cared_ , nothing for the Empire. She cared nothing for Skyrim or your child or husband or anything but exterminating the dragons." He shook his head. "Perhaps there was always part of the Blades who were keeping watch for their return, a sect within the order, stretching back to the Dragonguard, who put that calling above all others. That is not the order _I_ was part of. My order's duty was to serve the Dragonborn."

Bryn frowned and stated, "You turned your back on me, Esbern. When I wouldn't kill Paarthurnax. You two put _demands_ on me. You were supposed to serve and protect me, and yet you made demands, on _me_ , as if our roles were reversed. You couldn't possibly have believed that I would tolerate that."

"Oh no, of course I didn't, Dragonborn. But you must understand, Paarthurnax is Alduin's brother. What is there to stop him from taking his brother's place, now that Alduin is gone?"

"What stops any of us from doing wrong? My humanity stops me. Love stops me. Paarthurnax's pity for mortals keeps him in check, along with his reverence for Kyne and the Way of the Voice. If he hasn't turned by now I doubt there's much that would drive him to it, and frankly I don't think he has it in him any longer. If you had seen him you would know." Tattered and gray, missing half his teeth…she cared for the _Wuth Gein_ , but in his condition he wasn't any more of a threat than most other dragons. Even if he started feeding again he would never be what he once was.

"I will have to take your word for that, Dragonborn." He smiled at her. "Ah, but it soothes something in me to see you here and know you are well. Some of the younger Dragonguard took pity on me and kept me apprised of your doings. I wept when I heard that the Dominion had been eradicated. I thought perhaps that might warm Delphine towards you again, but she cared little for the news that our hunters were finally dead. Her focus on the dragons was an obsession."

"She killed one of my brothers, that I know of. I promised them that if they behaved that I would protect them, and she made a liar of me, Esbern. I couldn't even be there to collect the soul and keep it safe."

"Well, to a dragon retribution is the next best thing. Delphine is dead and the last of the old Dragonguard is destroyed. Once I go, and I don't see that being far off, the Blades will be gone, for good." He closed his eyes, aggrieved. "I tried to reason with her," he whispered. "We would argue until both of us were exhausted, and there was no reasoning with her. She said you would end up another Tiber Septim, another dragon full of itself, bent on conquest, using the Ruby Throne to stoke your ambitions, surrounding yourself with consorts and supplicants. She knew you spent time in Skuldafn, with the dragons. She heard about their use during the war and believed it was only a matter of time before you turned the dragons on others, as Tiber Septim did. He also had a red dragon as his pet, did you know that? Nafaalilargus. Your close association with Odahviing caused her a great deal of distress."

Bryn sat back on her heels and stared at the wall over the old man's bed, a stunned expression on her face. Vilkas couldn't blame her. She had always believed Odahviing to be the only red dragon who had ever lived. He moved behind his wife and the old man's rheumy eyes moved up to him then lit up as a broad smile cracked his wrinkled face.

Esbern murmured, "Ah, will you look at that… I haven't seen such armor since I was a young lad. A princely armor, for certain."

"Can you walk?" Vilkas asked. Gods knew how long the old man had been left to languish in this bed, and just why was he in bed? Everything _else_ had healed long ago?

"Oh, I think not, but…I wouldn't be ungrateful for fresh clothing and bedding."

Bryn felt a hot surge of offended fury go through her that made her close her eyes for a moment. It was monstrous how Esbern had been treated. How had Delphine's obsession gotten so completely away from her that she had allowed this to happen? Bryn had seen how moved the woman had been to see the old man again. And here Esbern was with his kindly tone, acting as if he didn't want to be a bother.

She heard the creak of armor and sensed her husband's big presence behind her a moment before the weight of his hand on her back, though she couldn't feel the warmth of it through dragon scale. " _Bruniikke_ ," she hissed.

" _Geh, ahrk nust los dilon_ ," he stated. He turned his head to Gaius and looked between him and Athis as he said, "Let us do what we can to make him comfortable. We will move him somewhere warm, with a fireplace." The two men nodded in assent and took off. As he looked at the elder he had to spare a moment's relief that Kodlak had gone in battle and hadn't been reduced to this. If a man lived his life right he would die in bed, in peace, surrounded by family, but this was barbaric, and Kodlak's end would have been painful and drawn out. When he glanced at the old man Esbern was watching him intently, and he headed off the inevitable question. "Yes, I know the dragon tongue."

"Ah. I know some of it," Esbern said with interest. "It's a shame I will never have a full understanding of the language."

Bryn opened her eyes and said in a rough voice, "I want the Blades rebuilt. Are you really the only one left?"

"The only one you'll ever get out of hiding," he said with regret, "and I'm afraid my time is limited. Delphine…she, well. I cannot walk. She made sure of it. I'm afraid the enforced immobility hasn't been kind to my health." The Dragonborn's nostrils flared as her gaze flicked to his legs, then his feet, then up again. "She had my knees broken. Quite painful, as you probably guessed. We had a falling out, you see. Last winter, after you had returned from Cyrodiil. She was adamant that you had to be killed. I of course was vehemently against this, as was one of the newer recruits, what was his name…ah yes, Derkeethus. She killed him, in front of the others. As a lesson."

"Oh no," Bryn whispered. He had been a kind being, an Argonian miner from Darkwater Crossing that she had rescued from a Falmer-infested cave system near the waterfall, when the folk in town had reported him missing when she passed through. He had still been there two years ago during a small trip she and Ulfric had taken with Rikke and Galmar to the volcanic tundra, to briefly get away from Windhelm. The vacation had been short but pleasant, the two older men fishing in the lake under Hadvar and Ralof's guard while Rikke and Bryn had taken Anneke Crag-Jumper up to the fort to clean out a gang of bandits that were plaguing the area. Derkeethus had been happy to see her again and had made it clear that if she ever needed anything at all that he was at her service.

"He refused to have any part in killing your dragons or luring you here," Esbern said sadly. "I suppose I should feel lucky that Delphine didn't murder me out of hand as she did the poor lad. Perhaps out of some lingering loyalty, or some sense that I might still be useful. She wanted me to train the Khajiit, as a replacement. He quickly grew bored with the task." He closed his eyes and sighed, and the sound was full of despair. "So much will be lost," he whispered. "So much."

Vilkas took a deep breath then impulsively stated, "You will teach me, and Gaius." His wife stiffened as the old man's eyes shot open. He lifted his chin and said, "I cannot bear the thought of knowledge, any knowledge, being lost forever. This is something… I feel I must do this."

"All right," Bryn murmured, once the shock wore off. She had intended Gaius to rebuild the Blades, if it could be done, if it even seemed practical to do. That Vilkas was offering was deeply surprising. Gaius would be part of it of course; he was nearly twenty years younger than Vilkas and would be the true inheritor of all this. If he had managed to pull his head out of his ass once and for all, that was. But Vilkas…yes, Vilkas. Her husband was fiercely intelligent and capable, and this was a challenge worthy of him. Divines knew he had little of real substance to keep him occupied when she was busy. Bryn had often worried, off and on, little moments here and there, that he would be unable to continue being Harbinger from Windhelm for much longer. He was managing so far, but it was obviously inconvenient, conducting business like that. If Bryn had any say, and she didn't, Mjoll would take the position, one that had become much more one of leadership than counsel since Vilkas had assumed it. Mjoll managed the Companions' day to day business with Vignar's input, while Lydia managed the hall and Farkas learned to master the Skyforge. At this point Vilkas was really only Harbinger in name, but Bryn would be the last to bring that up.

"It is something that needs to be done," he explained further.

"Yes," she agreed. And that was that. She looked up at Argis, the blond still standing silent guard at the end of the bed. "We will be moving the household here for the time being," she told him. "It might be an extended stay."

Argis bowed to her and said, "I'll take care of everything, my lady." _Talk about feast or famine_ , he thought as he hurried off. It had been years on end with nothing to do and now the last few days were more than making up for it. As a housecarl he knew exactly what needed doing, and he would finally be allowed to do it. The place was probably supplied well enough with food, but he would have to take stock of what was on hand and figure out what was needed, get the bodies taken care of and the mess cleaned up. He'd have to get a handle on the Temple's defenses, all possible means of entrance and exit, especially with that vampire girl still running loose. Gaius could help with that, since it was his damn job, and like it or not the kid was good at it. The situation here was grim, but he wasn't above being happy that it gave him more than plenty to do.

Bryn snorted a soft laugh at the poorly-hidden delight in Argis' eyes, then she turned back to Esbern. The old man was watching her with that same focus as before. She remembered his delight the day the Temple had been reopened, at seeing a Dragonborn absorb a soul and Shout, and how it had annoyed her, and now all she could feel was terribly sad. She took his hand, mindful of how frail he was, and he smiled and gave her a weak squeeze. "I appreciate that you defended me, you and Derkeethus," she said softly. "I'm sorry you paid the price."

"I'm alive, am I not?" the old man replied. "For how long, only the gods can say. Long enough to pass on what I know, one can hope. I'm glad though, that I lived to see this day." His expression grew pained. "We were rebuilding the order," he stressed. "Fourteen Blades, when a few years ago there were only the two of us. You will be Empress one day, there is a new Dragonborn bloodline to guard, to give us purpose again, and all she could see was the dragons. Such a waste, such a waste…"

She sat holding Esbern's hand as the elder drifted off to sleep, then she laid it next to him and rose to her feet, her husband rising with her. He took her arm and led her out into the hallway then softly said, "I will stay here while you take the dragon back to Markarth. He can't be left alone."

"I agree," she replied. "Just…please stay on your toes, until we get back. That bloodsucking little monster is still out there." Some days she wished she had gone to Serana and Valerica and set the two pureblooded vampires on the task of hunting down Babette. The two women had stated that they owed Bryn, and they did, but they weren't any better equipped for the task than she was. Once she reached Solitude she would see if Sybille Stentor had a Clairvoyance spell tome for sale so she could begin the task of hunting down the vampire girl in earnest. Lydia had insisted that Bryn send for her at that time so she could be in on it, and she wasn't going to deny her best friend that. Babette had nearly taken the lives of two of the men who were dearest to her, and as long as the creature was out there she wouldn't rest easy. She set the sun rune at the outer doors of any house she stayed in along with the door to her bedroom every night, and it would be a happy day when she could stop doing that.

"You can be certain I will, dear." He kissed his wife, and when he broke away he asked, "Are you sure this doesn't bother you?"

"It absolutely does not," she answered firmly, knowing what he meant. "Maybe you would be the best person for this, _ahmuli_. For a number of reasons. It's…fitting." It would certainly be a fitting legacy for him, beyond being Harbinger of the Companions, or the father of her children. It turned her stomach to think of that second part being the lens that he was viewed through in the history books. He was her husband, her partner, not a male concubine, and that Delphine thought that she might take other lovers in the future as some sort of divine right…

A shudder went through her as the _Vennesetiid_ pressed against her, and the blond-haired butterfly child danced across her vision, the sprightly daughter with Ralof's smile. She distantly heard the soft whisper of her name from Vilkas and she ignored it, knowing he would let her be if she didn't answer. She couldn't answer. The thought of telling him about the child, about the child's _father_ for Mara's sake… No. She had ignored that leaf in the stream since telling Lydia about it, and had deliberately put it out of mind since Vilkas had taken her back. That was exactly how it had been, too: it had been Vilkas' choice, Vilkas' call, to bring them back together. Telling him about that future child would put too much on him, make it seem as if it was up to him to bring the child into being, because she still couldn't see how it would happen. She loved Ralof dearly, as a close friend, as a younger brother, and that was all, no matter how handsome he was. She knew that was all, but how…how…

She followed the skein of Time that led to the child, as she hadn't dared to before, ran the thread through her fingers and examined it… _How, tell me how!_ she demanded, and suddenly there it was: Siga leaving Ralof to finally become a full priestess of Kynareth, taking Danica's place in the Temple in Whiterun, called to the Divine's service; Ralof's feelings of betrayal and heartache; Vilkas and Bryn trying to lift his spirits with an evening of drinks and dice; too much drink on everyone's part, long association and too much familiarity and the complacency of fifteen years of marriage and sympathy for Ralof's tears and a comforting embrace gone too far…

And always in the back of her mind would be that golden child, dancing with Fjonnar and laughing, with a voice like a lark. They would name her after Ulfric, _Ulfrika_ , and she would be a whirlwind of a girl, blue-eyed, dimple-cheeked, famed for her beauty and her voice, a bard, no, a skald, traveling to every corner of Tamriel, hunting giant scorpions in the Alik'r Desert of Hammerfell and running through the trees of Valenwood with the Imga. She would be as famous in her own right as her mother, on her own terms, never settling down, always moving, her life one long adventure.

And Ralof. _Ralof_. He would swear he'd never get involved with anyone ever again, but how easy it would be for that night to stay hovering between the three of them, and after all there was a child involved, wasn't there? And Vilkas would love him as a brother by that point, and Vilkas was often gone, and who better to keep Bryn company than the man they both loved dearly, who was family, who was always there? And how could she blame Vilkas for that, for putting aside whatever jealousy he felt, for doing this out of love, as Ulfric had once offered? Vilkas was straight as an arrow, and Ulfric hadn't been, but much the same motive would be there, because after all, the Dragonborn had a certain nature, didn't they?

" _Nid_ ," she whispered. " _Neh. Nii nis kos_." This would not do. This would not do at all. The child was precious, tempting. She would bring joy. But she would bring hurt, a hurt that would linger, that would be a tiny wound festering at the center of Vilkas' heart, a seed of guilt in her own that would only grow with time. No, there would be no real complication, as she had foreseen before, and Vilkas would never allow it to be an issue between them, but that didn't make it right. It had been arrogant to contemplate letting this child come about, Bryn saw that now, now that she was allowing herself to fully examine the matter, even if the timing was not ideal to do so. It had been arrogant and selfish to even allow the probability of the child. She had been in a bad place that night, a confusing place, a lonely place, but now she was not, and the child…the child needed to go. The girl simply could not be allowed to come into existence. The world would have been richer for her presence, but the potential cost to Vilkas and their marriage was too high.

The leaf was plucked, the skein snipped, the delightful tangle that was the unlooked-for daughter removed, and Bryn let the child go with a swell of loss that lasted for but a moment as the future memories dispersed, the complication avoided, along with the hurt. The only pain now was her own, and it was already fading with the possibility gone. While it was tempting to warn Ralof in some vague way, his future problems with Siga were his own, and Bryn would be vigilant when the time came. She grasped the amulet of Akatosh, murmuring, " _Bormahi, Zu'u los hin kogaan aar_." The sensation of rightness came to her, the feeling of purpose fulfilled, the sense of an arrow dodged.

Bryn blinked and looked up at Vilkas, her eyes gaining focus again as the golden aura blinked out. She stared at him for a moment then smiled and stroked his face, lightly running her fingerstips along his brow. He didn't ask what she had seen, tempting as it was. She would tell him if it was important, and when she didn't and seemed fine he let it go. "Everything fine?" he asked.

"Absolutely," she said in a fervent tone. She took his face in her hands and kissed him deeply. " _Hi los zok fariik wah zey_."

"Ah, woman," Vilkas sighed. "I love you."

"And I, you." She let go of him and checked over her armor, murmuring, "I'm leaving Athis and Gaius here and taking Argis up with me." The armor was not in good shape, not at all. She had the Dwemer metal and dragon scales to repair it while in Markarth, but not the time, and she had the feeling that Jarl Thongvor wanted to see the back of her sooner rather than later. They would have headed to Hjaalmarch next, to visit Morthal then stay for a bit at Windstad Manor, but it seemed she would need to change plans and go to Solitude first. Beirand's forge would be good enough for repairs, and there was material enough stored in Proudspire Manor for it.

"Eh, fine," he relented. Someone needed to start cleaning up the bodies, and help Vilkas take care of Esbern. He dreaded lifting that blanket and seeing what condition the old man was really in. He kissed his wife's forehead. "Try not to give Argis a heart attack. I think he's a bit overwhelmed right now." Bryn grimaced guiltily and he had to chuckle at it. The poor man was getting all the action he had missed thrown at him all at once, but he was handling it well.

Bryn gave her husband a parting smile then headed down the hall, feeling satisfied, or satisfied enough. The business was Esbern was appalling, but Delphine had always had an almost psychotic ruthlessness to her. It was a good survival trait, but that was about all it was good for.

She fetched her gauntlets from the long table, surveying the carnage as she pulled them on. When Argis came out from the direction of the kitchens she clapped her hands together and headed for the stairs. "You're with me, Argis," she stated.

"I…" He choked on the words, finally settling for a strangled, "Yes my Queen." He took back everything he had complained to himself about the last few years. He took back every goddamn word.

* * *

**Art by Shutterbones (Tumblr/DeviantArt)**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul translations:  
> Kulaansedov - Prince of Dragons  
> Hi fen ni mah, grohiik kulaan – You will not fall, wolf prince  
> Geh, Zu'u ov hi - Yes, I trust you  
> Ov ek – Trust her  
> Lok los un, zeymah! – The sky is ours, brother!  
> Lok Gaard Raald, kulaani. Mu nir Dovahdaan! - Sky Haven Temple, my prince. We hunt (the) Dragonguard!  
> Geh, Judi – Yes, my Queen  
> Lokaal hi ahk, grohiiki – (I) love you too, my wolf  
> Joor - mortal  
> Zu'u praag zuk! – I need more  
> Nust los pah dilon – They are all dead  
> Dreh ni haalvut zey! - Do not touch me!  
> Sahvotnu - Faithless  
> Koraavnu, hinzaal mey! - Blind, stupid fool!  
> Hi fen helt daar, kiim - You will stop this, wife  
> Ahmul - husband  
> Geh, hin ahmul – Yes, your husband  
> Dii tozeinvu ahrk fariik liin. Tozeinvu fah zey - My perfect and precious mate. Perfect for me  
> Nunon gein fah zey, qulek ahrk gaat – (the) Only one for me, lock and key  
> wuth kodaav – old bear  
> grohiiki – my wolf  
> Wuth Gein – Old One  
> Bruniikke - Savages  
> Geh, ahrk nust los dilon – Yes, and they are dead  
> Vennesetiid – Winds/Currents of Time  
> Nid. Neh. Nii nis kos - No. Never. It cannot be  
> Bormah, Zu'u los hin kogaan aar - Father, I am your grateful servant  
> Hi los zok fariik wah zey - You are most precious to me


	82. Chapter 82

"By the Nine, I detest this place," Vilkas muttered. His dislike of Dawnstar was rivaled only by his dislike of its Jarl. Skald was by and far the most worthless leader any of the holds had. The capitol itself was little more than a fishing village, though a busy one this time of year. The bay was full of boats and the docks were a flurry of activity; now that there was peace, merchants often came from many of the inland settlements of Skyrim to buy fish right off the ship. The other coastal cities and villages had their own fishing fleets, other than Winterhold which had no harbor, though their fledgling shellfish farms were now starting to show real promise. The idea of 'farming' oysters was something Vilkas found incredibly odd, but he wasn't above admitting he wanted to take a look when they got there.

Bryn stated, "We're staying just long enough to deal with matters, then we're off again." She was more than ready to go home, exhausted from not only traveling with an infant but being constantly vigilant against Babette. Every night she set the sun runes and not once had they been set off, but that made the anxiety worse in some intangible way. She hadn't seen even a hint of the little vampire girl and neither had any of her entourage, and letters from Lydia said the same.

Bryn's former housecarl was due to join them here in Dawnstar any day now, so that Lydia could personally see to dispatching the monster who had nearly been the death of her husband. The Queen didn't fool herself that her stake in this was any greater; no matter how she loved Ralof, it wasn't and would never be the way Lydia loved Farkas.

Farkas and Jergen would be staying in Jorrvaskr while Lydia was away, as safe as could be expected. Bryn just hoped Lydia took a great deal of care in traveling up here alone. And Babette _was_ here, the Clairvoyance spell pointing unerringly to Dawnstar since they left Solitude, and if they couldn't corner the creature here then Bryn was going to have to call in her one remaining trump card and contact Serana and her mother and ask the Daughters of Coldharbour to hunt Babette down. That was something she was not at all keen to do. The last thing she needed or wanted was Isran on her doorstep griping about her 'collusion' with vampires.

They climbed down from the carriage, baby Fjonnar sleeping tight in his sling against his mother's chest, the climate truly cold this far north even in summer, though not any worse than Windhelm's ever-present chill. He would be guarded closely by Borgakh, Vilkas, and Erik; Ralof was recovered for the most part and itching to get at the little fiend and would be going to the Sanctuary with Bryn, along with Lydia and Argis, while Erandur was up at Nightcaller Temple, or rather the Tower of the Dawn, seeing to the shrine of Mara there.

Their group however was missing four of its members on this leg of the trip, and Bryn did miss them, keenly. She had gotten used to being surrounded by a number of followers rather quickly, a situation that still surprised her a bit. She had always preferred to have someone with her in the old days, of course, usually Lydia, and had enjoyed working closely in a pair, only venturing alone when she'd felt compelled to. She never had liked being alone even while growing up in the Imperial City, but she had assumed when she started this trip that being constantly attended would make her feel edgy or annoyed. She was relieved to find that it had in fact been the exact opposite.

Of their four missing members, she couldn't say who she missed most. It was how much she missed Gaius' presence at her side that was most astonishing, as often as he had annoyed her, but the young Colovian had thrown himself into being what he thought Bryn and Vilkas wanted, and she had to admit it was an improvement. He had watched his tongue more closely since the day of his dressing down, asked more questions to avoid misunderstandings and assumptions, and tensions had lowered dramatically as a result. Granted, it had only been the space of a week before Bryn's group had needed to move on to Hjaalmarch, so it was hard to say if the changes would stick, but she was willing to give the young man the benefit of the doubt and would be glad to have him back at her side again when the time came. He was attentive in a way none of the others were, even her own husband, and the haughty dragon in her found it pleasing, a thing she had to constantly keep an eye on.

Gaius was still in Sky Haven Temple, staying there to oversee Esbern's recovery, such as it was, and to continue to learn everything he could from the elder while also cataloguing what records he could gather together. He had Athis and Aventus with him, something that had taken Bryn by surprise when Vilkas suggested it, but she could see the wisdom in it. Aventus was unnervingly bright and would absorb everything Esbern said, and it wouldn't hurt to have someone who was in essence a Blade at Fjonnar's side in the future. Vilkas missed the boy a great deal, Aventus almost always at the Harbinger's side, full of questions and always watching with those shrewd dark eyes of his, but it wasn't as if Bryn didn't feel the lack of their ward too.

When Vilkas had told her that Athis was interested in staying behind in the Blade stronghold, ostensibly to watch over Aventus, Bryn had been taken aback but pleased, the notion of the Dunmer becoming a Blade satisfying to her in that certain special way. It had gotten easier to recognize that feeling she experienced when something fell into place, without having to let it overtake her. There were times when it simply couldn't be allowed, either because it was inconvenient at the time or just too terrifying for those around her who weren't used to it yet.

Yes, Athis would make a good Blade, the mer having a calm temperament but taking not one ounce of shit from anyone. She would let him bring up the matter though. She wanted it to be something people felt called to, not pressed into. Vilkas hadn't outright said that this was what Athis wanted, but like so many other things between them, it didn't really need to be said.

The remaining missing member of their group was one Bryn had mixed feelings about, at least in regards to the reasons for not being there. Her aunt Elluhrine, her foster mother, had stayed behind in Solitude. Within a day of arriving in the city the Altmer had ventured over to the Bard's College next to Proudspire Manor, entirely on her own, an action that had stunned Bryn with its initiative. Elluhrine was so retiring and lacking in self-confidence that for her to do this had to have taken a great deal of courage, just as it had for her to venture north to Skyrim in the first place. It hadn't hurt that she seemed to be sweet on Viarmo, the Headmaster, whom she had spent most of Bryn and Vilkas' wedding dancing with. The older mer had been flattered by the attention and seemed to return her interest, to his own surprise apparently, if the bemused expression on his face had been anything to go by.

Elluhrine had returned that evening glowing, saying she had been admitted to the College on a trial basis, even though she was twice the age of most of the students and was the only mer who would be enrolled there. Bryn had always found her aunt's voice to be quite lovely, and she admittedly was a good flute player, but Bryn was so lacking in musical ability she honestly hadn't had any idea that Elluhrine was gifted in, well, any way. It was uncharitable to even think it, but Bryn had always secretly doubted that her aunt was good at anything at all, a sentiment that made her feel terrible.

Joining the College and staying close to Viarmo had made Elluhrine very happy, maybe the happiest Bryn had ever seen her, and that was what she had always wanted for her foster mother. Elluhrine was still very young for one of her people and had centuries ahead of her; better to live them the way she wanted.

Bryn missed her deeply though. Siga had tried to step up, but there were certain roles the young girl just couldn't fill, and it saddened her to find herself minus a female confidante, though there had been all too many things she couldn't share with her aunt. She could tell her husband anything, but it wasn't the same as sharing emotional intimacy with another woman, and frankly sometimes Vilkas was the one she wanted to talk _about_ , not to. Rikke was easy to talk to, comfortable, but Bryn viewed her in a motherly light. She despaired of ever finding someone who could be to her what Lydia once had been, what Lydia still was when they were able to spend time together. Maybe she never would. Maybe she shouldn't even try. Some things, well, people, couldn't be replaced, and shouldn't be.

As they entered the White Hall, Argis and Borgakh took up position outside while Ralof and Erik came in and flanked the door. Skald would no doubt have choice words to say about an Orc in his hall, and for now it was still his hall. The elderly Jarl had been his usual self at the wedding, declaring loudly to anyone who would listen how proud Ulfric would have been of his son, how the child looked just like him, and so on, and so on. Bryn and Vilkas had borne it, as had Jod, Skald's housecarl, who had hovered at the old man's side to the point where in hindsight the Queen had to wonder if the poor man had even eaten or relieved himself all afternoon.

As the pair approached the throne, Skald sat up out of his slouch with an effort, his watery eyes brightening at the sight of the baby. "Ah, if it isn't the young Stormcloak prince," the Jarl said in delight, his voice quavering, "come to pay a visit to his father's greatest ally!"

Vilkas let his expression go empty as Bryn moved forward to kneel down and show the sleeping child to the elder, then she commenced to sweet talk and work the old man. Vilkas stayed out of it; he could school his expression but his words were a different matter. His eyes moved past the throne to the housecarl, Jod, a broad Nord in his late forties. The man met Vilkas' eyes and the Harbinger gave him a nod of respect.

Jod bowed in return, then to Vilkas' surprise moved to his Jarl's side and said, "My lord, if I may have a moment with Prince Vilkas? I had hoped—"

Skald flapped a bony arm at him. "Yes, yes," he groused. "Can't you see I'm busy here?" He poked the baby in the belly. "Look at the girth on the boy. Just like his father!"

Vilkas saw a strained look pass over Bryn's face, and he left her to her fate as the housecarl came to him and bowed again.

"Harbinger, rather?" Jod ventured.

"Yes, please," Vilkas said in a flat tone. He knew one day he would get used to the title of Prince, but it wouldn't be any time soon. It grieved him, but he wasn't certain just how long he could continue to be called Harbinger of the Companions and do it justice, not with the reformation of the Blades on the horizon. The position had been the only thing he had truly dreamed of attaining as a child and young adult; he'd held it for all of three years and now he wondered if he should continue to do so. He had hoped to keep it until Erik was of an age to take over, but the lad was twenty-five and not anywhere near ready.

Mjoll could do it, in fact she was in essence doing it now, aided by Vignar, and as he followed Jod into the map room off to the side of the hall he felt resignation settle in. He simply couldn't continue running the Companions from Windhelm. It just wasn't feasible in the long run. The Companions were family, and he would always be a Companion and member of the Circle, but he had to think about the future, about his family that was to come. Fjonnar was meant for Skyrim and Eastmarch, but the others, that black-haired daughter and the other unknown future children that Bryn held close, they would know dangers that Fjonnar never would, not really. One of those children would be Emperor or Empress. Bryn herself would ascend the Ruby Throne within the next twenty years. Vilkas' wife and children, his grandchildren, all his descendants, all of them Dragonborn, would need Blades, and by Ysmir he was going to give them Blades.

Jod left the door open, and he murmured to the Harbinger, "I appreciate your time, my lord." Skald was so busy running off at the mouth that he wouldn't pay them any mind.

"I would rather spend it in the current company," Vilkas stated dryly.

Jod cleared his throat. "Ah...yeah. About that. Jarl Skald, I mean." He rubbed the back of his neck. "The High Queen…I don't mean to pry into her business, or yours, but…is this just a visit?" Vilkas frowned, and he quickly added, "Like I said, I'm not prying. I'm… I have concerns. About the uh…future of Dawnstar and The Pale." The Harbinger's frown eased as he nodded. The housecarl's voice lowered as he added, "Could I get a private audience with the Queen? With her Guards too, of course, or you, anyone she'd like…eh, shit." He was bungling this, just as he had feared he would.

Vilkas put his hand on the man's shoulder and said in the most reassuring tone he could muster, "I will speak to her. Do not trouble yourself." So the housecarl had concerns about the succession and his hold's future. Bryn would be pleased to hear that, as it had been a concern of hers for years, along with the succession in Falkreath.

Dengeir of Stuhn was still hearty at nearly seventy, a bit paranoid but a good leader, respected by his people, the direct polar opposite of his useless nephew, Siddgeir, who had briefly held the position. Dengeir had no heir, he and his late wife unable to have children, but his brother Thadgeir had a son out of wedlock, Valdr, a hunter who was well-known and well-liked in the hold. Bryn and Lydia had met the man and helped him back to the city, her first year in Skyrim, and had found him ethical and likable, and the Queen thought he would do as an heir one day. Better the inexperienced Valdr than having the hold fall back into Siddgeir's slimy hands.

Skald though…he had no relatives at all. He had never married that anyone remembered, though Vilkas was of a mind that no sensible woman would have tolerated the man long enough to get to the point of marriage. The fellow was in his early eighties and in failing health. It was only due to Jod's careful managing of his Jarl that The Pale had any soldiers left to speak of. Vilkas remembered Bryn's disgust long ago over hearing Skald vowing to pledge every man, woman and child to the Stormcloak cause and Jod trying to rein the man in. She had overheard half a dozen such conversations during her time in the city and it had cemented her distaste for Skald early on. She had always had a soft spot for elders though, even the ones who were assholes, and would never be unkind to the man's face or speak ill of him where it might get back to him.

That Jod was worried for the state of his hold spoke well of him, and Vilkas had no doubts whatsoever that Bryn would do what she could to ease them.

* * *

Jod felt a hand vigorously shaking his shoulder and shrieked into the other one covering his mouth, and when a magical light was thrown onto the ceiling overhead he almost shouted again. He blinked as he tried to awaken fully and slow his hammering heart, and when he saw golden eyes gazing back at him, twinkling with humor, he felt a surge of anger that he didn't know what to do with. After all, how could one get pissed off at the High Queen of Skyrim, even if the daft woman had sneaked into his room and almost killed him with sheer fright?

"You are a very sound sleeper, Jod," she murmured. She had tried awakening him more gently, and nothing she had done had gotten a response out of the man. He blew out a breath and glared at her, and when she took her hand away his anger was replaced with uneasiness. "I apologize for approaching you like this. I couldn't think of a good time to have our private little talk, so I sneaked in."

"Really? Shor's balls!" he said in irritable disbelief, then he quickly corrected himself. "My uh, Queen."

"And maybe I just wanted to see if I could still do it," she said with an impish grin. It had been rather exciting to slip out of the inn and through the town in the middle of the night, then into the White Hall past the guards and up the stairs to the housecarl's room. Vilkas and her Guards knew where she was, and while the Guards had severely disapproved Vilkas had found it amusing, and really, even if she got caught what could the repercussions possibly be? Jod looked at her as if he was sucking on a lemon. The poor man. She really had scared a year off his life. He might have even thought it was the Dark Brotherhood; after all, they were practically next door.

When Jod's good judgment kept him from responding, Bryn cut to the chase and said, "Vilkas told me you have concerns over The Pale's future. I wouldn't give Skald much more than another year or two, barring unforeseen circumstances." When he looked at her askance she laughed and added, "I don't plan on being that circumstance." Though it would make things simple to pull a Grelod the Kind on him and frighten him into the afterlife, Bryn had never intended to do that to the old hag and her ethics wouldn't allow her to do it to Skald now. He wasn't doing any active harm to his hold any longer, and Jod and the court wizard Madena seemed to be keeping things in hand well enough.

"I wouldn't expect you to stoop to that, my lady," he murmured, pausing before he added in a grumble, "regardless of how you got in here." She laughed again, a giggle really, and while it was charming Jod was still coming out of his skin. In the magelight her features bordered on inhuman, and he was well aware of what she was. He had seen the Dragonborn and her housecarl take on a dragon years ago when they had first wandered into town, had watched her take its soul then begin casually picking up what little remained after the skeleton crumbled, as if she did such things every day, which she did. Or had.

"You'd be right on that account." She settled herself against the side of the bed, sitting on the floor. "So, Skald will be gone soon. He's been Jarl for, what, half a century at least?" The man nodded. "And won't be missed by anyone, I'm sure. Do you have any ideas for a replacement?"

Jod gripped the blankets and said in quiet dismay, "I had hoped you did, my lady." What on Nirn was she here for otherwise!

"I do. You." The housecarl gurgled in shock. "You have unerringly done what you've thought best for The Pale, even when it called for going behind Skald's back. You did your best to keep what forces you could here during the Civil War. I had once thought to install Brina Merilis as Jarl, but she's nearing seventy and has no heirs."

"But…I have no children either. I've never married, and at this point in my life I'm not keen to settle with a woman young enough to give me children. Though…" Bryn motioned for him to go on. "My younger sister Audny captains one of the big merringar boats, the ones that go farther out when the ice breaks up in the summer. She has four children, the oldest a girl of eleven. Lykke's a smart lass, fond of her books and numbers. Audny hoped she would take over the boat one day, but Lykke can't stand the water. Gets sick as a dog." The Queen made a thoughtful sound. The housecarl hesitated, reluctant to promise his eldest niece in such a way. It wasn't a promise, more a suggestion of suitability. The girl was quiet and clever, thoughtful, everything Skald wasn't, still young enough to be trained into a good Jarl. _Jarl_. Nines help him, he had never wanted to be Jarl!

She patted his arm. "Well then, we'll keep her in mind." She rotated her neck to stretch it and went on, "If it helps, I talked to Brina before dinner and she agrees that you would do a fine job. She could be an asset to you." Bryn tapped her chin in a pensive manner and added, "Maybe thane. She's done a great deal for the people of this city, and this hold. If you made her thane of The Pale then she would have that recognized, and be a fixture of your court." Bryn was fairly certain that Skald had no thanes, other than Bryn herself, and obviously she was no longer anyone's thane. She really hadn't fulfilled the duties of the position on a regular basis to anyone but Balgruuf.

"Aye." There was no doubting the former Legate's wisdom or her dedication to her home hold. Her tactical genius went without saying, and she was still hearty at sixty-eight and already had what amounted to a housecarl. Jod wasn't certain why she and Horik Halfhand were still pretending they weren't what amounted to common law married for the last thirty years and just make it official, at least in the old way, but he wasn't one to tell people their personal business.

"So," the Queen said, in a tone that implied everything was resolved, and she patted his hand again and stood. "Sorry for interrupting your rest. I'll speak to Brina again at some point while we're in town. We'll be here for a while yet, until we get some business taken care of. Which…I probably should have mentioned to you," she said in a tone of thoughtful regret, sinking back down next to the bed.

Jod grit his teeth, wanting nothing more than the Dragonborn out of his room so he could go back to sleep, while knowing sleep would elude him the rest of the night. "You don't say, my Queen," he forced out.

"Did you know you have an active Dark Brotherhood lair right outside town?"

"Damn it all!" he hissed, throwing the blankets back and rolling out of bed the opposite direction. He ran a hand over his head and began to pace.

"I'm sorry," Bryn apologized, and she truly was. She stood and watched him pace and fret, clearly angry, and angry at her. He had every right to be and she was hardly going to call him on it. "Surely you knew about the black door to the north of the city," she stated.

"Of course I do," he muttered. "It's always been there. But it's abandoned. Has been for centuries. And you took them all out." When she chewed on her bottom lip and looked sheepish he growled and slapped a hand to his face. He took several deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth. He couldn't lose his temper with her. He didn't dare. It was obvious that she felt bad about… things, and hopefully she felt worst about scaring the piss out of him tonight with the way she had awakened him. But damn it all, the Dark Brotherhood? How in Oblivion was he supposed to protect the people from that? "How long have they been there?" he asked, his hand still over his eyes.

Bryn grimaced and admitted, "Probably several years." When he gurgled she quickly added, "I didn't realize that I hadn't gotten them all, Jod. I didn't exactly have the membership roster when I took out the Falkreath Sanctuary."

He sighed and let his hand fall. "Yes my lady, I realize that."

"There are at least three members. I have a contact who's had, well, dealings I suppose, with them. This person swears I got most of the assassins, but there are these two or three who weren't there at the time, plus any new recruits they might have made, and I'm here to finish them off, and I'm not leaving until I get them all. They were behind the attacks on my brother-in-law and his family and the poisoning of my Guard in Riften. This is very personal." So far it seemed that Elisif hadn't harmed anyone, as far as Bryn knew, but if she raised a weapon when they went in there she was going to die, simple as that. That the former Queen had run off with a murderer didn't bode well for her intentions, and Bryn had to wonder exactly what they had been. If Ulfric were still alive those intentions would be obvious, but he was nearly a year dead and gone. How had it been almost a year already?

"Yes, I can see that."

"Well," she whispered, giving him a brief smile. The grief still hit her at times when she least expected it, and it was hitting her hard now. She wanted to be home when the anniversary came. She had to be. She wanted to hole up with her husband and Ulfric's child, with Ralof and Galmar and Rikke, and grieve in private. She wanted to be home where she could talk to Jorleif and Yrsarald and those who had known and loved Ulfric. And Hadvar. Gods, thinking about Hadvar was harder in some ways than Ulfric. She had known for years that Ulfric was living on borrowed time, but Hadvar should have had a full life ahead of him.

"I'll leave you to your rest, such as it is," she murmured to Jod. "I apologize for waking you that way. I didn't intend to frighten you."

The man nodded, still looking unsettled and irritated, and she nodded and let herself out. She cloaked herself in shadows and slipped through the hall, throwing her voice with a whispered Shout to distract the guards by the door. It was too easy to move the short distance to the inn, but she wasn't yet ready to go back, her heart hurting.

She instead moved around the back of the buildings and settled on a block of stone that was being shaped at the small quarry behind the inn. It was peaceful out here, the only sounds the slap of water on the hulls of the boats in the bay and light snoring from the nearby barracks. Bryn blew out a long silent breath and looked up to watch the aurora dance over the water, a rather lackluster display compared to most she had seen, when the night sky lit up with rippling bands of green, orange and pink. She remembered the first time she had seen it as she and her cousin had entered the Jerall Mountains and how wondrous it had been, and how she had desperately tried to get Yancarro to see the beauty of it, to no avail. He had never seen the beauty in anything.

Bryn sat there until her breasts started to ache. She had been out here too long and someone was bound to come looking for her, worried, knowing she had little protection other than her voice and magic at the moment. She was wearing simple clothing and was armed only with the Blade of Woe; Dawnbreaker's light leaked out of even the most secure scabbard and the hiss of both Chillrend and her stalhrim dagger wasn't terribly subtle either. She could still hide herself armed with nearly anything, but she hadn't felt like risking it tonight, as long as it had been since she had sneaked anywhere.

The baby was due to wake for a nighttime feeding any minute now, and she needed to get back, but movement between the buildings caught her eye. She stayed perfectly still and silent, mostly to avoid having to explain just what the High Queen of Skyrim was doing sitting alone on a rock in the dark. She wouldn't _have_ to explain, but she would feel compelled to do so and would come up short.

The person was too small to be a guard, child-sized, and Bryn's nostrils flared as a surge of cold fury went through her at her first sight of what could only be Babette. It took everything in her to stay where she was and not move a muscle and simply observe the creature. The vampire didn't look a day over eight or nine, wearing a tattered velvet dress, barefoot, however she didn't move like a child, not at all, gliding along the snowy ground without leaving a trace, her tiny footsteps silent. Her eyes glowed red and she sniffed at the air like a hound.

Babette passed in front of Bryn and the Dragonborn didn't move a muscle other than to let her eyes follow the little beast, the vampire moving along the back side of the inn, looking up at the windows, perhaps to see if they were all closed, which indeed they were. Bryn knew she could take the little monster, easily, could slow time and grab her and break her into pieces with no effort at all. By the Nine it was tempting, so very tempting. However she had no idea at all what safeguards the Brotherhood had in place, and it wouldn't do to take out Babette and tip off the others when she didn't arrive by morning.

The vampire muttered to herself and moved on, towards the west side of town. There was nothing out there, the Khajiit not in that area at the moment, and so Bryn let Babette go. The creature knew that the Queen and her entourage were in town, and perhaps she would be tempted to try something, and Bryn had to pray that their presence here didn't scare Babette off. That Cicero fellow wouldn't be able to leave easily, as he wouldn't allow himself to leave the Night Mother and her casket behind, but it was Babette that was the main quarry here.

" _LAAS YAH NIR!"_ The whispered Shout lit up every living, and non-living, thing in the area, and she watched the small red mass that was Babette retreat to the far edges of town then leave the area of effect.

Bryn made a sound of aggravation as she stood. She felt hot all over and frustrated as hell, having to let the little monster go, and she made her way back to the inn without being seen, evading the guards outside who still glowed red, as did her people inside. Erik and Borgakh were on watch, playing cards near the fire, and she cleared her throat softly to let them know she was back. She had startled enough people for one night.

The redheaded Companion sighed in relief and murmured, "Welcome back, my lady. No troubles?"

"I saw Babette," she stated, and both guards instantly came to attention. She cast the sun rune at the door behind her then moved close to them and said, "She seems to have left town for now, but be alert." They made sounds of fervent assent.

Vilkas was still awake in their room, and Bryn glanced at the sleeping baby in the middle of the bed, his tiny form blazing red with life next to his father's own aura. She closed the door and locked it then cast another rune before removing her boots and coat then slipping into bed.

"How did it go?" he whispered. He kissed her and her face was cold. She had been gone longer than he had bargained for but was clearly fine, not that he had worried otherwise. Bryn quickly summarized the last two hours, and satisfaction over the situation with Jod quickly turned to worry and anger. That Bryn had sat behind this very building and watched Babette prowl about the outside was terrifying, and he could tell she was still furious over having to let the little beast go free. He took her chilly hand and pulled it against his chest to warm it and murmured, "Lydia will be here any day now. You did the right thing in letting Babette go."

"I'll remember that if someone dies in the meantime," she stated, her expression tight. He lifted an eyebrow at her and she sighed and squeezed his hand. "She doesn't seem to be hunting in town, not for blood. She knows we're here, but perhaps we'll be lucky and she doesn't know that she's the main reason for it."

"I think we're entitled to some luck once in a while."

She huffed a soft laugh. "Maybe so, _ahmuli_."

There was a squeak between them and they glanced down to see Fjonnar's face start to scrunch into an expression of displeasure. Bryn saw the aura on her husband and child blink out as she unlaced the front of her tunic, finishing the task just in time to hear a tiny mewling complaint and see little fists start waving about.

Vilkas snorted. "Such a fearsome scowl," he said in amusement. It was at such times that Fjonnar looked most like Ulfric, something the Harbinger usually refrained from mentioning. Bryn was more than aware. She laid on her side and moved close to the baby, helping him latch on, and once he was nursing easily Vilkas stroked the baby's fat cheek then drew his finger along the swell of his wife's breast, cherishing the softness of both. He put aside the matter of the vampire for now and said, "I'm going to give the Companions over to Mjoll. I can't afford the distraction any longer."

"All right." She didn't ask if he was sure. When Vilkas made such a statement, he was sure of it. He had seemed to be stewing over something all afternoon, and surely this was it. It was a very big decision for him to make, considering how he felt about the Companions and being Harbinger. She was glad of this though; they hadn't spoken of it at all, but she had been concerned that he would one day have to do this.

"I want to focus on our family and rebuilding the Blades." Bryn made a sound of assent. Once their group finished the tour and made it home he would call the Companions to Windhelm and hand things over to his Shield-Sister. The Companions had been his entire life until recently, and they would always be family, but like it or not they no longer were a priority, and unfortunately running the guild was also no longer a challenge. He was the first real leader that the Companions had had since Ysgramor, and that was a fitting legacy to leave behind.

Vilkas reached up to cup his wife's cheek and went on, "Once business here is taken care of and we're back home and things are handed over to Mjoll, I'll go to Sky Haven Temple and help get Esbern moved to Windhelm." If the old man lasted that long. His health had seemed to be improving by time the rest of their group moved on to Hjaalmarch, but at his age it could change suddenly.

"Odahviing can get you there in less than a day. If that's all right."

He laughed, "Oh, I think I can manage that." He hadn't been able to ride the dragon back to Markarth and had lamented the missed opportunity to see Skyrim from the skies again. It would be terrifying, but not as much as the first time. The splendor of the view would more than compensate for his fear for his life.

Bryn laughed in turn, sounding sleepy, and he left it at that, letting the peace of nursing fall over her. He lay there watching his wife and child, listening to the soft snuffling and suckling sounds as Bryn fell asleep. Letting go of the Companions made him feel sorrowful, but not as much as he had expected it would. There was only so much of him to go around, and it was time to look to the future. He couldn't do that the way his wife did, but he had his dreams and the drive to make them a reality.

The vain part of him-and it was there, even after all these years-wanted to build a legacy of his own. It was tied to his wife and children, true, but it would still be his own. He had been a member of the Circle, the Harbinger of the Companions, a hero of the Second Great War, the North Wind and the Killing Frost. Being the one to bring the Blades out of hiding and make them a name to be feared and respected again would be the icing on the sweetroll. It would make him a man more than worthy of standing at his Dragonborn wife's side, with pride in his own accomplishments. Not that either of them didn't already think that he was worthy, but he wanted to cement that thinking in the minds of others.

Vilkas rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling, wide awake, his mind churning with plans. So many plans. He would have to be careful who he allowed to join, perhaps limit it at first to people Bryn knew and trusted. It didn't have to be anyone she was all that close to, and he didn't want the founding members to be mostly Nord, and like it or not most people up here were. There were Gaius, Aventus and Athis, of course, none of them Nords. When Athis had started hinting at it two days after the assault on Sky Haven Temple it had seemed perfect. The mer had also mentioned moving to Windhelm sometime in the near future, perhaps because of this unknown paramour of his. Both those desires aligned nicely.

There were plenty of people who Bryn had helped over the years. Surely a few of them would be interested, men and women who didn't have families or spouses already and could pick up and move. He definitely needed more women in the order. He wanted a wide variety of skillsets as well, perhaps even a mage or two…

 _Onmund_ , he thought. Maybe he could approach Onmund. Bryn had always held affection for the young Nord, and by her account he was strong-willed and intelligent. She hadn't seen him since before the war, the mage still grieving over Hadvar and their life together that had never had the chance to start, though he had wished her well in her new marriage. There was no way the man could come to Bryn's wedding and not spend the entire time heartbroken over the lack of his own. And so he hadn't.

Joining the Blades couldn't possibly make up for that lack, but Onmund might find it an interesting challenge. Windhelm's court mage Wuunferth was as old as the hills, and having Onmund come to the city as his eventual replacement, as Bryn had originally planned, would work well. In fact it was best to place all the potential Blades in such positions, ones that wouldn't arouse much suspicion or attention.

Vilkas stayed as still as possible while fighting restlessness, a familiar feeling that had been absent for the last year or more. He wanted this challenge. Needed it. It would keep him busy, keep his mind occupied as well. Bryn had always enjoyed hands-on sorts of hobbies, such as smithing or enchanting or alchemy, but Vilkas had always preferred cerebral pursuits in his off time. This would not be a hobby but a calling, something that would become his life's work, an endeavor more than adequate to keep him mentally agile. He had no talent for governance or managing people and could be little help to his wife in that regard, but this he could do.

There was a tiny moist smacking sound, and he glanced down to see the baby had filled his belly and let the nipple fall from his mouth, and Bryn sighed in her sleep and rolled over to face the other way. Her breathing evened out again, just as Vilkas heard the quiet changing of the guard in the inn's main hall. Funny, how easily he had gotten used to being guarded.

He turned over again to face his wife and child and tried to settle and fall asleep, but his mind wouldn't let him be. He had always been able to sleep anywhere, other than the beast blood troubling him in the past, so it wasn't that, though he did want to get back home so he could start setting his plans in motion. They only had Winterhold left after this, and Bryn would want to spend a little extra time there, visiting her friends at the mages' College and seeing how the rebuilding of the city was going. Vilkas never had been to the College and couldn't say he was particularly excited about it, but he would admit to being curious. He had to admit that he would rather be in Winterhold right now than Dawnstar. Once Lydia arrived and business was taken care of, he would be more than happy to put this town and its Jarl behind him.

* * *

Simultaneous grins spread over Bryn's, Vilkas' and Erik's faces as Lydia walked into the inn, followed close behind by a familiar face. Aela walked up to them and hugged the three in turn, starting with Vilkas, while Lydia did the same then held her hands out to her sister-in-law.

"I'll be taking that," the housecarl demanded, and Bryn laughed and handed over the baby. Lydia kissed her nephew's chubby cheeks then settled him in her arms, careful to avoid the edges of her armor poking him. Fjonnar looked more like Ulfric every day, something that had to cause Bryn no small amount of grief. The baby gazed up at her, and in the month since she had last seen him he had gotten more awareness to his eyes, and when she smiled at him he returned it and cooed, making her melt. He looked nothing at all like Ulfric at that moment. Ulfric hadn't exactly been the type of man anyone found particularly charming. From what Rikke had said Ulfric hadn't been all that charismatic even before the Thalmor got hold of him.

Vilkas said to Aela, "Not that we're not glad to see you…"

Aela shrugged and replied, "I'm not one to let Shield-Sisters go alone on a hunt. Lydia told me and I wanted in on it. I'm going to track the little bitch and I'm not going home until she's dead."

Bryn grabbed Aela's arm and gave it a squeeze, saying in a fervent voice, "Thank you, Sister. We could use your help." And the help that was being offered was plain as day, at least to her and Vilkas, and Lydia of course. Aela was a relentless hunter and _never_ went home empty-handed. More than that, she could transform and track Babette by scent and move more quickly than any vampire could. It was such a relief to have the Huntress here that it made Bryn a little weak in the knees. If Babette slipped her grasp there was little she could do other than appeal for help to Serana and her mother, but with Aela on the job it _would_ get done.

Vilkas asked both women, "How are my brother and Jergen doing?"

Lydia rolled her eyes as she began slowly moving back and forth with the child in her arms. "Predictably," she stated. "Farkas is grumpy about being left out and Jergen didn't want me to leave. I told him I'd only be gone a week, but he still has no concept of time. Sometimes I wonder if his father does either. You should've seen the two of them pouting when we left." Vilkas snorted a laugh at that.

"My wife didn't help matters," Aela said in a sour tone. "She felt it necessary to remind Farkas of not only how rusty he is, but his age and his fatherly responsibilities. Oh yes, and how he needed to lay off the pie unless he wanted to end up as round as one. I thought he was going to tackle her and start pummeling her right then and there, and I would've let him."

"Ah, Mjoll," Erik said with a smile. "Such a delicate touch she has."

"Yes, and she never changes," Aela sighed, though she smiled as well. She loved her wife's forthrightness and it was something she had always relied on. You always knew exactly where you stood with her, well, everyone did, because she made sure you knew it, whether you asked for it or not. The redhead slapped Vilkas on the arm and said, "She's keeping a close eye your kin, no worries. It's her I'm worried about if she pushes Farkas too far. He's still nothing to trifle with. Being up at Jorrvaskr for a solid week might be good for him, though. The whelps will keep him busy, and Skjorta will keep a close eye on Jergen. Everything is under control."

Bryn nodded and said, "Much more so now that you two are here." She gave Aela's arm another squeeze then let go. "Tonight then? I'm eager to get this done."

"I'm more than ready," Lydia said with a nod of her own. She wanted this over with so that she and Farkas could go back to sleeping well at night. They had put any plans for a new baby on hold until the problem with Babette was resolved, and that wasn't helping her husband's mood. He wanted another child badly, a sibling for Jergen. In addition to that, regardless of her lack of tact Mjoll was correct that Farkas wasn't a young man anymore, and Lydia wanted to have childbearing over with while he still had the energy to help her.

She really wasn't sure how Vilkas was going to manage five children, but then it wasn't as if anyone expected a Queen and her Consort to raise children alone while managing a country, let alone an empire. Siga was always there to help, though Elluhrine no longer would be, but it wasn't as if finding caretakers to assist with the children would be difficult. And Rikke and Galmar would be there as well. And Ralof.

Her eyes wandered to the handsome blond, eating lunch at the table by the door, though his attention never left Bryn and Vilkas. His partner had been outside the inn with Argis, a good addition to the group. Gaius and Athis weren't here, and neither was the boy, Aventus, but it was the two missing men that had Lydia worried. She and Aela were present and could take up a bit of slack, but Aela wasn't trained to be a bodyguard in the way Lydia had been. Well then, she would simply have to fill that role once again, for as long as she was here. She would do it gladly.

* * *

"I'll take over."

Vilkas looked up from helping his wife into her armor to see Lydia in the doorway. He nodded and smiled at his sister-in-law, patting her on the shoulder as he left the room. It was obvious she wanted time alone with Bryn, and he was happy to give it to her. He knew how much and how frequently Bryn missed her.

Lydia closed the door then took over where Vilkas left off. As she began fastening the dragonscale cuirass she murmured, "Just like old times."

"Yes," Bryn said simply, letting her contented expression speak for itself. While traveling the Queen usually wore a basic dragonscale breastplate and the dwemer scale mail coat, but she wasn't going into the Dark Brotherhood lair with anything less than full protection. It had been an easy enough matter to repair her armor while in Solitude, and the smith Beirand and his apprentice Heimvar had been thrilled to be asked to assist her. She couldn't think of a single smithy in Skyrim that she hadn't used over the years, if only to sharpen her blades or pound out a dent in her armor.

It had been years though since Lydia had helped her into a full suit of armor, and when Bryn glanced at her friend she saw that the housecarl was just as moved by this as she was.

"I heard Sky Haven Temple was rough," Lydia murmured. She was not going to cry. She was _not_.

Bryn made a scoffing sound. "It was terrible, and it was my own doing. I was arrogant and I paid for it." She let out a short laugh. "And then my husband blew into the room like a knight out of a tale and saved his damsel in distress."

Lydia barked out a laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure it was just like that." She had gotten only the bare bones of the situation in the letter, but she highly doubted the Dragonborn had been helpless. Lydia could see the repairs though and had to wonder what exactly the Blades, no, _Dragonguard_ , had done to cause that kind of damage. The letter had left out a great deal of information on purpose; as good as the couriers were, they were highly vulnerable to attack, and it wouldn't do to let it get out that the Queen had been injured, and how it had been done.

"They could have killed me," Bryn muttered as she held her arms out so that her housecarl could fasten the buckles. Housecarl. Such an inadequate word. Lydia was her best friend, the sister of her heart, and the only reason Bryn had survived her first six months in Skyrim. "They had Dwemer crossbows. One of them was former Dawnguard. If they'd had those exploding bolts Sorine Jurard developed I _would_ be dead." It was terrifying to consider, beyond leaving Vilkas a widower and Fjonnar motherless. Skyrim could descend into unrest again if she died. Bryn had made it very clear before leaving for the war that Balgruuf was her successor if anything happened to her, and now that a child was in the picture he would be regent until Fjonnar came of age, but there were plenty of people who held a grudge against her and he would have no easy time of it. A moot would still be called and there was no guarantee that the other jarls would fall in line.

A thrill of fear going through her, Lydia stated, "Well then, lesson learned." It had been flat out stupid of Bryn to go into a Blade stronghold alone. Lydia understood where her overconfidence had come from, and clearly so did the Dragonborn, so there was no point in adding to it. It had been a painful way to have that driven home, she was sure. "So where are Athis and Gaius? And the boy?"

"I left them in Sky Haven Temple. Athis wants to be a Blade."

Lydia started, her eyes lifting to Bryn's. She struggled with that a moment, with the idea of her Shield-Brother leaving the Companions. He had mentioned moving to Windhelm a few times over the last five or six months; everyone knew he had a lover there, though no one knew who she (or he) was, something that amused the Dunmer to no end. Sometimes the Companions had speculated, often while drinking, that Athis was pulling their collective leg and wasn't involved with anyone and this was all an elaborate joke that he and Torvar had cooked up, but that was unlikely. Letters and little packages arrived every so often for the dark elf: once it had been candied ash yams, another time a tiny rough-carved moon-and-star made of horker tusk ivory. Every time Athis chuckled and looked touched.

Bryn went on, "Vilkas feels that Aventus would be a help to them, and he seemed eager to learn." She sniffed a quiet laugh. "Becoming a Blade is as close as he's going to get to his childhood dream of becoming an assassin." As Lydia attached a pauldron she stared past her friend and continued, "Delphine had Esbern's knees broken. She deliberately crippled him."

"So he was still alive then," Lydia whispered. "Gods." The letter hadn't mentioned Esbern, but it was easy to see why.

"I don't think he would have lasted much longer." Bryn spared her friend the details about the bedsores and the filth. Nothing would be gained from describing the indignities the elder had been forced to endure. She shrugged her shoulders back to settle the armor then Lydia adjusted some straps. "He's doing better. Sitting up in a chair, feeding himself. He'll never walk again, but his mind is still sharp. He has a tendency to wander, but I think it's more a matter of having too much information stuffed in his head than senility, or anything else. Gaius is patient with him, and having Aventus there is good for Esbern. Good to have a young one around, and it'll teach Aventus some compassion."

"How's he doing then? The boy I mean."

"Better. He talks to Vilkas. Vilkas is good with him, without coddling him. I think Aventus would come out of his skin if he tried. Vilkas can relate to him better than I can, orphaned as he was. I grew up with parents, of a sort, and I was never what I would consider abused. Handled poorly, perhaps, but not abused. Grelod was the only elder Aventus ever spent time around, so helping Gaius and Athis with Esbern will be good for him." She smiled briefly at Lydia. "He's gentle with Fjonnar, and he's eager to please, and incredibly bright, but he's still carrying around a lot of anger and bitterness, and with Grelod gone he had no one to focus it on. Vilkas understands him, and so I leave most of it to him. He doesn't mind."

"Ah. Well, it's all you can do." There probably weren't too many people in Bryn's circle who could manage the boy the way Vilkas did, and Lydia could tell at the wedding that Vilkas enjoyed having Aventus around, and Aventus hung on his guardian's every word and deed, in ways that he didn't with Bryn. A boy that age needed a man's guidance. There were plenty of women who raised sons alone as well as any man could, but if there was a man present who was able and willing to do it, then it was beneficial if he did so. There were things about being a man that only a good man could teach, and Vilkas was certainly a good man. She glanced up at the taller woman and asked, "So things are fine between you still?"

Bryn laughed. "Yes, mother. But thank you for checking." Lydia poked her in the ribs, making her laugh again. "Vilkas and I are doing _fine_ ," she murmured, "and I will do everything in my power to make certain we continue to do so. I won't allow any…" She gestured with her hands, as if smoothing something out, a gentle frown drawing her eyebrows together. "Tangles. Messes. I could have, and we would have managed, but…why would I, when I can fix it?"

Lydia went still, wondering what in the world that was supposed to mean. This thing that the Dragonborn did, _Jill_ , she-dragon, minute-mender, whatever she was, still sent shivers through the housecarl, but it was what it was and there was no use in fussing over it. She was still Bryn.

"Ralof, the child," Bryn mumbled, seeing Lydia's confusion. "I made myself see it, how it comes about, and I won't allow it to happen. The possibility has been removed. I won't put Vilkas through that. Or Ralof, or myself. What was I thinking, that I ever thought it was acceptable to let it happen?"

"You were grieving. You had just been through a bloody war. Vilkas had just left and things were bad between you. I could go on." Bryn sighed and nodded. "Well then," Lydia said in a bright tone. "You'll just have to get that child from Vilkas." The Queen drew herself up, her golden eyes widening in shock as her lips parted. Lydia had to grin, because it wasn't often that anyone was able to get that kind of reaction from the Dragonborn. "Think about it, Bryn. That night will come, and you'll know it, and you'll steer Ralof away, but you'll know that you're fertile, and Vilkas will be there, so…why not?"

Bryn blinked and whispered, "Why not?" Well, there were reasons enough not to, foremost being the age that she and Vilkas would be at that time, especially Vilkas, but to have that last precious child… The _Vennesetiid_ pushed, and she pushed back; now was not the time, and maybe…maybe she would allow herself this one surprise. Let this daughter come in her own time, unseen, let her be blond or dark, let her be whatever she was going to be, without Bryn taking a look ahead of time. Maybe it wouldn't even be a daughter. Bryn laughed, and when Lydia lifted an eyebrow she said in delight, "Yes, why not?"

The housecarl drily said, "I'm glad that's settled." Whatever else she was going to say flew out the window as her friend grabbed her shoulders and kissed her forehead, and Lydia sighed and laid her hands on Bryn's upper arms as they leaned their heads together. Yes, things were settled, for now, at least in regards to personal matters. Vilkas and Bryn would be fine, and it wasn't as if she hadn't noticed earlier today that they truly were, moving in sync with each other, understanding each other even when no words were spoken. They were clearly comfortable with each other, and that spoke volumes.

She couldn't help being curious about what Bryn had seen with regard to Ralof and the child, sunny Ulfrika the songbird, but there were some stones better left unturned.

* * *

" _What is life's greatest illusion?"_

Ralof and Argis looked at each other, then at Bryn, and she chewed at her bottom lip, feeling helpless. Of course there was a secret password for the sanctuary door. And of course she didn't have it. There was no Commander Maro here to help her, and even if he had been available he might not have known what the password to this particular door was, or that the Sanctuary was even inhabited again. Bryn only knew that it was because there really was nowhere else the remains of the Dark Brotherhood could go, and because the Clairvoyance spell had consistently pointed here.

Brina Merilis had stated the other day that the guards had seen no one coming from or going to the door, and indeed there had been no tracks when they'd arrived tonight. Bryn had even paid a visit to Silus Vesuius, the fellow who lived at the end of town closest to the sanctuary, to see if he had noticed anything, and the poor fellow had started having a breakdown the second he opened the door. He had been certain that she was there to finish him off for dragging her into the mess with Mehrunes Dagon and the broken Daedric dagger. It had taken a good five minutes to calm him down. In the end he had proven no help at all. It was good to see that he was no longer wearing Mythic Dawn robes and had put all their trappings away, but he still kept the pieces of Mehrunes' Razor in a locked case. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, but she didn't have the time to worry about it right now.

She blew out a breath then ventured, "Peace, my brother?"

" _You are not worthy_ ," the door hissed.

"Unworrrrrthy," Ralof droned in a ghoulish voice, looking at the Queen in an accusatory manner, making her laugh and Argis chuckle. Ralof liked the older Nord. He was easy going and had a good sense of humor, unlike Borgakh. He was one hell of a fighter too, even with one eye. Still, Ralof was nervous about getting into a fight without his partner there. He had come to rely on her steady manner and grim calm. He doubted this would be much of a fight, though he halfway hoped it would be, just to make certain that the last of the poison's effects were out of his system. He hadn't had an episode since nearly taking that dragon ride outside Markarth, but then there had been little to prompt one either.

Argis scratched the beard on his chin and asked, "So, doing this the hard way then?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," the Dragonborn sighed. "All I can hope is that if they run, Lydia and Aela have found the other exit and can deal with them." She very much doubted that Cicero would abandon the Night Mother, but Babette would flee at the first sign of the sanctuary being breached, and it was about to be breached in a big way. The Black Doors were all magical and might be harder to Shout in than those at Sky Haven Temple, but this would get busted in one way or another.

* * *

The ground trembled as thunder cracked through the night air, and Lydia muttered, "Well that does it, then." Bryn had obviously been unable to find a _quiet_ way into the assassins' lair. And she and Aela still hadn't found the other entrance that had to exist, something that was causing both women no end of frustration. The Queen had seen Babette head this direction but they'd had no luck finding anything out of the ordinary, and they were close enough to town that even Aela's tracking skills hadn't been able to sort out all the footprints. Bryn had stated that the little vampire left no tracks, but the others would.

The Huntress said with a touch of misgiving, "I can find the door, but you won't like the way I have to do it."

"Shit," Lydia whispered as a chill went down her spine. She had feared it might come to that, and she wasn't at all ready for it. No amount of inner dialogue or rationalizing could prepare someone for something like that.

"You'll be in no danger," Aela stated, a touch of impatience in her voice, though the impatience was covering a good amount of uncertainty. She cared for her Shield-Sister a great deal, and the last thing she wanted was for Lydia to fear her, or worse yet be disgusted by her.

The housecarl sighed, "I know, Aela, really I do. But we're still awfully close to the city."

"It's night and the guards don't patrol this far. I won't howl." There was another resonating, thunderous boom. "And there's that to distract them."

There was a terse bite to the other woman's voice, and even in the semi-dark it wasn't hard to tell that Aela was upset about something. It was obvious what it was. Lydia gripped the redhead's arm and quietly said, "It's all right, Sister. I swear it." Aela made a scoffing sound and looked away, and Lydia pressed, "This won't change anything between us, I promise you that. I won't judge." She had known for years what Aela was, what her own husband and the entire Circle had once been, and once she had talked to Farkas about it and taken the time to come to terms with the idea she had vowed to not let it affect her relationships with any of them.

She was glad Farkas and Vilkas had been cured, and she would never in a million years want it for herself, but who was she to decide what was right for another? Especially when that choice had caused no harm to anyone else that Lydia could tell. Mjoll had as strong a moral compass as anyone Lydia had seen, and the Lioness had never pressed her wife to be cured that the housecarl knew of, which meant Aela was no danger to the average person, let alone a Shield-Sibling.

"I haven't shifted in front of anyone… Well, it's been a long time," Aela murmured. It might have even been since Bryn herself took the beast blood, years ago. The Dragonborn had promised Aela that they could hunt together, and Aela had appreciated the offer but never taken her up on it; it wouldn't have satisfied, with Aela in wolf form and Bryn with a bow. It wasn't the same at all. She had always preferred her solitude, but that had been with brothers in the blood around, a pack of her own, and Bryn and the twins had taken the cure right after Kodlak's death. Aela had a family now, a wife and daughter, but no pack, no mate. She loved Mjoll, she truly did, but the older woman couldn't reach into that scarred-up part of her soul that belonged only to Skjor, and always would.

Lydia squeezed the other woman's arm. "Do it. I'll be fine."

The Huntress nodded and began quickly stripping off her armor, handing it to Lydia. The housecarl had to wonder how Aela handled the cold, wearing so little, but maybe the beast blood helped in that regard, who knew. Soon the redhead was standing stark naked in the faint light from Masser and Secunda, the larger moon shadowed by the smaller one. Aela had to be one of the skinniest Nords Lydia had ever seen, tiny-breasted, wiry and laced with scars, with the faint marks of past pregnancy on her flat abdomen. It was clear she was built for speed, not strength, not the way her powerhouse of a wife was.

Aela shook herself all over then stated in a rough voice, "I won't hurt you."

Lydia nodded. "I know, Sister. Don't…" She trailed off as Aela hunched over and let out a groan. It was impossible to avoid stepping back in fear, her heart pounding, yet she couldn't tear her eyes away as the other woman's body and face contorted, and it wasn't dark enough to spare her the sight of any of it. It was horrifying, grotesque, and it seemed it had to be excruciatingly painful, but it was over within half a minute, probably less.

The black-furred beast looked Lydia over and the housecarl refused to react, staring back with as much calm as she could muster, then the wolf turned away and began scouting the area, her nose to the ground. _Kyne preserve me_ , she prayed as she followed, while knowing the Mother of Men and Beasts held no sway here.

A final earthshaking crack sounded and the werewolf huffed in amusement, or maybe the sound hurt her ears. Lydia had no idea. She knew nothing at all about werefolk, other than the little bit that Farkas had told her. She hadn't wanted to know more than that. Seeing Aela's upset though...maybe she needed to. Maybe Aela needed her to. Surely she talked to Mjoll about it, but a spouse wasn't the same as a friend, and Lydia believed they were friends.

The wolf's nose accomplished what their two hours of searching hadn't, Aela unerringly following the vampire's scent trail to a rock outcropping. There was nothing there, a jumble of rocks that looked like any other in the area. Aela's lips pulled back as she growled low, her claws flexing. She seemed certain that the scent led here, but Lydia saw nothing at all.

The housecarl whispered, "Are you sure?" Lydia became very sure when there was the sound of a trap door creaking then a hiss of either fear or anger, maybe both.

She didn't have time to react before something small darted between them then took off at an unnatural speed, and Aela snarled and gave chase. "Damn it!" Lydia cried, her arms full of Aela's gear. She moved to set it on the rock and nearly fell on her face as the illusion covering the secret entrance disappeared. A wooden trap door was there, set into a round ring of stones. Lydia was certain that they never would have found it, not unless Bryn was there to cast Clairvoyance and point right to the door, and she realized that this was exactly why Aela had come: to track Babette as a wolf, if need be. It made the housecarl feel like a dimwit for not seeing it sooner.

Lydia set the clothing on a real rock nearby and stayed where she was, guarding the door in case any other surprises popped out. She didn't hear anything coming from the other side of the door and had to resist the urge to take a peek. She wasn't about to play the hero like Bryn and go in alone, and Aela would be pissed on top of that.

In the distance there was a horrid squealing shriek that made Lydia shudder, like the sound of a piglet being butchered, but so much worse. It didn't engender any pity in her, not after all the evil that Babette had perpetrated over the last three centuries, most of which probably couldn't be even guessed at. It was unfortunate that she had been turned as a child, it truly was, but the world was a better place without her in it.

The werewolf returned with a limp body in its jaws and the housecarl shuddered again then forced a smile onto her face that was most likely a grimace instead. "Good work, Sister," she whispered, and the wolf growled with pride, yellow eyes glowing. Lydia didn't need to be the one to make the kill. It was enough that she was here and knew that her family, and Bryn's, were safe. Safer, anyway. As long as she had laid eyes on the body herself she was satisfied.

The wolf spat the body onto the ground and Lydia bent down to look at it, just to make certain. There was no mistaking what the creature was, with her reddish-orange eyes and sharp little teeth, like a kitten's. It was Babette all right.

Lydia stood and pulled her ebony sword and took off the vampire's head, and the body immediately began to dissolve into ash with a sizzle. "Done and done," the warrior murmured. She and Farkas both would welcome nights of good sleep from here on out. She picked up the tattered velvet dress and shook it out then folded it up to take home and show her husband. She tucked it into her belt, just as the werewolf began to hunch over and the transformation began again.

Aela staggered away from Lydia then doubled over and vomited, and the housecarl watched in dismay as the other woman's thin frame was wracked with nausea, as if Aela was purging herself of a poison.

The redhead fell to her knees in a clean patch of snow and scrubbed her mouth out with it. "Fucking foul," she rasped. "Filthy beast!" She had never gotten this close to a live vampire before, though she had come across their dank lairs a time or two, smelling of old blood gone rancid. Babette's blood had been too thick, with an almost acidic quality to it. It had tasted _black_ , if anything could taste of a color.

"Will you be all right?" Lydia prompted as the Huntress rose. Aela grunted and nodded, reaching past the housecarl for her gear, and Lydia put her hands on Aela's bare shoulders. "Aela," she murmured.

"What."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Aela grumbled, and she pressed, "Will the wolf keep you from catching vampirism?" It wasn't what she had meant by asking if the other woman was all right, but it would do.

"Yes. I can't catch anything. Not even a cold." Lydia didn't relent, and Aela sighed and squeezed the younger woman's wrist. "I'm good," she stated. "If...you're good, I'm good."

Lydia assured her, "I'm good, Sister."

"All right then."

Lydia let go and stepped aside, though she held Aela's weapons for her when they were handed over. "Is it hard?" she asked. "Not having...you know. Others."

"A pack?" Aela stared at the leather armor in her hands for a moment then began pulling it on. "Every damn day," she whispered. Wolves were not solitary creatures for the most part and neither were werewolves. She liked her solitude, it was true, but she had never wanted to be _alone_.

"I'm sorry."

The Huntress snorted. "For what? I am what I am. It's what I've been my entire adult life. It's what I was born to be. I'm sure Farkas told you."

"He did." Both parents werewolves, raised in the woods, shooting a bow before she could write her name… To Aela being a werewolf was as natural as eating and drinking. It was her, not just something she had afflicted herself with. Lydia offered, "I know Bryn brought this up before, years ago, but...I would hunt with you. I can't, won't, join you in the blood, but I can and will join you when you hunt, if you don't mind the company."

Aela stared at the other woman in the moonlight, wrestling with the notion. She had hunted alone since Skjor died. There were nights when she thought she would lose her mind if she didn't leave Whiterun and seek out another pack, and only the knowledge that there wasn't any other stopped her. The only other full pack she had heard of had been on Solstheim, and Vilkas and Bryn had wiped it out, in self-defense.

She was never going to get back what she had, not until she made it to the Hunting Grounds and found her mate again. Skjor wasn't a mate she had ever intended to have, but he was hers all the same, and they would run and hunt together for an eternity, at Hircine's side. Until then however she was alone. Mjoll, gift of Mara that she was, preferred to ignore that facet of her wife's existence. Farkas didn't talk about it either, maybe because he wanted to forget what he once had been, maybe because it honestly never came to mind for him. Vilkas never forgot, couldn't forget, but he simply wasn't around.

So maybe...maybe this would be an acceptable compromise.

"All right," Aela said with a nod, glad that her voice didn't catch. Lydia smiled at her, and she cleared her throat and took the weapons from her Shield-Sister. She strapped them on then moved to the trapdoor and lifted the hatch. "Let's do this then. Gods only know what kind of mess that girl has gotten into down there."

"I'm right behind you, Sister."

* * *

" _TIID KLO UL!"_

There was no other way to manage this. Bryn was fast, inhumanly fast, but Cicero was faster, the red-haired assassin dancing around her like a whirlwind, dodging every strike, getting in more than a few of his own. She could feel poison burning in her veins and her blood neutralizing it just as quickly, the blessed side effect of so many years of making potions and tasting alchemy ingredients. The jester's nonsensical babbling and high-pitched giggling were maddening, but then that was what he truly was: touched by Sheogorath.

And then of course there was the voice in her head, grating and insistent, worse than Meridia's nagging had ever been, distracting her from the madman trying to kill her. The Night Mother had moved from promises of making Bryn her 'Listener', whatever that meant, to threats of endless torment if she harmed 'the Keeper', who could only be Cicero.

Time slowed to a crawl and she finally felt a few seconds of breathing space, long enough to drop her swords and cloak herself in lightning. She simply wasn't fast enough, could never be fast enough, to cut down someone who had spent decades with knives in his hands.

Cicero came in again, ignoring the spell, and shrieked as it lit up his body with electricity. He was too tenacious to turn to ash, and Bryn did the only thing she could and simply grabbed the jester, clamping her hands to his throat and pumping more lightning into him as she squeezed. He thrashed in her grip, slashing at her armor, but without any force or direction the blows glanced off the dragon scales, striking ineffectual sparks.

The body in her hands went limp, and she yelled to vent her frustration and pulled, throwing the body one direction and the head another, and as time returned to normal with a pop she hear the Night Mother shriek in despair. That was going to stop right damn now.

Argis fought the urge to turn around and run, only Ralof's hand on his shoulder stopping him. He stood shivering as he watched his Queen roar and tear open the metal casket, enraged, then breathe three words of fire at the withered husk inside. She dragged the charred body out and threw it on the floor then picked up Dawnbreaker and began hacking up the corpse, and Argis whispered to Ralof, "What do we do!"

"Do?" Ralof retorted. "Leave her alone, that's what we do."

The housecarl made a strangled sound of disbelief but did as he was told. The Dragonborn looked like she was out of her mind. He had never seen anything like it, and he would hope that he never did again if he didn't know how stupid the thought was. He'd heard the stories, all the stories, especially the ones from the war, and while he hadn't doubted her power he had doubted the tales of her battle lust. He hadn't been able to reconcile the pleasant young woman and mother with the things he had heard. Well that was no longer an issue.

The slap of bare feet on stone sounded right before a woman's wail, and Argis lunged and grabbed the woman as she ran by. She thrashed and sank her teeth into Argis' bicep, making him shout in pain. He slammed his fist into her head to get her off, and she seemed crazed, slashing at him with a dagger that had come out of nowhere.

Ralof pulled her off and threw her to the side then clove her in two with his greatsword. Damn crazy place this was, between the mad assassin and his henchmen. There had been three initiates other than this one, all of them skilled but none of them much of a threat other than the likelihood that they were all using poison.

Who knew where this one had come from. She wasn't wearing Dark Brotherhood robes or leathers but a red silk gown that looked as if it must have been quite fine once, probably stolen. It was a shame too, pretty as she was, with strawberry blond hair and large sky blue eyes, her skin clear and fair. She must have been quite the beauty at one time, and he had to wonder what had driven her to take up with this bunch, other than her obvious madness.

He cleaned off the sword on the hem of her gown then sheathed it, hoping that the madwoman was the last of them, then he went to his Queen, whose anger seemed to have burned itself out for now. They still needed to be vigilant, as Babette hadn't shown herself even once yet. The thought of the vampire girl was still more terrifying to him than anything else he had seen in here.

He went down to one knee next to Bryn, who rumbled in aggravation, rubbing her forehead. He put a hand to her back and murmured, " _Drem_." His grasp of the dragon tongue, _Dovahzul_ , was still very basic; he didn't have Vilkas' smarts to learn such things quickly, and the Harbinger had only been teaching him for the last few months in private. There wasn't a whole lot of private to be had, and he had wanted to have a good handle on the language before letting the Queen know that he had learned it, but it would take him years at the rate he was going.

" _Geh_ ," she muttered. She clucked her tongue in disgust and squeezed her eyes shut. "Ugh, I can still hear her." The grating voice had been reduced to a whisper, but it was still there, enough that it would be a constant trial until she found time to dispose of the body. Even on a dragon the Aetherium Forge in the Rift was quite far from here, too far to go with a baby still on the breast. She couldn't go more than two hours without a great deal of discomfort and the worry of disrupting her milk supply. No, she would have to tolerate having the Night Mother in her head for a while yet.

She then lifted her head and looked at Ralof with wide eyes, and he grinned at her and drawled, "Surprise!"

"You," she whispered. "You and Vilkas…"

"Aye." He felt his face warming under her gaze and he looked away, shrugging. "I brought it up last year. Learning it, I mean. I forgot all about it by time we got home, but he mentioned it a few months ago. That man of yours has a mind like a steel trap." He shrugged again when she didn't speak, taking his hand away as they stood. "It's nothing, you know? Just a thing-" He was cut off when she tugged him close, and he chuckled and patted her back, ignoring the ungodly screeching of the scales of their armor rubbing against each other.

It was touching that she was so moved by his gesture. He was getting better at this thing, this thing that Hadvar had once done so effortlessly. Being supportive of her. Being a friend to her. Of course he had been for a while now, since coming back without Hadvar and having to fill his shoes. Vilkas hadn't been there at first either, and he had never forgotten his words to the Harbinger that day the war ended, about his fear of getting too close to his Queen and having that closeness change his view of her. He no longer had that fear, even if he did love her. He had finally gotten to that point, where he could love a woman as a good friend without wanting her. Maybe he had been at that point for a while and hadn't realized it until now.

Argis cleared his throat and said, "I hear voices coming. Women's voices."

Bryn nodded. "Probably Aela and Lydia," she stated. She stepped back from Ralof and the blond still seemed embarrassed, and she decided to add to it by kissing his cheek. The housecarl chuckled as Ralof's blush deepened and the Guard started fiddling with his gauntlets. Bryn left him alone and nudged at the remains of the Night Mother with the toe of her boot, hearing a faint hiss of protest slide through her head. "Argis, find a sack, please," she requested. "I've made a bit of a mess of these."

"Aye."

As he left the Queen moved over to inspect Cicero's corpse, and Ralof muttered, "Crazy little bastard. He got some good hits in, yeah?"

"Unfortunately yes," she sighed. "Poisoned too. I'll need to get cleaned up before I heal myself." The poison felt fully neutralized, so she didn't fear it getting into her milk, but the wounds felt more tender than was normal. She was glad Gaius wasn't around to fuss over it. Vilkas would be unhappy when he saw that she was hurt, but he would see it was manageable and not hover. The assassin had fought with slim knives that had slipped right past the plates of her armor. He had known right where to get at her, too, and by the Nine he had been fast. She had to be glad that Cicero had focused on her and not the two Guards. Ralof had a ring that gave him a high resistance to poison, but Argis was still wearing very basic steel armor, though she had enchanted it for him. He had bare arms, for gods' sake, and she hadn't missed the bite mark that would need tending. Once they got home to Windhelm he would be getting kitted out properly, that was for certain.

The assassin had nothing of any use on him; his outfit was enchanted, but nothing she wanted or needed. Bryn moved over to the woman's corpse, or the two halves of it rather, cloven by Ralof's impressive swing, and when she rolled the other half over she felt...nothing. A bit of resolution perhaps, but other than that, very little.

"You know her?" Ralof asked.

"This used to be Queen Elisif the Fair."

"...Oh." Well, they had thought she might be here, but he hadn't made the connection when he struck the woman down with _Fahliil-Maar_. It was a shame, but nothing he was going to lose sleep over. Elisif had chosen her camp and paid for it.

 _Perhaps you should have made her your Listener_ , Bryn thought to the voice in her head, but there was no change in the tone or content of the complaints. It probably didn't work that way. By the Nine, this was getting old. Surely the spirit or whatever it was would grow tired of this eventually!

Argis returned with a potato sack and the two men began the gruesome task of gathering up the brittle remains, and Bryn made her way downstairs to inspect the sanctuary more thoroughly. She met up with Aela and Lydia in the round chamber below, glad to see her Shield-Sisters in one piece. The two women seemed a bit odd with each other, but if Lydia had seen what Bryn thought she had it was no surprise.

"Shor's balls, what happened?" Lydia exclaimed as she looked her friend over.

"Cicero happened," she grumbled. "I'll take care of it when we get back to the inn." She was no longer bleeding and felt fine, if rather annoyed that she was going to have to repair her armor for the second time in two weeks. No, it was going to have to wait this time. It was only the leather that was damaged, and she would have little reason to wear it between here and home. She looked at Aela and asked, "Good hunting, sister?"

The redhead made a face and stated flatly, "It was successful, and I'll leave it at that. The little beast will trouble you no longer." The taste of Babette still lingered in her mouth. She was looking forward to a good strong drink when they got back to town.

"Ah. That's wonderful, thank you both." Of course they wouldn't be here now if they hadn't been successful. Once Aela had game in her sights she didn't stray from the hunt. It was a huge weight off the Queen's shoulders, knowing she no longer had to set the runes or be quite so paranoid. She and her circle would be more than happy to settle for their usual run-of-the-mill paranoia after all this. She was looking forward to settling back in Windhelm for a good long while with little to do other than run her hold and country and enjoy marriage and family life with her child and husband. They had but a single stop left to make, Winterhold, and then they would be done for the year.

Lydia mentioned, "We ran into a troll in the caverns leading here. Took it out."

"Excellent."

"I've never seen one like it," Aela mentioned as they started down a side hall. "The thing was green."

"Bizarre."

Anything more they could have said was cut off by a thin, mewling cry.

"Oh no," Lydia whispered. The other two women looked horrified. All three of them knew that sound. They knew it intimately.

Aela took off first, hearing the Queen and housecarl on her heels, and she followed the sound into a large bedchamber at the end of the hall.

Bryn stopped in the middle of the room, feeling her heart drop to see Aela standing over a bassinet by the side of a bed. The room was filthy, strewn with discarded clothing and plates of molding, half-eaten food, the product of two disordered minds, but the infant Aela lifted from the basket looked clean and healthy and sported a crown of fire-red hair.

She felt Lydia's hand on her shoulder and she leaned against her friend. It was clear whose child this was, and who the father was as well. It sent a surge of grief and regret through her that she didn't know what to do with. Cicero had earned his death a hundred times over, but Elisif… Bryn hadn't been the one to cut the girl down, but it was heartbreaking that it had come to this, and the Queen couldn't help feeling responsible for this somehow, wondering if she could have intervened in the path Elisif had taken. Gods knew she had tried, many a time, and gotten nowhere.

The baby squealed again and waved its fists, and Lydia murmured, "It's hungry."

"Mara's mercy," Bryn whispered. She knew that cry, all three of them did, and her breasts were already starting to leak uncomfortably in response. And really, what else could she do? There were no nursing mothers in Dawnstar at present that she knew of, and the child was an innocent. She no longer acted as the Agent of Mara, not really, belonged to no one but her father Akatosh now, but the last thing she was about to do was let any infant starve if she could feed it.

Aela sat down on the bed, cradling the child in her left arm, and when Bryn sat down next to her the housecarl began helping her remove the top part of her armor. While that was going on the Huntress took a peek inside the diaper then stated, "It's a girl." She looked to be not much younger than Fjonnar, not quite two months old. Aela rocked her, murmuring, "Hush little one, you'll get your dinner soon enough."

After an initial fuss over the unfamiliar scent and taste, the wailing infant was soon latched on and nursing, and Lydia sighed, seeing the strain on Bryn's face. It was a horrible situation all around. She stroked her friend's hair then said, "I'm going to let the guys know then do a quick sweep of the place with them."

"Yes. Thank you."

Once the housecarl was gone, Aela moved close to Bryn and laid her chin on her shield-sister's shoulder. "She's a feisty little thing," she stated. "The babe, I mean."

Bryn sighed heavily, "Yes, but...what am I going to do with her?" This was Elisif's child. Bryn couldn't simply drop her off at Honorhall and wash her hands of the baby. She couldn't take the child either. She didn't have the time or energy for a foundling, though she was certain she could eventually produce enough milk for two.

The Huntress reached around Bryn to pet the little one's hair, as red as her own had been as a child. "I'll take her," Aela stated, her tone soft. She felt a tremor of response go through the body next to her, and she went on, "Mjoll and I have wanted another daughter. A sister for Skjorta. There's an alchemist in town. I'll see if she has what's needed to make my milk come in. In the meantime I'll travel with you. Take care of the child, bring her to you just for feeding, if that's all right." _That_ would be something to tell the girl as she grew up, that she had nursed on dragon milk alongside a dragon-blooded princeling.

"Oh Aela, of course," she whispered, her throat tight. She leaned her jaw against the other woman's head then gave her temple a quick peck. "Thank you." It was a relief to know that the baby would be taken in by someone Bryn knew.

"This benefits us both, and the child most of all. This works for all involved." She ran her finger down to the baby's plump little hand then took it, the infant grasping instinctively. "Lydia and I will tell Mjoll where she came from, but that's it. The others here know, but other than that we're keeping it quiet." Aela would tell the girl what she needed to know when she was older, but she would never get the whole story. She didn't need to know she was the product of a lunatic and a murderer. She was free of her parents' stain, and it wasn't as if the girl would end up like either. Aela highly doubted either Elisif or Cicero had started out mad.

"That's for the best."

Aela watched the infant nurse, smiling as she felt the tiny hand squeeze her finger. She chuckled and said, "The wife is going to get a bit of a shock." She had mentioned she might not get back right away, depending on how things went. She could send a letter, but sometimes it was satisfying to give her woman a good jolt, considering how often Mjoll handed it out.

Bryn laughed softly and said in agreement, "I can see her face now."

"Skjorta has been wanting a baby sister. This will be a nice gift to make up for her ma being away from home for a bit. This will be the longest we've been apart since she was born." Skjor's daughter was equally attached to both her mothers and Mjoll was probably spoiling her terribly right now, so she would be fine, and while she might fuss at first she would settle soon enough into the role of big sister and be happy about it. She would wait until she got home to name the baby. Aela had named Skjorta as soon as she knew she was pregnant, so Mjoll could name this one.

The Queen let the baby nurse to satisfaction, feeling suddenly tired. It was the middle of the night, and she had never fought an opponent quite like Cicero or had to deal with that much poison in her bloodstream. She kept the baby to one breast, leaving the other for her own child, who would no doubt be quite hungry by time she returned, which she should soon.

She held her finger up to warn Aela then Shouted the whisper to detect life, and other than a few tiny spots that were likely mice the sanctuary was empty of all but those who were with her. She felt the tension she had been holding for the last three months suddenly drain from her and all she wanted to do was roll over into this bed and sleep. The bed itself was only fit for vermin, but she was so exhausted at the moment that it was tempting.

Lydia returned and Bryn handed the sleeping infant off to her new mother, and while the housecarl helped the Dragonborn back into her armor the Huntress slowly moved about, gathering what little there was for the child then leaving the room.

"She seems happy," Lydia stated. "She's taking the babe? I know she and Mjoll have been talking about having another." And now she and Farkas could finally get down to the same. Her husband would be thrilled. Hell, she was thrilled too. Farkas was an outstanding lover, but he had gone above and beyond while they were making Jergen, and she was looking forward to more of the same. She was satisfied with the one child they had, but another would make Farkas very happy, and she didn't mind having just one more. But just one.

"Yes." She winced at the tenderness in the other side of her chest then continued, "She's going to be traveling with us for a while, until her milk comes in. Frida at The Mortar and Pestle is a knowledgeable herbalist. I'm certain she'll have a recipe. If not, someone at the College in Winterhold is bound to." Just putting the child to her breast would eventually bring in Aela's milk, and the Huntress would no doubt do that, but an alchemist could brew up potions to hasten the process along. Aela might never have enough milk to fully feed her child, but others could help, including Bryn herself for a little while. It would be good to have her Shield-Sister with her for a couple weeks. Aela was dear to her, from early on, and Vilkas would be pleased to have her around for a while as well.

The whispering in her head finally fell silent, and when she blew out a breath of relief Lydia asked, "Everything all right?"

Bryn nodded. "Absolutely." Once she got back to her husband and child and put this nightmarish place behind her she would be perfectly fine. She would have Jod send people to clean the place out in the morning and dispose of the bodies properly. She wasn't about to leave Elisif to rot as she had so many others over the years. She would have to attend to the gruesome task of burning the girl's remains enough to render them unrecognizable and call it good.

As they left the sanctuary by the pulverized front door, Ralof kept glancing at the baby in Aela's arms, looking troubled, but he would be fine. It seemed he was in reliable health now, and with Babette gone they could all get on with their lives, such as they were. The tour of the country was over, the old Akaviri Dragonguard was out of the way, Vilkas had an exciting new purpose (and he was certainly excited), the last vestiges of the Dark Brotherhood were finally destroyed for good…

Yes, things were certainly all right. Bryn felt like she could finally breathe. Finally live.

She could _live_. She could finally live a form of the life she had always wanted. She had been too busy simply surviving her first year in Skyrim to enjoy much of it, too wrapped up in Vilkas and their mess of a relationship, too focused on growing her skills and power to make certain she survived Alduin. Once Alduin was gone, there had been Ulfric, and holding a kingdom together, and then the realization had come that his time was short, and then the wait had commenced.

Waiting for Ulfric's death. Waiting for war. Waiting to go home. Waiting for Vilkas. Waiting for Fjonnar to be born. Waiting to find and dispose of Babette. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

All her life she had been waiting for something of some sort, and now...now there was nothing, really. There was nothing just on the horizon, only the day to day aspects of her life, such as it was, and she couldn't be happier about that. She would return home to Windhelm and stay put for a while, tending to her people and her child, letting the people around her come and go, and Vilkas would be one of them.

Her husband would be home most of the time, she knew that, but she also knew his restless spirit. There would be times he wouldn't be there, but he wouldn't be there because he was safeguarding their future, their dynasty. And wasn't that fair, considering how she had come and gone, come and gone, during that first year? It wasn't even about fairness, really. They both had their duty, and they each had to act according to their nature.

Yes, Vilkas needed this challenge. He was too intense, too intelligent, too easily bored, too... _much_ of everything to spend the rest of his days standing around looking intimidating yet supportive, little more than a prop to her. He was her partner, and everything that he was would be put to much better use rebuilding the Blades.

Now that the last of the immediate threats were out of the way, Bryn would take the time tonight to speak with him about it and finally get this full thoughts on the matter. Though the Blades were entirely his project, she would be interested in hearing his plans and giving him someone to bounce ideas off of, and if nothing else she could think of a few people who might be a worthy addition to his growing order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul: Drem - Peace
> 
> Yeah, so...it's been a year. Most of 2015 blew by me and in hindsight I have no excuse other than Life. New, very hectic position at work (that has finally settled), my 23 year old moved back home, husband started a new job, my 7 year old started public school... The whirlwind seriously sapped my motivation, and the Dragon Age fandom took whatever was left. Not going to apologize for any of it, just giving reasons, and I do feel regret that it took me so long to get this out. I just couldn't get the words out, and then this chapter and the next was written all within the last month. The muse gives all or nothing, it seems.
> 
> The next chapter is already done and will be posted this weekend (maybe even today since I'm home from work). With the next chapter this story will in essence be finished. Three and a half years. I started this thing three and a half years ago, and once I finish this and His Brother's Keeper I'll have over a million words invested in my two Skyrim fics. I checked that the other day and it kind of blew my mind. I might have nearly that much material for Dragon Age, but that fandom is a lot more saturated than this one and is gifted with much better writers than I am. I don't know, we'll see.
> 
> Anyway, thank you all so much for sticking with this for so long. I cherish every review and kudos that this receives. If anyone wants to hit me up on Tumblr I'm opal-bee. I'm a boring 46 year old lady with two kids and an insurance job who likes gardening, but I'm more than happy to chat about Skyrim, Dragon Age or whatever, though I'd say my blog is about 99% DA reblogs. Bless you all for your fortitude in getting through this beast and for all the lovely comments I've received over the years.


	83. Chapter 83

"Prince Vilkas?"

The Harbinger let out a soft breath of relief, his attention gratefully drawn away from the rambling little Breton oyster farmer next to him. Apparently it was a very lucrative industry in High Rock, who knew? The Breton had been a youngest son with no hope of inheriting the family business and had set out for Skyrim and new opportunities and was thrilled to be here, and so on, and so on. It had been interesting at first, seeing the rows of baskets where the oysters grew and hearing the young man talk about the entire process, but now he was waxing poetic about his great-aunt Estelle's many oyster recipes and the prince's eyes were starting to glaze over. Erik and Ralof found it all quite amusing, but they weren't the ones having to supply the appropriate nods and sounds of acknowledgment and feigned interest.

He turned toward the voice and saw a young Nord mage approaching, alone. Erik instantly went on alert but Ralof put a hand out and shook his head, a look of muted grief on his face. So this was Onmund, then. Vilkas schooled his expression as he took in the lad. He wasn't much of a lad, really, only a bit younger than Ralof, tall and fairly well-built, which honestly was surprising with him being a mage. He wasn't terribly good-looking, with a nose that looked to have been broken when he was younger and an underbite, but he had sweet sad eyes of a striking intense blue color and an overall pleasant air to him. Gods, but it was hard to look at him and not think of Hadvar.

"That is me," the Harbinger replied. Harbinger. Well, he was still that too, for another week or two.

"Bryn, um, well, Queen Brynhilde," Onmund began to explain, or tried to. He cleared his throat and glanced at the tall blond, giving him a brief nod of greeting before looking to the Prince again. He didn't need or want Ralof's acknowledgment of anything. He knew it wasn't pity, but he just didn't want to go there, not at this point, and after all, wasn't Ralof's loss the greater? He was the one who had spent every day with Hadvar. He had grown up with Hadvar, had been best friends with him once, and then again. He had spent the entire war fighting at Hadvar's side. And what had Onmund had? Frequent letters, a visit here and there, and promises that would never be fulfilled, and a dragon scale shield that was gathering dust under his bed.

"Sent you to see me, did she?" That meant she had asked Onmund to join her court and he had refused. The young man looked nervous, as if he was about to get strong-armed into accepting. Vilkas preferred to think of it as the application of gentle but firm persuasion.

"Aye. Yes sir, I mean."

"Let's take a walk, lad." Vilkas turned and held his hand out to the oyster farmer, who brightened and took it. "Thank you for the tour. I wish you luck in your endeavors." The man was thrilled and babbled something that went in one ear and out the other.

Vilkas smiled appropriately and walked away, the other two Nords following him at a small distance. Funny how he was used to this now. He was getting better at playing his part, and this tour of Bryn's bore much of the credit for that. It had gotten easier since that last week in Dawnstar and deciding the direction he wanted to take. Like it or not, he _was_ the Dragonborn's Consort, and he would get used to his position, and he _would_ use it to his advantage. He had watched his wife often enough, building bridges, making connections. It didn't come naturally to him, not one bit, but he would learn to do it.

Once they were climbing the long stairway set into the hill, Onmund blurted, "I don't want to be court mage! Uh...sir."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to be cooped up in some dark room, going dotty and getting old before my time!"

Vilkas snorted. "You think you'll turn into Wuunferth, is that it?" He stopped halfway up the hill and the two bodyguards hung back. "So the reason isn't living in Windhelm, then?"

Onmund folded his arms and lowered his gaze, scowling as he looked at the ground. "That's part of it," he admitted. He made a sound of frustration and shook his head, lowering his voice. "It isn't because of Hadvar," he muttered. "Not...really. It isn't because I can't bear to live where he did. If anything it's hard being here. He always came to visit me here. I sit in the inn having an ale and think about…" About the nights they'd spent there, about how it had felt to see the warrior come striding through that door with a smile just for him, with eyes just for him. He shook his head and looked away, rubbing under his nose. "I can't bear the thought of living there and having everyone thinking about it around me. Pitying me."

"You think they will?"

"It's self-absorbed, I know. Why would they? Bryn had to go home, and…" He knew no one would intend to make things awkward, but they would be, if only in his own head. After all, he was just one of many who had lost a spouse or lover in the war, nothing special. Except Hadvar had been. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't want to be a court mage," he repeated.

"Then what do you want?"

"I don't know," Onmund whispered. "I've been…" He made a sound of exasperation, glancing at Ralof, who quickly looked away, his expression tight. Yes, that was _exactly_ what he didn't want, and exactly why he didn't want to move to Windhelm. "It's been nearly a year," he mumbled. "Since he died. It's been eight months since I found out, when you all came back. It still hurts, but...not as much as you'd think, and not for the reasons you'd think." Vilkas waited, and after a moment the young man said, "I loved him. I really did, but...we didn't get to see each other as often as we would've liked. We were still getting to know each other. We figured everything would come later, once he got back, once we married."

Vilkas nodded, heart aching. "Aye. That is often how it is done." Nords often married on impulse and expected the rest of it to follow, and it usually did.

"That…" He cleared his throat of the lump that was sticking there. "That's what I still grieve. He's gone, I know that, and I miss him, but...everything that will never happen, _that's_ what hurts. It still hurts. I don't know how to let that go, the life I'll never have." The older man looked sympathetic, his gray eyes shining as he nodded in understanding, and Onmund rubbed his face and sputtered. "It's stupid, hanging onto that when-"

The Harbinger interjected in a firm tone, " _No_ it is not. It is not at all, and do not bring up her loss. Her loss isn't yours. It doesn't make yours less. She has lost nothing more than anyone else has." The young mage grimaced, and Vilkas folded his arms, bringing up one hand to tuck under his chin. Shor's bones, this was hard. He understood grief, intimately, but he had never mourned a future that he had planned with someone. For most of his life he had never looked past being Harbinger. He had certainly never dreamed of a future when he and Bryn were first together. He had lived in the moment and had been content with that. Now, all he could see was the future. He went on, "There is no way to just let it go. You can only try to build a different life, even if it wasn't the one you planned."

"I...guess." Tolfdir had told him the same thing, and Divines only knew how he was supposed to go about that. He had felt adrift for so long he didn't know how to reorient himself. "But it won't be as her court mage," he said, sincere regret in his voice. "She's my friend, and it's flattering that she thinks so highly of me. That she trusts me."

"She does," Vilkas agreed. Bryn had come up to the College frequently in the year before the war, and occasionally before that. She had friends here, mentors as well, though he was taking her word for that.

He hadn't gone up to the College today; one glance at the broken causeway from down in the city and he had shaken his head and refused to even head that direction, _Fuck that!_ written all over his face. He couldn't fathom why they hadn't fixed the damn thing by now when the rest of Winterhold had been repaired. Perhaps it was just to deter those who weren't serious about their visit. Vilkas had no trouble admitting that he really didn't want to go up there. He had learned to tolerate magic just fine and could see its usefulness, but he didn't understand it, and frankly didn't care to.

"I know she sent me down here so that you could try to change my mind. I want to help her, I really do, just not like this."

"I'm not going to try to change your mind." Not now that he knew the reasons for Onmund's refusal.

His eyebrows flew up in surprise. "Oh! Well! Um, good!" He paused, frowning. "So…what then?"

"I am reforming the Blades." The young man's blue eyes just about bulged out of his head at the news, and the implications of it. Vilkas let him digest that for a bit. The Prince would have preferred having Onmund in Wuunferth's place in addition to joining the Blades, but talking to him made it apparent he wasn't suited to it. Vilkas would leave that choice up to his wife. It wouldn't hurt to get an elf into that position, maybe even a Dunmer. Vilkas certainly liked the Dunmer people a good sight more than the other types. They would all hear Ulfric turning in his grave overlooking Windhelm if it happened, but the old Jarl had known that it was only a matter of time before the Dragonborn ordered the household to her liking.

"B-Blades?"

"Aye. My wife is Dragonborn, and she wants Blades, and so she will have them. If you are interested, there is a place for you in the order."

Onmund's mouth worked wordlessly for a few seconds before he stammered, "But...but I'm no warrior! Or a spy, I'm just...I mean, I can use a bow, but-"

"Warriors can be had anywhere. Spies, agents rather, can be made." The mage ran a hand over his mouth, a hand that was trembling. It was good that the lad understood the gravity of the offer. Vilkas' tone gentled a touch as he quietly went on, "It would be hard work, and dangerous at times. There may be a good deal of travel involved." Onmund swallowed hard then nodded, barely a dip of the head, looking over Vilkas' shoulder, an expression of bewilderment on his face. "Brynhilde will be Empress one day," he stated. "She needs people she can rely on. _I_ need people I can rely on, that I know she trusts."

"I...I don't know what I can offer you," the young man said in a faint voice.

"She tells me that the Archmage says you have a great deal of potential, and you are young yet. She says that you are brave, and a good man." The lad looked even more stunned by that. Vilkas stated, "We are a small group yet, but a hand's count, and we are all warriors. I cannot build the Blades with only warriors, and I have come to respect mages and their work." The few mages among the Nord army had worked tirelessly during the war, most of them behind the scenes, healing the wounded and keeping the camps cool, keeping scavengers away from the bodies until they could be collected and dealt with, enchanting and recharging weapons...they had earned their fair share of respect from many Nords last year. That Onmund had defied his family after years of their browbeating said a great deal for his strength of character.

"But what would I do? How would I…" The mage rubbed his face again. "Do I have to decide today?"

"No. We will be in Winterhold for three more days. I would like your answer by time we leave. I would ask however that you keep the matter to yourself. It is no small thing I'm offering you, and there are few as yet who know what I am setting out to do." He barely understood yet what he was setting out to do. He had no trouble admitting that he had no idea at all, really, but he would learn. They all would.

Onmund whispered, "All right then. I'll think about it."

"Aye."

"I just don't want to disappoint anyone," he said in a halting tone. "If I decide not to."

"We would be disappointed, yes, but we would not be disappointed in you. Brynhilde would not be. If you choose to do this, don't do it for that reason," Vilkas warned. "Do it because you want to get in at the start of something important. Do it because you want to be a part of history unfolding. Do it because you want to help Bryn and protect her, and her heirs. Hell, do it to prove something to yourself and push your life in a new direction, that is as good a reason as any, but don't do it out of fear of disappointing anyone."

The mage nodded, looking thoughtful, then he bowed and took his leave, heading up the hill. Vilkas watched him go, feeling old at the moment. Gods, Onmund was young, in his mid-twenties, but then Gaius was even younger than that. It would be interesting to see how the Colovian had handled caring for Esbern this entire-

"You sounded so wise, just then."

Erik laughed at Ralof's mock-admiring comment, nudging the other Nord with his elbow, and Vilkas turned his gaze on Ralof and stared at him for several seconds with his tongue in his cheek before saying in a drawl, "How does it feel to know that you will never be in danger of the same?"

Ralof guffawed in response then stated sagely, "We each have our role to play, Grandmaster."

Vilkas rolled his eyes as the two young men laughed again, then he started up the hill, hearing them follow. It was all in good fun, and yes, he supposed he was Grandmaster of the Blades, for now. There was really no one else who could be at this point. Gaius was too young, Aventus was a child, Athis was too new, Esbern was too frail, and none were the type to lead, though Gaius had it in him, with time and maturity. He seemed to have pulled his head most of the way out of his ass by time their group had gone their separate ways, but Vilkas wasn't yet fully convinced of the permanence of that change.

They reached town and he saw Onmund up ahead, standing before the ramp that led to the College, and the mage rubbed the back of his neck under his hood as he bounced his right leg, then he glanced back. Vilkas nodded to him, and Onmund chewed at his bottom lip then abruptly turned and went up.

Serious again, Ralof asked, "Think he'll do it?" The blond hoped so. He truly did. Hadvar's death had hurt a lot of people, but beyond that it seemed to have stalled Onmund, and it wasn't as if Ralof didn't see why. He had no plans for the future that way. He cared for Siga and enjoyed his time with her, and maybe they had even silently agreed to keep things exclusive for the time being, but he had no intentions at all of settling down and marrying her. Hadvar had fooled around as much as Ralof had, in fact more so once joining the Queen's service, but he had always intended to marry. He had slept around plenty even after bedding Onmund a few times, but after a certain point he had decided the mage was the one for him, and that was that.

Seeing Onmund directionless and still quietly grieving was painful, and even worse it made Ralof feel helpless, that he couldn't do anything for his dead best friend's man who had been left behind. Onmund didn't want the help, he knew that, at least not from Ralof. Maybe not from anyone. What Vilkas was offering wasn't charity, and he hoped Onmund realized that.

"Aye, I think so," Vilkas replied. "Brynhilde told me he had always lamented not getting out much and feeling stifled by the atmosphere here. He seems one to be out _doing_ , not sitting around with his nose in a spell tome. He would be wasted here if he stayed."

"Aye."

Vilkas motioned with his head towards Erik and said to the redhead, "Tomorrow Aela and I will take you and Lydia to Ysgramor's Tomb. It is sealed again, but I want to show it to you while we're up here, tidy up the outer chamber if needed."

Erik nodded with a solemn expression, saying, "Yes sir. The Revered would have my head if I didn't."

The three Nords headed to the Frozen Hearth, where their party was staying; the innkeepers were more than thrilled to have a full house, something that was rare even with the improvements to and increased traffic through the town. Erik helped him out of his armor then he took the baby from Siga, kissing the boy on the cheek as he took a seat near Aela.

The Huntress was wearing her new daughter in a sling borrowed from Bryn while she polished her bow, and she quirked an eyebrow at her Shield-Brother as he rubbed his nose against Fjonnar's belly and blew on it, making the baby coo. It had been interesting, watching him up close like this for the first time since he had moved to Windhelm half a year ago, seeing how tender he was with the child that for all intents and purposes was his son. For all that he was a good man, he had never been a soft or gentle one, except around Skjorta and Jergen, and even then he had always been a bit distant with them before. There was no distance with Fjonnar, and since the little prince's birth Vilkas had gotten more comfortable with his nephew and Aela's daughter. Older daughter, that was.

She felt herself smiling and Vilkas looked up, catching her before she looked down at the still-nameless infant lying on her chest. "Something on your mind, Sister?" he asked.

"Nothing in particular," she murmured, brushing her fingertips along the baby girl's red hair. "Just...things are good." She could feel herself quickly growing attached to the child, this tiny helpless thing, something small and precious found like a bit of treasure in the foulest of places. It had only been a few days and already the babe was growing plump on Bryn's milk. Fjonnar had plumpness to spare and wasn't missing the milk he was sharing.

Vilkas watched her for a moment, then he nodded. "Aye," he softly agreed. "Things are good." Argis came by with a cold ale, and he murmured his thanks and braced the baby in one arm to take the mug. Fjonnar waved his arms and grabbed for it, and Vilkas laughed, "I don't think so, lad."

Argis chuckled and said, "He'll be out drinking and running wild before you know it."

"Say that again and I'll punch you," Vilkas stated, and Argis laughed again and went back to take up position by the door. The Harbinger snorted, glad that the one-eyed warrior took the comment as it was intended. He would be a good fit in Windhelm, once they got home. Vilkas could see Argis and Yrsarald hitting it off, certainly, close in age and with similar temperaments.

By the Nine, he wanted to get home. Home had always meant Whiterun in the past, Jorrvaskr specifically, and now his home was a cold city of stone where the ice never melted completely. Well, it wasn't as if a man couldn't have more than one home in his heart. There was room enough there for both, and it wasn't Windhelm he loved but the people there, Bryn and Fjonnar specifically, and gods help him Ralof too, the smart-mouthed bastard. The blond had grown on him in the last few months, something he hadn't bargained for, but it was something he couldn't regret, either. For all the troubles they'd had, Bryn loved Ralof dearly, considered him family even, and so he was family to Vilkas as well. Over the years Ralof would be spending much more time at Bryn's side than Vilkas would, and he couldn't resent that.

He glanced at the blond and he was playing tafl with Erik, Siga by his side, though the girl was turned away, talking quietly with Erandur as the Dunmer priest demonstrated a basic warding spell with his usual unflappable demeanor. Siga had a natural talent for the Restoration school and would have made a good healer or priestess, with time. Well, it wasn't as if she didn't have the time, only twenty years old, and who knew how her relationship with Ralof would pan out. The two seemed fond of each other, but there didn't seem to be any of the passion behind it that young love usually had. Maybe they would last; maybe they wouldn't. It would be up to them whether they did or not. Privately, Vilkas doubted it, but it wasn't as if he had any insight into these things. From the way Bryn occasionally looked at the two, she doubted it as well.

Half an hour later the door of the inn opened and everyone looked up, Vilkas expecting his wife, and instead he saw Onmund there. The young man had a steely expression on his face, and when his eyes lit on the Harbinger Vilkas knew he had made his decision. He had to wonder if the mage had even made it all the way back up to the College before he had done so. "Aye?" he asked simply.

Onmund nodded slowly, then with more conviction. "Aye," he replied.

"Good to hear." He hooked a nearby chair with his foot and pulled it over. "Have a seat and a drink." The mage nodded, looking nervous but determined. It was a relief to see, as he should be apprehensive. This was no small thing they were embarking on. Onmund took a seat, nodding in greeting to Aela, who returned it, though he probably had no idea who she was. Vilkas gave the young man a brief smile then said, "Welcome aboard, lad." Ah, but this was a good start. Bryn would be happy about this as well, having worried about her friend since...well, since that day.

"Thank you, sir."

The innkeeper brought Onmund a bottle of mead, along with another for Vilkas, and the two Nords pulled out the corks then the older man held his bottle out to the mage. "To new beginnings." The mead wasn't Honningbrew, but at least it wasn't Black-Briar. It would do.

"Aye," Onmund said with a nod, his voice catching. "To new beginnings." They clinked their bottles together and the mage took a drink then looked around the room, taking in the people there. They all either smiled or nodded to him, and he returned the gestures, then his eyes landed on Ralof. The blond smiled at him, with only a hint of grief in his eyes, then returned to his game. All right then, he could live with that. It wasn't as if it would last. Nothing really did anyway, did it?

Vilkas stated, "Once Brynhilde returns, we'll talk. Get you caught up."

"Aye. I mean, yes sir."

The Harbinger nodded and shifted in his seat to put his feet up on the edge of the fire pit, Fjonnar sleeping peacefully in the bend of his left arm. Onmund didn't try to fill the silence as they drank, and Aela certainly didn't either, and that was fine by him. Gods knew he could use the quiet to gather his thoughts, though it did little to soothe the restlessness that was plaguing him once again, the driving need to get up and _do_ something, get started, put things in motion.

Less than a week. He would be back home in less than a week. Then he could start. He would have his wife call her _Kulaansedov_ and have Odahviing ferry him to Sky Haven Temple, maybe Onmund too if the lad could handle it...and if the red dragon agreed to it. That was a fairly large if. Odahviing would do whatever his _rekdovah_ wanted in the end, of course, and while Bryn might ordinarily feel reluctant to impose on the dragon in such a way, she would readily agree to it if it was something Vilkas thought prudent. Which he did.

He wanted all his Blades together at the Temple at the beginning of all this. He wanted the meeting minutes written down for posterity and all their names signed to the record, even Aventus, young as he was. It would be up to the young ones to carry the order forward, with Vilkas and Athis' maturity tempering things for now and old Esbern's memories and experience laying the groundwork. There was no telling how long they would have the benefit of Esbern's knowledge, but that was a good part of the reason Vilkas felt pressed to get things moving.

Less than a week. Surely he could last that long.

Onmund sat back in surprise as the Harbinger suddenly stood, baby in one arm and bottle of mead in the other hand. He stayed silent as the older man began a slow circuit of the room, a slight frown on his face, eyes distant, every so often taking a drink. The mage did his best to be discreet as he glanced about for the others' reactions, and when no one seemed to pay much heed he relaxed back into his chair.

"You get used to it," Aela offered. When the young man looked confused she added, "He thinks best on his feet." The pacing was a habit that had once driven her mad, a good twenty years ago, when they were young and Vilkas' restive nature had been even worse. Her brother had never been able to tolerate being idle. Well, going down the path he was headed, he would be lucky to get the chance to be idle ever again. Perhaps that would work for him though. Keep him busy. Keep him out of Bryn's hair.

As much as Aela loved them both, she also knew them both quite well. The two had strong personalities that had only gotten stronger while they were away at war, and no matter how they adored each other two people like that needed their own space from time to time. Their own spheres of influence.

Even as she grieved it, she knew it was for the best that Vilkas resign as Harbinger. He was simply never there to do the job, and he had made it a job, turned it from the position of counselor to leader. Mjoll was a natural-born leader. Vilkas was too, but he needed more than a mercenary guild to challenge him at this point. Mjoll had seen the world and was satisfied to settle in Jorrvaskr, but a man like Vilkas never settled.

* * *

"It's colder than a witch's tit out there," Mjoll complained. Whatever this was that passed for summer in Windhelm was not at all to her liking. She threw her bag on the floor of the manor and shifted Skjorta to her other hip to accept an embrace from her Shield-Brother Erik. The lad looked to be in one piece and just about hopping to talk about the last month and a half traveling in the Queen's entourage, but she cut him off, saying with smiling impatience, "Yeah, yeah, we will get to that, boy. First I want to see my wife."

"Um...Aela?" Erik began.

"Aela, Aela…" She took a swipe at him to cuff him in the back of the head, and he dodged the light blow. Well that was something. Maybe he had learned a thing or two while he was gone. "Of course I mean Aela! How many wives do you think I have, idiot? Where is she?" She missed her Huntress fiercely after being apart for going on over two weeks now. Poor little Skjorta kept asking for her mama and Mjoll kept telling her they'd see her soon. Well now they were here in Windhelm and she wanted to see her pretty wife, right damn now.

Erik didn't answer, the front door of Hjerim opening, and the royal couple waltzed in as fine as you please, Lydia right behind them, but still no Aela. Mjoll's lips pursed as they shut the door and she let them get their greetings out of the way, tolerating the tizzy and the happy cries and Farkas picking up Lydia in one arm and swinging her around, nearly knocking over old Vignar in the process. Jergen was thrilled to see his mother, and that was quite nice, sure, but still...no Aela. Athis wasn't here either.

"Oh no you don't," Mjoll said in annoyance, putting her hand on Bryn's chest when the Queen tried to hug her. "I'll get to you in a minute, Sister, but first things first. I've got a little girl here who wants her mama, and I'm still down one Shield-Brother. No games." She knew that telltale sparkle in the Dragonborn's gold eyes. Aela was perfectly fine, Mjoll knew that. She had no doubt of that at all. But there was something going on, and while Mjoll liked a good gag as much as the next person, this wasn't the time for it.

Vilkas smirked at the tall blond woman and raised his voice, calling, "Aela, your woman is here."

"Yes, so I heard," a dry voice replied from upstairs.

Mjoll's nose wrinkled as she narrowed her eyes at the Harbinger. "Oh, aye, aye, very funny," she drawled. She heard Aela's footsteps on the stairs and gently pushed Bryn aside to go greet her wife. "What gives, honey? Over two weeks you're gone, and…" The redhead came into view, wearing a nice tunic and pants, her face free of paint and hair braided back, and oh did she look _lovely_. However that wasn't what had the Lioness stunned. What had her completely taken aback was the tiny bundle in her woman's arms. A tiny red-haired bundle. "Aela?" she whispered. You could hear a straw drop for how silent the house became.

"Look what I found in Dawnstar, Molly," Aela said in a murmur.

"Oh," Mjoll peeped. "Oh my."

"I thought maybe you could name this one." The blonde's lips formed an _O_ as Aela moved close. The Huntress kissed her daughter, her _older_ daughter, and told her, "This is your new baby sister. She's going to come live with us."

"Is a real baby?" the little girl whispered with huge eyes.

"Oh yes. Very real."

"You had the baby?" After all, both her mama and the baby had red hair. Though it seemed having a baby took longer? And Mama had never been round? Like the smith lady near the city gates. She was big and round and looked ready to pop, but Mama had been skinny all along.

Aela chuckled. "Oh no, little girl. I found her. She was all alone and needed someone to take care of her. And a big sister. She needed a big sister very badly."

"Okay." Skjorta brightened. "Oh, that's me!"

Bryn's hand flew to her mouth as she leaned against Vilkas, and Torvar muttered something about having something in his eye before heading for the kitchen.

Mjoll touched the baby's hair and whispered, "Oh wifey. This is...good. A good thing you did. Yeah." The baby was the size of a doll, with delicate features, though clearly a Nord baby from how lightly she was dressed in the cool air. Most infants this age weren't much to look at, but this one was quite pretty, with round rosy cheeks and a tiny nose. She looked well-fed, but it wasn't hard to guess who had been feeding her. There was a good reason Fjonnar was so fat.

The Lioness raised her eyes to her wife's and Aela was giving her a meaningful look, one she couldn't put a name to, but it had caution written all over it. So maybe the baby had more of a story than that of a simple foundling. All right then. She would get the story later tonight, in private. Mjoll smiled at her in reassurance then kissed her forehead. "Ylva," she decided. "We will name our baby Ylva."

"A good name," Aela said with a nod, only a slight hitch to her voice. She-wolf. Mjoll had named the little one 'she-wolf' in the old Nord tongue. It was a gift, in a way. "I've been taking potions to bring on my milk, but it might take a few more weeks. Bryn's been feeding her, but…it's been slow going." The alchemist in Dawnstar had warned her she might never be able to fully feed the baby on her own, but that was all right. Every little bit was good for the baby, _Ylva_ , and it had helped forge the bond that was still growing between them.

"We'll find a wet nurse. No worries, honey." Adrianne Avenicci was due any day now with her second child, and Carlotta's little boy was still nursing, though nearly done. They would get it all figured out. "Ach, come here," she cooed, putting her arm around her wife and pulling her close. She held her there, kissing her temple before turning to look at Bryn and Vilkas. Neither were in armor and looked quite fine, and their child seemed to be elsewhere. They were watching her and Aela with pleased expressions, though within several seconds of Mjoll turning her gaze on him Vilkas' expression started to look a bit shifty. "All right then, let's get to it," she demanded, setting Skjorta down on the ground when the girl squirmed. "I'm sure you didn't bring us here just to watch me get surprised by my woman. We're all here except for Athis. What gives?"

Njada grumbled, "Yeah, just where is he, anyway?" Torvar reappeared in the doorway of the kitchen, a bottle of mead in his hand, looking worried. The shield-maiden's gaze moved to Erik, and the young redhead cleared his throat and looked elsewhere.

Bryn stated, "He's fine. He's...working on a special project."

"For me," Vilkas added. He glanced at his wife. "For us," he amended. Bryn rubbed his back in encouragement, knowing what this was doing to him. No matter how excited he was for the future, this was still a decision that had caused him grief. He looked at his brother, and Farkas waited patiently, though it wasn't hard to see the hints of worry in his expression. He drew in a deep breath and moved his gaze back to Mjoll. "As of today, I am stepping down as Harbinger. You are the one I have chosen to take my place." As expected, there were sounds of shock and upset, some confusion, the Companions looking between Vilkas and Mjoll. The warrior woman stared back in concern but uncharacteristically remained silent.

Vignar sank onto the bench at the long trestle table and muttered, "I was afraid of this."

"I can't keep doing it," Vilkas stated, his tone firm but betraying how much this hurt him to do. "I'm not doing the position or the Companions justice. A Harbinger should be in Jorrvaskr, attending to business, being an arbiter. Harbingers have left the hall on their own journeys from time to time, but not...not this." Living elsewhere, with no chance of going back. Having responsibilities outside the guild that were heavy enough on their own.

Mjoll squinted at him and asked, "You sure about this, Brother?"

"Haven't you been doing the job already the last six months? You and the Revered?"

"Aye, that we have," she conceded, "however I don't need the fancy title to keep doing it."

"If you're doing the job, you should have the title. It…" He huffed, his brows drawing together. "It feels dishonest to hold onto it. This is something I feel strongly about."

Farkas finally spoke up. "But it's all you ever wanted," he said, unable to help feeling loss over this. "Being Harbinger." The whole time growing up together, being Harbinger was the one consistent thing Vilkas had dreamed about.

"And I have been the Harbinger," Vilkas said with a nod. "I attained what I set out for." The way he had come into the position was nothing he enjoyed remembering, how Bryn had been in a terrible state of mind and in essence tossed the job at him, as she set out for Skuldafn. What mattered however was what he had done with it after that. He would be entered into the records of Jorrvaskr as the first real leader the Companions had seen since Ysgramor. That was no small legacy to leave behind in the hall.

Mjoll heaved a sigh of acceptance, then she nodded and took a deep breath. "All right then," she stated. "I will do it. It would be my honor." Vilkas relaxed and smiled at her, the weight seeming to visibly lift from his shoulders. By Dibella, he was a damned handsome man when he lit up like that. She moved away from her wife and they embraced, and she gave him all of two seconds before she straightened up and gripped him by the shoulders, giving him a shake. "So, be straight with me, yeah? Where is our Shield-Brother, really?"

Vilkas glanced at his wife, but she was looking towards the kitchen, where Torvar was chewing at his bottom lip, mead forgotten in his hand. He blew out a breath then stated, "There is no easy way to say this, and I wish he could have been here to say it himself. And he will be going back to Jorrvaskr, soon, and will take the time to talk to you more about it, I promise you that."

"But?" Ria prompted. Vilkas hesitated, and she said in realization, "But he isn't staying. Is he?"

"No." Mjoll's hands fell away from his shoulders, and he fought not to grimace. He hated doing this to his shield-siblings. His family. The Companions still hadn't recovered their full numbers, even with the addition of Erik and Lydia, and here he was taking away yet another member, on top of leaving the hall himself. It was clear that none of them were happy about this. He hadn't expected them to be.

It was clear Vilkas was having trouble with this, and Bryn interjected, "Athis was with us in Sky Haven Temple, when I dealt with Delphine and her people. Vilkas and I dealt with them. They barred me from the Temple, and when I forced my way in they attacked me. They had Dwemer crossbows. If they'd had the Dawnguard's exploding bolts I might have died. I took more damage in that fight than I did at any point during the war. As it was, Vilkas and I killed them all. All but one. Esbern."

"The old man?" Farkas asked. "The one we took out of Riften?"

"Yes, the Blades' Archivist. He was still alive. Crippled. Delphine had crippled him, so he couldn't leave." There were grumblings and soft curses at that. "He is the sole remaining Blade that I know of. Or he was."

Vignar's gaze moved back to Vilkas, and when the younger man's eyes flicked towards him the elder said in resignation, "I see. You and Athis. And that Imperial too, I'd wager." Gaius Maro's father ran the Penitus Oculatus and the lad himself was, or had been, an officer of some rank for how young he was, specializing in assessing security details and analyzing risk. Vignar could see the logic in it. The young man was obviously bright and capable, if a bit uptight. And an Imperial. Athis was skilled and smart as a whip, and saying that Vilkas was intelligent and able was an understatement.

Vilkas drew in a deep breath and nodded. "I am rebuilding the Blades," he stated. "I cannot do that and maintain the position of Harbinger." He blew the breath out. "I cannot maintain the position regardless." Well, it wasn't his any longer, was it? As of a minute ago he had ceased to be Harbinger of the Companions. He wondered how long it would take for that to sink in. "While we were in Sky Haven Temple, I could tell Athis was chewing on something. He helped Gaius take care of Esbern. He's been helping the lad sort through the records there and get the place in order. The night before we left for Hjaalmarch, he came to me. I had already told Brynhilde and the others that I wanted to rebuild the Blades with Gaius. Athis asked me what I was looking for in new members. I told him. He said that he just happened to fit the criteria. I was...surprised, but glad to have him."

Athis was exactly what Vilkas had been looking for: intelligent, skilled, quiet, good at keeping secrets, and not afraid to get his hands dirty. He was also honorable and held Bryn in high esteem. There had been more to the conversation, but not a whole lot more. This was something Athis had felt called to do, and so he would do it. He had joined the Companions years ago out of little more than spite and to his surprise had found a home there, but he was at a point in his life where he wanted more than what the Companions had to offer. The Dunmer wasn't terribly young, but he wasn't old either. He hadn't been looking for a change, other than moving to Windhelm, but when the opportunity presented itself it had felt right to him. It felt right to Vilkas as well, and Bryn.

The former Harbinger took in the reactions, and Vignar was nodding slowly, having accepted it. Njada looked irritated and Ria sad. Erik, Aela and Lydia had already known and were staying out of it. Farkas looked troubled, and Vilkas had already planned to get his brother alone to talk about his decisions, beyond spending some time together. Mjoll looked resigned to it but also seemed to be going over things in her head, perhaps already thinking about how to recruit new members; maybe she would be the one to finally get through to Avulstein Grey-Mane, and Vignar as well, so the two could settle their differences and get the younger man joined up.

He finally looked back to Torvar, and the blond was taking a drink. "You are being very quiet, Brother," Vilkas stated. "It isn't like you."

Torvar swallowed and smacked his lips before saying, "If this is something he wants to do, then by Shor he should do it. I ain't gonna be the one to piss on his parade." He paused then added, "So am I going to be the one to tell Idesa, or do one of you want to do it?" He received a round of blank stares.

Bryn finally said in bewilderment, "Idesa...Sadri? He's seeing Revyn's sister?" Torvar smirked, and she clucked her tongue but couldn't help feeling a smirk of her own coming on. "You brat." Idesa was Grimvar Cruel-Sea's nanny, though the boy had nearly outgrown the need for one at twelve. She had spoken of joining her brother's business, perhaps even traveling to Raven Rock for trade, since they had a cousin there that they were both close to. Bryn had been wondering for months who Athis' sweetheart was and had batted around any number of options, but none had seemed any more likely than the others.

"Hey, I ain't gonna talk him out of it. Don't mean he ain't gonna have to pay for it." And it wasn't as if he hadn't already prepared himself for Athis leaving Jorrvaskr. The mer had been seeing Idesa for longer than anyone else suspected; they had been courting since spending the night together after he had taken Torvar to the New Gnisis Cornerclub, back when Ulfric was still alive and the old Jarl had given Bryn the house they were now all standing in. He had been talking for months about making their relationship official and moving to Windhelm. Becoming a Blade didn't change that.

Vignar scowled at him and stated, "No one is telling anyone anything. What we're discussing here today doesn't leave this house."

Torvar rolled his eyes. "I'm not saying anything, Revered. Just joking around, I ain't stupid." The old man grunted and subsided.

Vilkas said, "Athis will officially be joining the Queen's service, in the same capacity as Gaius, as will one of Brynhilde's friends from Winterhold. Ralof, Borgakh and Argis will continue to be her personal bodyguards. Yrsarald will begin traveling more with us, within Eastmarch, as will Calder, but when I leave Windhelm on my own it will be with Blades as my, eh...escort." He knew one day he would get used to this, he swore he would. He was Lord of Eastmarch and Windhelm in addition to being Prince Consort of Skyrim. That part hadn't really registered with him until returning here a married man. It still hadn't, to be honest.

"Lord Vilkas," Farkas chuckled.

"And there it is," Vilkas sighed.

"That's Prince Vilkas to you, you churl," Erik said in a haughty tone, making the big warrior laugh more loudly at the sour look on his brother's face.

"I'll never get tired of that," Farkas stated. "Never."

Vilkas drawled, "I would be disappointed if you did." His brother never really changed, and probably never would. Gods knew Vilkas had changed enough for the both of them.

He felt Bryn's hand on his back, steadying him, and he took his twin's and Erik's jokes in stride along with Torvar's ribbing and Mjoll's good-natured jabs, and when the others broke up to get drinks and look at the new baby Vilkas let himself get snared by Vignar and sat down to become the unwilling recipient of the old man's wisdom. There was something comforting in it though. Familiar. His wife sat down on the elder's other side, kindly not leaving Vilkas to suffer alone, though it would have been fair payback for him abandoning her to Skald two weeks ago.

No one seemed to resent the changes he had thrust upon them, and he hadn't expected them to. There was comfort and familiarity in that too, knowing that the Companions, his family, his _and_ Bryn's, could always be counted on for...well, for anything. Anything at all.

He could only hope that with all the changes lately that they felt they could do the same with him. He didn't feel he had really delivered in that regard since moving to Windhelm. If a Companion came to him needing help with something then of course he would see that it was done, but he wasn't always going to be here. He wasn't always going to be free to do what he wanted, even when he was here. He had given the bulk of his life to the Companions, and now that he had handed over his title he felt like he was abandoning them. He knew he hadn't done so. Of course he knew that, but knowing and feeling were not the same thing.

Vilkas felt Bryn's hand on his shoulder, reaching around the old man, and he met his wife's eyes over Vignar's head. She gave him the barest hint of a smile with an expression of sympathy. For her. He was doing this for her. For their children. For his family. And...yes, maybe for himself too, for the challenge, and maybe for the glory. The Companions would be fine without him, but he had it in his power to help his Dragonborn wife change the world, and by Ysmir he would see it done.

* * *

"One week," Vilkas swore as he hitched Hoarfrost to his back and a large pack onto his shoulder. "That is all this should take." The plan was to fly Odahviing to Sky Haven Temple, and then two of the men would head for Markarth to hire a wagon, which from there would take their group to Solitude; there a ship could be hired to ferry them all back to Windhelm. It was high summer and the seas were clear of ice and should be fair sailing. It was the journey from Sky Haven Temple to Solitude that would take the greatest amount of time and pose the most danger.

Bryn nodded and smiled, her throat tight, answering, "Of course, beloved."

Vilkas sighed at the look on her face, one that seemed serene to any but those close to her. He rubbed under her chin and said with regret, "I do not like this either, being away from you and the little one. I'll be back as soon as I can." He gave her a tender kiss then bent over to kiss Fjonnar on the forehead. The baby smiled at him, blue eyes shining as he waved tiny fists, and it made Vilkas' heart ache with guilt that he knew was misplaced. He _had_ to do this. The future rode on this.

She laid her hand on his cheek to stroke it with her thumb. "Ah, _ahmuli_ , yes, I know. We'll be fine." Bryn thought he had come to grips with this. She thought she had impressed on him that while she would miss him that she did not in the least resent his choices or the timing. He had to go, and soon. Esbern was elderly and in frail health, and while she didn't doubt Gaius and Aventus were soaking up everything they could from the elder, Sky Haven Temple was no place to keep the old man. Here he would have warm comfortable quarters in Hjerim and ready access to healers. And with Esbern here the fledgling Blades' organization would have access to him.

If only she hadn't been forced to put down Delphine. If only the older woman's knowledge of the organization hadn't been lost. Such a waste.

Vilkas looked past her at Argis and Ralof standing attentively nearby, then he leaned in to kiss by her ear, murmuring, "Honestly, will you even know I'm gone with those handsome blonds following you around?" Bryn laughed merrily at that and gave him a gentle shove, her cheeks pink. He chuckled and rubbed Fjonnar's sparse hair then kissed his wife one more time.

The dragon shifted in the courtyard, making the city guards immediately tense up, and he grumbled, "I grow weary of waiting, _joor_."

Vilkas rolled his eyes and pulled himself away from his family, saying, " _Fos los tiid wah dovah?_ "

"Hm. _Daar los vahzah_."

Vilkas motioned for Onmund to follow him, and the young mage made a gurgling sound of fear and detached himself from Erandur's side. The Harbinger-

No, _former_ Harbinger. He had to keep reminding himself of that, that he no longer led the Companions. They had all left already, other than Farkas and Lydia who were staying in Hjerim with Jergen until Vilkas returned, and perhaps for a while past that. The housecarl had stayed with Bryn since Dawnstar, since the Companions were coming to Windhelm anyway, and it had become clear how much the Queen missed her companionship. Vilkas didn't doubt that the visits would start coming more regularly, now that Babette was out of the way.

The rest of the Companions had headed back to Whiterun just that morning, and it had been bittersweet to watch them go. Vilkas hadn't been ashamed of the tears that had come to his eyes as the wagon pulled away. Of course he was still one of them, and always would be, and when he passed he would have his pyre laid out on the Skyforge, he and Farkas both, but it had hurt to pass along the title of Harbinger after only a few short years. He would be Grandmaster now, technically, but that didn't hold quite the same cachet in Skyrim, and how many people would really even know?

No, eventually they would know. It might take a few years, and time for whispers and rumors to start circulating, but eventually people would realize that the Blades were making a comeback. It might even be the Blades themselves to start the rumors.

He wasn't one for sneaking about or using subterfuge, not at all, but he knew how to organize, how keep a secret. It would be Gaius' job to work in the shadows, and the other jobs would sort themselves out. Perhaps they would simply make it up as they went along. Perhaps more old Blades would finally crawl out of hiding, because Vilkas refused to believe that the Thalmor had gotten every single one of them.

Vilkas braced himself, ignoring the flutter of nerves that was well justified, then he climbed onto the dragon's neck. There. That had been the hardest part, just getting on the beast. He could feel the creature shifting beneath him, monstrously strong, and its warmth seeping through the scales. Gods help him, this was going to be terrifying. There would be nothing holding him and Onmund on the dragon other than the strength of their own legs and Odahviing's tolerance, which was thin to be sure. Indeed the dragon grumbled over the task, huffing and digging its talons into the cobblestones of the courtyard.

" _Daar los ni dii staad_ ," Odahviing complained. "Why did I agree to this...this _paak!_ "

Bryn went to the dragon, mindful of the baby in her arms. She didn't fear Odahviing's intent towards her child, but Fjonnar was small and fragile and could easily get hurt with a small gesture from the dragon. "Because I asked it of you," she stated, putting as much of the thu'um into her voice as she could and not harm the baby. "Because there is no one else I trust with _ahmuli ahrk fahdoni_." Odahviing let out a long rolling complaint but seemed to resign himself once more as she began to rub his eye ridges. "And because once you land them at _Lok Gaard Raald_ I will be waiting here outside the city for you with a fat cow. I might also be convinced to polish your scales and claws for you, while praising your beauty."

The dragon chuckled, "You drive a hard bargain, _Rekdovah_. How could I resist such temptation?"

"I think perhaps you can't, _kulaani_."

"I think perhaps you are correct." He swung his head sideways to glare at Onmund, who peeped and clutched his pack to his chest. "Get on, _lahzey_ , before I change my mind."

The mage looked at Bryn, who gave him a nod of reassurance, then she backed away as the young man gathered his courage and climbed onto Odahviing's neck, Vilkas giving him a hand up. The dragon bellowed in aggravation and the watching guards and townfolk trembled, and all she could do was sigh to herself and leave her husband and friend and the surly dragon to sort things out between them. Vilkas had spent a great deal of time around dragons, during the war, and while he still didn't trust them at all, nor should he, he felt he had some small understanding of them. Onmund however was terrified, but still he was going through with this. If only his family understood what they'd had in their son. Bryn would make certain they did, if Onmund hadn't forbidden it. If he hadn't allowed Hadvar to intervene with them then it wasn't her place either.

No, Onmund's bravery had never been in doubt. Maybe when he and the Blades returned she would send him and Gaius off to the Atherium Forge to dispose of the Night Mother's remains. The two young men were close in age and would be working together the rest of their lives, Divines willing. It might prove to be a good bonding experience for them and give Onmund that taste of adventure he had always yearned for. She could manage hanging onto the sack of mummified remains a week longer; since Dawnstar she had heard nothing more than faint whispers from them, easily ignored.

Once the two men were settled and Odahviing began to stir, Vilkas looked at his wife and repeated, "One week." She nodded, her eyes bright and holding his own, and seeing her there with the baby in her arms broke his heart. It was only one week, but it would seem much longer, being away from the two people he loved most in this world. He looked at Ralof and the blond met his eyes, and he demanded, "Take care of my wife." He expected a flippant response, something along the lines of _as if she were my own_ , but for once good judgment won out and the younger man nodded in return, his expression serious, maybe understanding just a little how hard this was for Vilkas. Lydia and Farkas were here in Windhelm still and would keep Bryn company quite well, and Siga would sleep in the royal chambers to help with the baby at night. It would have to be enough, for that one week.

The dragon lifted off, and Bryn didn't bother to pretend that it was the stirred up dust making her eyes water. She watched Odahviing climb awkwardly out of the enclosed space then begin circling upward, and just before they began to head east she saw the tiny, dark shape on the red dragon wave to her.

 _And so it begins_.

It would only be a week this time. Vilkas would be home after that, with his Blades, a project that would last the rest of his life, an endeavor he felt drawn towards, a gift he was presenting to her, to their children. He was doing this out of love, and out of a need to protect. _We all do as our natures dictate_ , she had told him once, right after Kodlak died, when everything had been so hard for him to manage, when he had felt adrift and angry. It was in Vilkas' nature to lead, though not as Ulfric had with impassioned speeches and masses of troops at his back. Vilkas' leadership was a quiet thing, guiding by example and quiet counsel. Her wolf would change the world with it just as much as her old bear had.

She had been blessed to know the love of two such men. _Grohiiki ahrk Kodaavi,_ she thought. Two men who couldn't have been any more different but who had both been essential in her becoming who she was.

It would only be a week this time. Next time it might be another week, maybe two. Once in a while it might be a month or more. Over the years Vilkas would spend much more time at her side than away, however, and when he was away it would be because he loved her and their children so very much that he felt driven to sacrifice his own time with them to make the world a safer place.

And when it was her turn, she would sacrifice everything she was to ensure the same.

She felt movement at her back, and there was only one person it could possibly be. "I'm so glad you're here," she whispered.

Ralof huffed as he frowned, blinking away the sting in his eyes. Damn dragon, stirring up all the dirt out here. "I always will be, my lady," he replied in a rough voice, knowing what she meant.

"I know, _zeymah_."

The endearment startled him and he wasn't sure what to do with it. He was hardly worthy of it. He was little more than a regular fellow who had been in the right place at the right time, more than once. He didn't feel he deserved any awards for being here, any more than he did for seeing something worth saving in that strange, scrawny, awkward girl with her head on the block in Helgen. He would have done the same for anyone, Nord or not, no matter what side they had been on.

Ralof hesitated before laying a hand on her shoulder, and she laid her own over it and squeezed. _Take care of my wife_. He knew Vilkas well enough by now to know what that meant: _Look after her. Keep her company. Keep her spirits up. Take my place, as much as you can_. Vilkas would come and go, unable to sit still, weighed down with responsibility, even if it was one he had taken on himself, but Ralof would always be here. They all had their roles to fill, some of them several, as the Dragonborn did, but his only job, his only responsibility, was to Bryn, and nothing would ever change that. Ulfric had given him a sacred trust those years ago when Ralof had joined the High Queen's service, and while everything else had changed around them, that was one thing that hadn't, and never would.

She gave his hand another squeeze then let go. "I think I want to walk the city," she told her Guards, and they made sounds of assent. It would do Argis some good to go through the Snow Quarter and see how the Dunmer lived. It wouldn't hurt to visit the docks either. She thought she might have a word with the Shatter-Shields at some point about building one of Vilkas' steam saunas for the Argonians, the poor people always cold as they were. Eventually she would open the city to the lizard folk, and the Khajiit as well, once she felt it was safe for them. Racial tensions in the city lessened as time went on, but unfortunately it wasn't quite to that point yet.

Inside the Palace she found Rikke and Galmar drinking hot tea in the sitting room, looking at the map of Skyrim that hung on the wall, the one Ulfric and his general had spent so much time studying.

The older man set down his mug and turned to Bryn with his hands out. "C'mere, you little horker pup," he growled with a grin. He took the baby and kissed his forehead then moved close to Rikke again. By Shor, the boy looked more like Ulfric every day. Galmar had been certain the babe would change during the time the Queen was away, but he hadn't bargained for this much. The boy went to him easily, all smiles, and instead of hurting as he'd feared it would, it soothed. The loss was still there, sure, and always would be. Not much could change that. This boy though...he would have everything Ulfric had been denied. He would die of old age surrounded by family, after a happy and fulfilling life. A man couldn't ask for much more than that.

Rikke laughed as she watched her husband coo over the baby. She gently pinched a fat roll on the boy's arm and said, "Well, having a milk-sister for a couple weeks certainly didn't harm you any." Mara's mercy, the boy looked like Ulfric. Well, that was something that most people with brains didn't comment on in front of the Queen. She picked up an opened envelope off the nearby table then handed it to Bryn. "Letter for you, my lady. I'll give you the pleasure of being surprised."

"Ah," Bryn said with a nod. She took the vellum envelope and pulled out the folded letter, made of the fine bleached paper more common in the south. The envelope itself had no identifying stamps or any writing on it, and must have come bundled with another letter. She smirked at Rikke. "How mysterious." The older woman smiled back, deep dimples in her cheeks. Bryn unfolded the letter and immediately recognized the crisp handwriting. Her smile grew as she read the letter, and as she finished she laughed and beamed at her chamberlain. "Tullius is marrying!"

"Yes, in late winter. Perfect time for Nord guests, hm?"

"Yes! How wonderful!" Galmar grunted, and Bryn resisted the urge to tease him. Of course he didn't want to go south again, not when Ulfric had died down there and Galmar himself nearly had. Rikke would give him the option to stay behind, as it wasn't a wedding she was about to miss. Bryn wasn't about to miss it either, and Vilkas wouldn't be thrilled to return to Cyrodiil but he would go, and who knew, he might manage to pull off some recruiting while they were there.

She reread the letter, delivered in the older man's usual dry way, but he sounded happy. He was marrying a landed Nibenese widow who owned a horse ranch southwest of Cheydinhal. Her children were grown and on their own, though a son lived nearby on the estate with his wife and family. Tullius didn't go into any details of how they'd met, or much of anything else really, delivering the news succinctly and saying he would be pleased if she and her family could attend. It was really rather thoughtful, especially for him, and the good news was welcome.

Handing the letter back to Rikke, she said, "Tell him we'd be delighted to come." She looked over her shoulder at Argis. "Ever been to Cyrodiil?"

"No milady," he replied. "Should be...uh, interesting?" That was one word for it. Well, he'd wanted to get out of Vlindrel Hall, and he was out. He had known when he accepted this position that he would see the world, probably more than he bargained for. A trip to Solstheim was already planned for next summer, and the Queen had hinted at visiting the city of Blacklight, the seat of House Redoran, of which she and Vilkas were honorary members. It would be...interesting. Yeah. Still better than rotting away in that damned house.

"Well then, let's go visit Oengul," she said with a clap of her hands. "I was going to take a walk through the city anyway. We need to get you outfitted with better armor and weapons. I think ebony." Argis' good eye widened then he gave a faint nod. She looked back to Rikke. "Clear my schedule for tomorrow, unless there's something urgent. And find a nearby farm willing to part with a healthy steer and have it delivered just past the bridge outside town around noon. I'll pay them double what it's worth."

"The dragon?" the former legate guessed. Of course there had to be some price paid to the beast for the indignity of ferrying around mere mortals.

"Yes. I promised. Let's hope he and Vilkas aren't having a debate in Dovahzul the entire way to Sky Haven or poor Onmund's heart might not last the trip." The thought of her husband flying across the country on the back of a dragon that had little respect for him wasn't a pleasant one. Odahviing had sworn he wouldn't let either man come to harm, and Vilkas had also sworn not to provoke the dragon, but what if one of the men fell? She found herself twisting her wedding ring and forced herself to stop. "Right then."

Rikke lifted her eyes to Ralof, and the blond nodded discreetly and put his hand on Bryn's shoulder. The chamberlain watched as the Queen grasped it, looking lost for a moment. Today was the first time she and Vilkas had separated for any length of time since the former Harbinger moved to Windhelm. It had to have her worried, if only because the man was a target now. At least up in the air on the dragon he was an inaccessible one.

Ralof leaned close and suggested, "Perhaps we should visit the weavers? One of those big rugs would make a fine wedding gift."

Bryn said in soft agreement, "Oh, yes. Yes, we should do that. I think Tullius would like that." She pressed Ralof's hand then let go. "And my investments. I should check on those, shouldn't I."

Galmar glanced at his wife, who very deliberately did not meet his gaze. When the Queen looked at him and took a breath to speak he held the baby close and quickly said, "We're good here, lass. You go about your business."

"If you're sure…"

"Absolutely," Rikke assured her. She went to the young woman and straightened the scale mail coat and tightened the buckles on the dragon scale cuirass. "Tullius would love a rug to go in his new home, and I'm certain his new wife will as well. His favorite colors are dark blue and gold." The young woman made a sound of acknowledgment. Rikke checked to make sure Dawnbreaker and Chillrend were secure then patted Bryn on the shoulders. "I'll see about having the cow delivered tomorrow, but before that I have some correspondence that could use your attention in the morning."

"Of course."

"Lydia and Farkas will be back from their errand by dinner. I took the liberty of inviting them, along with Yrsarald and his family." The housecarl's wife was still terrified of Bryn, but there would be plenty of other people there as a buffer, and Farkas and Yrsarald had taken a shine to each other, just as Vilkas and Yrsarald had. The entire household usually took meals together, everyone who resided in their wing of the Palace of Kings, and they were often joined by guests. As long as Rikke was able to keep Bryn busy the Queen would be fine.

"Yes, that would be nice."

"The time will go by before you know it," Rikke said in tone that she hoped was gentle and reassuring.

"Right." Bryn took a deep breath. "Of course." She smiled at the two older folk and said, "Well then, I'll be back."

"Don't rush yourself," Galmar counseled, lightly bouncing Fjonnar in his arms, his eyes fixed to the baby's face. "The lad's just fine where he is. Aren't you, little cub?"

She was being ridiculous, she knew that. She could miss her husband without feeling like a lost little girl, and her worries for him were mostly unfounded. Odahviing had sworn to get him to Sky Haven Temple in one piece, and as he left for Solitude he would be in the company of two fine warriors in Athis and Gaius and a clever mage in Onmund, and even as frail as he was Esbern could still throw spells. There was also the matter of Vilkas being the most outstanding fighter she knew. She had trained with her husband several times over the last few months and she knew without a doubt that he could take her out if she didn't use Shouts. Vilkas would be fine. He hadn't taken more than minor wounds during the entire war-

But then neither had she. And the Dragonguard could have killed her, and Cicero had sliced her all to hell.

Bryn blew out a shaky breath and rubbed her thumb along her wedding ring. The Dragonguard was gone, and so was the Dark Brotherhood. Both orders had been completely obliterated. Vilkas would be fine. So would Aventus, gods, she had forgotten about Aventus being present during the trip home, too young yet to provide any help if they were attacked. Perhaps she could call one of her brothers, Drunfaazkein maybe, to watch over the group until they made it back to Windhelm. Maybe she could peek at the threads of time, just a little, just enough to reassure herself that Vilkas would make it home all right. It didn't feel right to do so, but...

Ralof saw Rikke frown slightly, and he didn't miss the fidgeting fingers playing with the dragonbone ring, and when he saw a golden flicker, just a hint, he realized what the problem was. Argis drew in a sharp breath, a small quiet one, but he kept his reaction to himself otherwise.

The blond gripped the Queen's shoulder. "Let's go, my lady," he suggested. She didn't react at first, the aura flickering as if she was fighting the urge to...do whatever it was she did. He squeezed harder and leaned in as he murmured, "Brynhilde." Galmar scowled at the familiarity while Rikke lifted an eyebrow, but the Queen made a humming sound as the flicker disappeared.

"Yes," she whispered. "Sorry, yes, we should go."

She looked at her son once more, but the baby was gurgling and playing with the old housecarl's beard. Ralof kept his hand on her shoulder and firmly steered her out of the room. Argis shook himself and was right behind.

"Huh," Galmar grunted. "Brynhilde, is it now?"

Rikke shook her head and said, "Let the lad be."

"You think this is a good thing?"

"Honestly, yes." She tickled the baby's double chin. "Hadvar was like that with her. She needed it, more so back then, but she needed it. She needs it now." Her hand fell away. "She's afraid for Vilkas. Surely you could see that." Her husband grunted again, still frowning. "Ulfric became a target because of her. She couldn't protect him."

"No one could."

Rikke stifled a sigh, hearing the pain in Galmar's voice, one he was more than entitled to. At least he was finally admitting that he hadn't failed, that the situation had been utterly beyond his control. She stayed where she was and didn't fuss over him, something he would resent. "No one can really protect Vilkas when he's away from her either. She's worried about him. She trusts the dragon with-"

"She shouldn't."

"Yes dear, and I would be the first to agree, but she does. It's once Vilkas is on the road from Sky Haven to Solitude that she worries about. And there's nothing she can do. If having Ralof nearby comforts her, so be it." She hesitated, wondering if she should say it. Well, to Oblivion with it. "Back at the beginning, when Ralof first joined us and the three of us were in Helgen...she said having Ralof with her was like having a piece of Ulfric with her." Galmar grumbled, looking like he wasn't certain where she was going with that. "And maybe that's still a little true, but mostly it's Ralof, now. Just Ralof."

"Huh."

"He told me yesterday that Vilkas is teaching him the dragon language." Galmar grumbled to himself and sat down in a chair, propping the baby in his lap. Rikke moved behind him to rub his shoulders, and he relaxed into it. It was easier to do these days, now that he didn't wear armor. He had stopped wearing it when he came back from the war, and she wasn't certain what it would take to get him back into it. They had both gotten soft around the middle this year, though they still trained with the guards. After a certain point you got tired of fighting, and tired of that constant awareness. Unless you were Dragonborn, or the former Harbinger of the Companions. Rikke wasn't certain what it would take to make those two slow down, and Ralof was right there tirelessly dogging their steps, never far from his Queen.

"So what's changed?" the old housecarl asked, troubled. The familiarity between the two had grown since Ulfric and Hadvar's deaths, and that wasn't a bad thing. Ralof had spent the entire war shadowing his Jarl, and after losing Ulfric had started guarding his dead lord's wife with a new fervor, knowing she carried Ulfric's child. But this was different. This had started growing after Vilkas returned to Whiterun, and had seemed to grow further on this last trip around Skyrim.

"I think he's finally learned to love her for her," Rikke guessed. "As a friend. He saw the worst of her down in Cyrodiil. He's no longer afraid of her." Not the way Argis obviously was. The new addition to the Queen's Guards looked like he was in over his head, but Rikke had to hand it to him for doing his best to forge ahead and come to grips with his new reality.

Galmar nodded, resigned. He could live with that, not that he had a choice. It wasn't as if it was a bad thing. Vilkas had no problem with it, in fact seemed to be encouraging it, and…

Well, that really was the heart of it. Vilkas was off on his own business, and occasionally would be from here on out. Other than occasional visits home to Riverwood, which could be timed to coincide with visits to Whiterun, Ralof would always be there. Vilkas knew that. Vilkas knew that Ralof wasn't attracted to Bryn in any way, and that the lack was mutual, and after all, if Bryn had never been unfaithful to Ulfric with Vilkas, who else could possibly be a threat? The dark-haired warrior was plenty secure in his position, and trusted them both, and it wasn't Galmar's place to question that. Maybe he wasn't even doing so. Maybe he was just fucking old and didn't like change. Yeah, that was a distinct possibility.

"Well then," he said with finality.

"Yes." She leaned down and kissed his temple, then put her arms around his neck from behind and murmured into his ear. "I love you, old bear."

He chuckled and brought his free hand up to rub her arm. "Ah, Rikke," he growled affectionately. "I love you too, old woman." He hadn't been able to get the words out before going south. The first time he had said it had been when they'd embraced on his return to Windhelm, without Ulfric. He had told her over and over as they wept, and he'd never stopped. He never would, and if at times he still wished he had followed his friend in death it wasn't because he didn't want to be here and alive. Ulfric would wait for him in Sovngarde, along with Hadvar and all the other shield-brothers and -sisters they had lost over the years. Ulfric would keep just fine, and there were important things that needed doing in the meantime.

He patted his wife's arms then rose, Fjonnar in his arms. "All right then, lad," he said, a determined note in his voice. Yes, important things. This right here was something important that he would spend the rest of his life doing. "Today is the day you're going to start learning about your father." Vilkas would be the boy's da, and a fine one he would be, but Galmar was going to make certain Fjonnar grew up knowing his biological father as best he could, with only a painting and memories to go on.

They walked the baby boy out to the main hall, where the guards came to attention in the little prince's presence. Yrsarald was across the hall talking to Jorleif, and the housecarl called into the kitchen, where Borgakh quickly appeared to take up position and help him guard the boy. Fjonnar would never question it, nor would the girls once they came, but Fjonnar would always stand out a bit from his sisters, as a child born for Skyrim and not the Empire. Out of all of them, he would be the one to carry the name Stormcloak, the first to carry it as a family name and not one taken out of spite. It would be a name carried with pride and honor.

They stopped in front of the portrait, and as always it made Galmar's heart ache, but fond remembrance was slowly inching out the grief. Ulfric had gone to his death a hero, with a Shout on his lips, a true son of the north, and Galmar was going to make damn sure Fjonnar never forgot that.

He gently bounced the boy in his arm and pointed up at the portrait. "That man there," he stated with a catch in his voice, "that man is your father." He felt Rikke's hands on his shoulders, and he smiled down at the boy. The baby couldn't care less about the painting at this point, his blue eyes on Galmar, smiling a toothless grin in return. "He was a great man, you know. A true Nord, through and through. Everything he did, he did for Skyrim. And your mother." He cleared his throat. No, this wasn't the way to go about it. Damn it all. Some day Fjonnar would want to know these things, when he was older, when he was learning about politics and the machinations of the Empire, both good and bad. People would still be debating Ulfric's intentions then, maybe even a hundred years from now. But as a boy, Fjonnar would want to know about the man his father had been. He would want to know what Ulfric had been like.

He started again, "Your father was the best friend I ever had. We grew up together, from the time we were still in diapers. Until he went off to High Hrothgar. Ulfric nearly became a Greybeard, you know…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul translations (using the legacy translator):  
> Kulaansedov – Prince of Dragonkind  
> rekdovah – she-dragon  
> ahmuli – my husband  
> joor - mortal  
> Fos los tiid wah dovah? – What is time to a dragon?  
> Daar los vahzah – This is true  
> Daar los ni dii staad – This is not my place  
> Paak – shame/indignity  
> ahmuli ahrk fahdoni – my husband and my friend  
> Lok Gaard Raald – Sky Haven Temple  
> Kulaani – my prince  
> Lahzey – mage  
> Grohiiki ahrk Kodaavi – my wolf and my bear  
> Zeymah - brother  
> \----  
> *dusts off hands* Nii los drehlaan...it is done.
> 
> I think some time ago I did a sort of retrospective as to what I would change about this story if I had to do it over again. I'd said there wasn't much I would change other than using much less in-game dialogue in the early chapters (this holds true). I would have come up with a better title, as it still sits awkwardly with me. One thing I will never do again is write in third-person omniscient. Dear god.
> 
> I've gotten a few accusations over the years that Bryn was a Mary Sue, and you know what: good. I have seen very few female protagonists that were just flat out ass-kicking, roaring monsters, who were known for their physical prowess, who people didn't universally like and who quite a few people were terrified of. I tried to make Bryn a person, one that isn't entirely human, one that the game acknowledges is basically a supernatural creature, but a person all the same. She definitely wasn't a self-insert or anyone that I personally would want to be. The term Mary Sue troubles me, as it implies that a woman should never be too good at anything. Never too pretty, never too strong, never too intelligent, never too self-confident, never too well-liked, and god forbid she's more than one of those things at once. The term Mary Sue implies that a woman isn't supposed to be a full-out Hero, in the ways that are rarely questioned in men. About halfway through the story I started second-guessing myself, for all of two minutes, promptly said 'fuck it', and forged ahead. If Bryn was a Mary Sue, then she'll wear that label proudly.
> 
> I want to believe that I've made this story not just about Bryn but about all the people around her, and not about how she touched their lives but about how they shaped hers. I wanted the other characters to have their own lives and motivations, separate from hers. She is someone that passes through their lives from time to time but isn't the driving force in it. I wanted to redeem Ulfric and turn him into someone I ended up caring deeply about as a character. I wanted to find a way out of the Civil War. I wanted to make Vilkas more than the broody boyfriend, wanted him to be a hero as much as Bryn was. I hope I did that in a believable way for all of you. This story was as much about Vilkas and Ulfric as it was the Dragonborn.
> 
> While this is the final official chapter of this fic and what I consider The End, there is an epilogue chapter coming that's about a third of the way done. You won't have to wait a year for it, I promise, but for all intents and purposes this fic is complete. I will be marking it as such, but there will be that final chapter, so don't unfollow it just yet.
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has left such kind comments and encouragement over the years. While rude anon reviews were much more of a problem on ffnet, I did get some questionable comments on here, but I let them stand and tried to gain something from them. I think they helped me grow a thicker skin. I can shrug things off now when three years ago it sent me on a downward spiral of insecurity and made me nearly stop posting.
> 
> I've really cherished the last three and a half years of writing this. The Skyrim fandom is small (compared to Dragon Age) but I've enjoyed that. It's made all the interactions so meaningful. I might drop in a few one-shots here and there in this universe if I find the motivation. We'll see. Thank you again!


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